Forecast

There was talk about a thunderstorm. But the weather's so nice right now, it's hard to imagine a storm is on the way. Isn't it funny how this happens? How the sky changes, relentlessly? If you really think about it, even a clear blue sky is a tumultuous thing. A clear blue sky is a harbinger of things that extend beyond the sky and lightning bolts. Things like ill-fate or freak accidents.

My phone rang and it doesn't ring often. This was when the clouds were fat and moving across the sky and breaking into smaller things like rocking chairs and melons. I answered. Hello? I said and Guy said, Hello? Curt? I don't understand Guy. He disappears and reappears. He talks a lot. He talks too little. He tries to stay in touch. He tries to break his ties. Hi Guy, I said.

Before a storm arrives, the wind picks up and reveals the pale undersides of leaves. The wind sounds the wind chimes and tells the weather vane in which direction it is moving. In which direction the storm will go.

Curt, Guy said. Curt, I broke my leg. That's terrible, I said. I didn't really break my leg, Guy said. Ha! Ha! He said. How are things? I said. Just fine, he said, These trees are huge, like nothing I've ever seen, you could make a house out of one! A house, Curt! An entire house! You don't say, I said. Hey look, Curt, Guy said, I need to ask you a favor.

A wise man will recognize the calm before the storm and head towards higher ground. A fool will drown.

What is it? I said. Curt, I met this woman, but I need some money to meet her, Guy said. I don't understand, I said, I thought you said you met a woman. Why would you need money to meet her? I met her online, Guy said. She has two kids and works a double and can't afford to visit. To meet me. Can you wire me some money? Guy said. Don't you think this sounds suspicious? Don't you think it could be a scam? I said. There was a pause.

Sometimes, a cumulonimbus cloud can resemble an enormous anvil. Heavy. Formidable. Tornadoes and hail.

This is not a scam, Guy said, I need the money, Curt. Please.

I am too kind. I am too understanding, sympathetic. I will give my hand willingly to the blind so that they may lead me to the edge of a cliff. I am a coward. I am a man that must raise his voice dishonestly in order to raise his voice at all.

Tonight, a storm may arrive. Or maybe, it will arrive tomorrow morning. It will relish in its savagery. It will be a storm and nothing less. It will not go easy. It will not understand anything but its role as a storm.

And behind it will trail a clear blue sky.