Felix by Sofia Greenberg - Humble Pie

Storm
by
Chloe Crossman
My sisters legs were tangled with mine, my arms wrapped around my little brother. Sixty
toes and six warm bodies, tightly wrapped in my mother’s blue velvet quilt. The walls of
the bedroom were yellow then, a buttercup-yellow that made me want to touch it. I
remember it had a glossy finish; the slatted boards looked like huge, wet banana peels.
Mom was at the opposite end of the bed, half-asleep, as she tended to be, snoring loudly
with her eyes still open. The window was being pelted with rain, the trees outside looking
as though they were struggling to keep their roots in the ground. Every few minutes the
sky lit up with lightening and for a split second everything was illuminated with brilliant,
white light. My big brother told me that whenever you see lightening to start counting;
however many fingers you get to before the thunder comes, that’s how many miles away
the storm is.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five. Another clap of thunder. My little brother was crying softly, frightened by the storm
outside. I was holding him tightly and doing my best to mimic my mother’s calming,
cooing, “Shhhhhh”.
On the television set Charlie Chaplin twirled a cane, sending flickering shadows across
the walls and the hills of the blanket. I loved that blanket; it was impossibly soft and
always carried the sweet scent of sweat and warm bread. My mom says my grandmother
made the quilt in Sicily, choosing the color to remind her of the waves there; greeny-blue,
like beach glass. I ran my fingers through my brother’s hair, like my dad did for me when
I was scared, and hummed the song I can’t remember, the one my grandma used to sing. I
pressed my toes against my sister’s warm calves and watched the pictures moving
silently on the television screen. Chaplin’s mascara-coated eyes batted longingly at a
woman with short, black hair. Another flash.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four. The trees were leaning and reaching, bending almost to the ground. Robin
whimpered again and I pulled him closer, “Shhhhhh.”
Now there were four choruses of snores, grumbling gently together. Robin stopped crying
and was breathing the heavy, raspy breaths of anxious sleep. I stared at the ceiling, at the
glow-in-the-dark stars leftover from whoever lived there before us.
One.
Two.
Three. The thunder roared and wind threw another sheet of rain at the window. My eyes
were heavy, lids dropping slowly down. I kept forcing them back open, anticipating he
next flashbulb view of the trees outside. Little droplets of condensation had formed on
the window pane, occasionally sliding down and making streaks and patterns on the
glass. The sky lit up again. One.
Two. The thunder growled outside and I tightened my hold around Robin’s belly,
nestling my face behind his curls. My eyes closed and I breathed slow, steady breaths,
trying to match the rhythm of my sister’s. I pulled the velvet around my face.
One.