A Day Makes

THE DIFFERENCE

 

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled, knocked down dozens of ten pins. The sky dwarfs have been busy all night. The heavenly souls have lost all control. Hail ratatat-tated on the roof, cracked the small window in the guest powder room. Pellets turned to rain drops bigger than my thumb nail. In all of this miserable weather I could still make out the fountain of nymph, Diana, spewing pink water out of her breasts in the circle entrance to my building. It's a circus, a goddamn circus out there. I can conjure up no reason at all to get out of bed. I lie here, my heart almost pounding the rhythm of the rain drops. Thunder shakes the ceiling fixture hard enough for me to duck under my quilt.

 

Without seeing a single ray of sunshine, my watch lets me know morning is outside the window. 7:30? The sky is still ominously black. I can't believe it and change my thinking, call it dark blue, mixed with a bit of gray. It's creepy. Diana still assists the storm god to overflow the fountain, make busy rivulets to the entrance way. I worry. Is the lobby flooded? Will the elevator work? Will the morning papers come before the evening edition? Should I get dressed or simply lie here, wait to die?

 

A bright flash lights up the big screen t.v. on the wall opposite my bed. I almost jump out of my skin. Did I leave it on all night?  My semi-senses tell me that it must have gone off in the storm while I was still able to sleep. Evidently, Comco is back in service. Now where the hell is my clicker? There, it's on the floor, close enough for me to reach without getting up. I hit channel 58 for the weather report. 'Today will be sunny, high 80. Rain tomorrow. Take your umbrellas.' Comca is behind times. Maybe I should let them know and they can fire Johnny Lightfoot. By a long shot, this is not his first blooper.

 

Johnny had erred. Somehow he got his days mixed up. The storm that wracked Gainesville for twenty four hours comes to an end. As the 8 a.m. sun shines on my bed, its warmth brings comfort and peace. With pleasure my feet slide into my slippers. I walk to the window, open it all the way and feel a slight breeze kiss my cheek, tease my hair. Diana looks healthy. Pink fountain water still flows from her breasts, making a double rainbow on the sidewalk. George, the maintenance man, has a crew clearing broken branches, retrieving loungers that had blown into the pool. I feel exhilarated, so good, so happy I yoohoo to George, wave, salute him. T.V. promises a perfect day. Coffee, coffee, I must make coffee, fill the percolator and hit 'on' Instant gratification. It works. A fast shower, a clean, soft towel tingles my body. I'm ready for that perfect day. 

 

Outside George is taking a break. I wave to him again. He waves back and nods. The coffee finishes perking and so have I. There's a knock at the door. George hands me two red roses he managed to rescue.

 

I never report Johnny Lightfoot to Comca. Waiting for that perfect day came.