Fire and Wind, page 1
Fire and Wind
Karen Wyatt
© 2022 by Karen Wyatt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper magazine or journal.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Ebook
Independently Published
Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated to the late Shane Spears.
While your life was short lived, you never ceased to inspire an array of hopeful children, including myself. Thank you for being such a beautiful soul, and showing so many kids that they can express themselves in a variety of ways.
While we that knew you are now all grown, I hope that where life takes us makes you proud.
December 1, 1972—December 14, 2011
A Fireman’s Prayer
When I am called to duty, God
Wherever flames may rage...
Give me the strength to save some life
Whatever be its age...
Help me embrace a little child
Before it is too late...
Or save an older person from
The horror of that fate...
Enable me to be alert and
Hear the weakest shout...
And quickly and efficiently
To put the fire out...
I want to fill my calling and
To give the best in me...
To guard my every neighbor
And protect their property...
And if according to Your will
I have to lose my life...
Please bless with your protecting hand
My children and my wife.
~Author Unknown
Preface
Do you know what it’s like to feel absolutely nothing?
The roar of the wind vanished, leaving us victims to a smothering silence. I waited patiently, terrified of a second wave that would never come. The silence, it haunts me as its waves crash against my body, its force a broken sea that lives to drown out the cries of the victim held hostage to her wrath. The silence weighed heavier as the world collapsed upon our shoulders, stealing the air that I never noticed was there until it was gone. Still, as it evaporated from around us, the ringing in my ears made me dizzy.
Was it over?
My body lay frozen, the minutes crawling, grinding themselves against the debris, their presence felt like hours—like days—as every sense of time faded away. The silence exaggerated this as we all waited patiently for the wind to return, claiming the lives that she missed in Round One. For a moment I wondered, if I lay perfectly still, will she still miss me? Will she take pity on me? Will she assume my body to be nothing but a worthless corpse, littering the way as she leaped away to continue her horrific wrath of destruction? Would that be what it takes to let me die on my own?
And yet the silence was crippling as my anxiety peaked.
Was it really gone?
Even though it was quiet, I could still hear the roar beating itself against my eardrums. The memory of the glass exploding around us, piercing into our skin sent shivers down my spine. I could close my eyes, but that didn’t mean I would unsee the building crushing, crumbling to its knees, as it cried out for a second chance. I could recall it twice, ten, one hundred times, and I would always remember it the exact same way, forever playing on a loop. Nothing changing. Nothing new. Nothing less.
I lay still, my body numbing under the weight of my newly permanent grave, the screams in the distance illuminating the horror that I wished I could express. Were they pleas for survival, or were they a prayer for a less painful death?
Is this what death feels like? Nothing…
Chapter 1
I took in a deep breath as my palms gripped across the steering wheel. The sunrise blinded me as I sped down Rock Creek Road at the glamourous pace of 65 miles per hour, but who really pays attention to speedometers anymore, anyways? Just another Tuesday, and really, is there any reason to my rush to school? Realistically and rationally speaking—of course not. Still, in my immediate sense, this sense of urgency was fueled by the fire of I had to have just a few extra minutes of peace before everything turned its way back to the prison that is high school.
Am I overreacting? Probably, but really, can you expect anything less? I have to admit that I’m highly disappointed in the media-industry. Can I speak for everyone when I say this, or am I really just speaking about myself? Probably just myself, but that doesn’t change the fact that I grew up—a bright eyed, little girl with her knock-off Barbie dolls and her princess sheets, eating popcorn with a soda-pop—thinking that high school was more of a bougie-luxury-best-four-years-of-your-life kind of façade. Good times, but let’s be honest here: I live in a small town, so I probably should have known better. Still, even though the horrors of 9th grade really opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn’t going to be best friends with the Stiletto Queen or ride away into the sunset in our Lamborghinis, the idea of all the hottest boys drooling, begging at our knees for just one little kiss, was still pretty nice. Reality just sucks sometimes, though, and let’s be honest with ourselves: I expected to find a diamond in a pile of chicken litter, and it’s just not going to happen.
Either way, there’s nothing that I can really do about it now except to try my best and keep this dumb grade point average on tract for college submissions. That’s the talk of the town right now as far as school administrators and teachers are concerned. Well, that and making sure our senior project is on-point, which is completely ridiculous if you ask me. Then again, who’s asking me? As far as everyone that actually studies at this school is concerned, all they care about is prom, graduation, and making sure that this best friend is going to the same school and frat parties as that best friend, and this person is hooking up with that person or getting drunk with this person—or whatever they’re really obsessed with in the moment. That’s high school drama, after all. Can you really be surprised?
Speaking of GPA, my counselor says I’m doing pretty good, and by pretty good I am a shoo-in for any community college of my choosing, but universities are a hit or miss, maybe? Okay, well, I’m sitting comfortably at about a 3.6ish-3.7ish? Ah, who cares! All that matters is that I have good grades, but I’m not Harvard good, by any means—not that I’ve put in the extra effort to be the ivy-league type. Really though, that’s not something that really comes out of this part of the country anyway. Ivy leagues are worth nothing more than a social status opportunity that allows doctors and lawyers to play a little game called “my child is better than your child”. Still, they fail to realize that while maybe 5-10% of their kids will be successful, the other 90% are going to frizz out, develop a coke problem, and will now be the little failure that you judge severely and try to hide from all your social gatherings because you’re too ashamed to bark out the letters r-e-h-a-b? No, the successful people go the Harvard on the Yadkin instead, am I right?
In all reality, college isn’t for everyone, but I know I have to go and do something—anything.
And with one last turn of the wheel, the brilliant red bricks came into view. The MVHS symbol that was written in white on the side of the building facing the senior parking lot had become such a normal, numbingly simple sight that almost made this place feel like a dreaded second home as the years passed on. Mountain View High School. What a treat—not that there was much other kind of choice in a school because, well, did I mention that I lived in a small town? Well, in case you missed it, I live in a small farming town in Wilkes County, North Carolina—Mulberry, NC to be exact. We have exactly four high schools in the entire county, even though we are the largest county by square mile in the entire state. That doesn’t open up much opportunity though considering most of that land is taken up by chicken-farms because, well that’s Wilkes. And it’s not a bad thing, believe me, it’s not a bad thing. In fact, I feel that a lot of people look down on these farming towns. My theory is that it’s mainly because the growing age of capitalism and convenience lifestyles make us forget just how important producing food really is. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if a majority of people believe that grocery stores produce your precious chicken nuggets just out of thin air, but no. Someone had to hatch them, feed them, raise them, kill them, clean them, and send them. The reality was, most of this work keeps the county alive, no matter what any little spoiled-rich girl that thinks farmers are dirty, believes.
Don’t get me wrong, now. I might get frustrated knowing that southern, small town education isn’t really up to par with how it should be, and I might gawk at the fact that there might not be a whole lot to do on a Saturday night, but really, you know that teens in big cities feel the same way about their towns. Either way, all I know is that no matter what happens in life, I look out onto the landscapes, breathe in that fresh mountain air atop Stone Mountain, and look out onto the crystal waves of Kerr Scott Dam, and I just know that this is the beautiful land—the beautiful land who’s image is sometimes is curtained by the perfume of chicken manure and the corrupted fumes of the methamphetamine business—will forever be home, even though sometimes I wish that I had the means of making it just a wee-bit-better.
As I pulled my car into my pretty little rose filled parking spot, I just let it idle, realizing that—just as I planned—
Slam!
My heart lurched, my fingertips pressing themselves against the horn in my steering wheel as it let out a gentle chirp, catching the attention of almost everyone around me. Still, there she was, tears streaming down her face as she continued to laugh away at the bitter heart attack that she was so proud to have given me. I couldn’t say that I was surprised as her hand pulled away from my window with a spine-shilling squeak. She looked like I was seconds away from needing to pull out a rescue inhaler, heroically saving her before she passed out to the ground. Why couldn’t I be surprised? Well, maybe because my best friend had to be both the best and worst person I have ever met.
I flung my car door open, stamping my feet to the pavement as her laughter echoed through the air, catching the attention of some of our peers, their expressions in a mix of confusion and annoyance at her behavior. “Don’t do that!” I snapped, staring daggers towards her as she rocked back on her heels, her hands meeting at her sides. She took in an exaggerated breath, heaving at the idea that she had gotten the one up on me for once, and I knew good and well that she was going to continue to bask in the glory of it for the next several years of our lives.
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a party pooper!”
Rosetta Grande. Well, let me start off by saying that Rose is one of those girls that needs no introduction. Plain and simple, if you don’t know just who she is, turn your head to the right a little because she is going to be right in your corner. As I look at her now, her bright, freshly dyed cherry red hair flowing down her shoulders as she was bent over by my car—probably thanking her lucky stars that the dress code requires her to wear leggings under that mini-skirt because we all know she would have just flashed herself at everyone if she didn’t—I just laugh, thinking about the chaotic soul she truly is. If I had to describe her more, the only words that come to mind is the prom-queen wannabe in a world full of cookies and candy. She was about 5’4, pretty average on the weight scale, maybe a little on the larger side of average, but definitely the stereotypical sexy-style 18-year-old girl. Her natural hair is black of course, but I don’t think I’ve seen it as anything but red since we were about 15. No—she might have dyed it blue or purple once, but red is pretty much her staple in the world now, and she is killing it.
Still, no matter how you put it, she’s exactly what you would expect from a southern-bell-slash-red-carpet-runway-style reigning Homecoming Queen of Mountain View High School’s 2018 senior class. You know, almost like she was trying to embody everything that you’ve ever seen on TV—but don’t forget to add that Wilkesboro sparkle to tie it all together. She was everything any girl could ever want to be: stereotypically beautiful and as sweet as can be, with just the slightest hint of sass hidden firmly in her “fashionably chic” cowgirl boots. She was humble, the kind of girl that you would find volunteering at the animal shelter and the soup kitchen whenever she had the chance. She would read books to children during the summer, and she was smarter than sin—smarter than me, for sure—but you’ll still have those few that will only see her for her looks. She was amazing—she was fantastic. She was what every man—and some women—drooled over, and yet, she always somehow always stayed just out of reach, making her even that much more desirable.
I shook my head, pulling the door open as she swung around, her dress flailing like how you would see on one of those dancing shows before she plopped herself onto the golden roof of my hood, the car shaking slightly as her hand brushed against her forehead, her gaze like an over washed actress.
“Well, don’t break it!” I called out, the door thudding from behind me as I turned to take my school bag out of the back seat.
“Why must you never pay any attention to me, huh?” She flung her feet forward, her heels clicking diligently against my front bumper. “Some best friend you are. I bet you can’t even guess what happened to me last night?” Her smile widened as I just knew she was going to do about everything she could to get at my throat today, and she was going to enjoy every last second of it—the little twirp.
As her voice sang out into the distance, the simple song of the redneck elites came rolling though, their mating call—some new country-pop-hashtag—sending its vibrations stampeding through the air. My spine tingled in disgust. I turned to see Jonathan’s silver Dodge, signatured nicely with that brand-new lift kit mom and pop got him, rolling into the parking lot, just as he had done every day since he first got his license sophomore year. Then, just as expected, his fleet of redneck lovers flocking behind him like the sheep they are. I never understood the utter fascination with who can mud the fastest or who could hold a vape cloud the longest while their buddy tries to nose-whistle the theme song to Hee-Haw. No, maybe it’s more that I can’t empathize with the whole ‘bacca-spittin’ your-baby-mama-baby-daddy swapping baby-drama, ya know? Well, maybe that’s why they’re “popular” and I’m just here.
And then I looked over, seeing her smiling, her eyes locked on him from across the lot, even though he refused to give her a glance. I huffed, pulling myself in front of her gaze, my arms crossed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?” she yelped, her voice defensive. I had about enough of her lovestruck lullabies about this jackass by now, but I guess that’s just the price you have to pay in this little bubble we live in. “He likes me,” she continued, her eyes squinted towards me as she guessed at what I was obviously thinking. I have to give her credit though; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I couldn’t stand the man.
“Yeah…” and then it hit me: her idiotic smile, her blanked out stare. “You didn’t!”
She looked to me, her eyes glistening. Her cheeks were rosy, her breath elevating, nothing short of the simplistic hue of embarrassment. She knew she didn’t want me to know, but at the same time, well her relationship with Jonathan was the only thing she wanted to talk about. “We did!”
“Why?” I was astounded, and somewhat disgusted. Now, I know that it’s only evident that pretty high school girls wind up dating the pretty high school boys, but something in me was still hoping that she was going to be different. Something in me hoped that she would try for someone who was good for her versus just someone that wasn’t worth anything more than just a pretty face. I wanted better for her, so all I knew what to do was sit back and hope that she would figure it out before it gets out of hand.
“Walk and talk!” She smiled, hopping off the hood, her heels clicking as she ran towards the steps leading up to the cafeteria doors. I quickly turned to grab my bag before running after her, wondering just how she managed to walk so fast in heels.
“Hold up a minute, why don’t ya?” I yelled out, hoping that she could hear me over the noise pollution illuminating from her new-boo wanna-be. The more I thought about it, the more I shivered. I don’t think I could handle it if she was over there in their gene-pool. Call me bitter, but I just have no place for this guy. To give it more context, Jonathan was nothing more of a prissy-southern class, privileged, athletic white boy who deserves to be locked in prison for the rest of his life. The boy was nothing more than a walking-talking-jock-sensation that the Mountain High School student body adored, as long as they weren’t one of his victims, that is. If you were a male or naïve female in this school, you worshiped him like he was Jesus Christ or something to that nature. He could do no wrong, and he was everything you could ever want or need in a friend, in a partner. The only problem with that is that with great power…it went straight to his head, and he is nothing short of a nightmare to be around. Ask any of the girls that he’s drugged or made his way with, and they are literally bullied and threatened into silence. Then, if someone finds out what he’s done, he will do everything he can to make your life miserable, and I can’t say that it’s honestly that hard, whether it was him sending out nudes you didn’t realize he had, or he was talking about how bad you were at getting it if you were a guy, it was enough to about drive people to drop out, or worse. I’ve had many good friends fall for his spells, and frankly, I didn’t want Rose anywhere near his venomous persona.
