Storms

by Sean Hastings

The rain fell hard and the thunder rattled the windows. Martin sipped his ice water and stared at him self superimposed over the wet darkness of the parking lot. Thunder cracked and the lights dimmed for a moment promting "Ooohs" from several of the patrons. Martin liked thunderstorms. He felt as if there was a little place in the pit of his stomach that crackled with icy energy. The thunder was a mixture of fear and joy like the sight of a beautiful woman and it electrified him. During a good storm he would often sit for hours in the dark trying to feel each lightning strike building.

In the reflection he saw Jocelyn return from the lady's room, but pretended not to notice, just gazing off into the darkness. When she reached his side and said "Let me in." he glanced up with an embarrassed smile. He stood up to let her in and she scooted her way around th e long curve of the booth designed for a large group. Martin had told the waitress that they were expecting four more people; they weren't really, it was just one of those games he liked to play.

"I ordered you coffee." he said.

"Thanks." she responded. "God! I thought that the lights were going to go out when I was in the rest room. I could just imagine myself sitting there in the dark with my skirt pulled up."

"Sounds fun to me." he smiled.

"It would be kinda scary, that's all."

"Life is scary." said Martin.

Just outside the windows, a large man in a tight black jacket hurried along the sidewalk from the parking lot. He was hunched down as if to get a little farther away from the source of the downpour. Martin wondered briefly at not having seen his car drive into the lot. The man walked with long strides, his hands stuffed into jacket pockets, eyes staring down at the concrete about three inches in front of his next step. Just then the waitress appeared in the reflection.

"Are you kids ready to order?" she asked.

"I'll have a B.L.T." said Martin who hadn't even looked at the menu. "And bring me another glass of ice water, something larger than this." He held up the empty glass.

He did not look at the waitress, but he turned towards Jocelyn as she ordered, Her nose buried in the three section menu. "I think I'll have the Denny Burger and an order of onion rings" She paused, allowing the waitress time to jot this down "And could you get me some more coffee?"

"Sure thing." The waitress gave her one of those waitress smiles. "Will that be all?"

Martin glanced her way. Catching her eye he furrowed his brow in mock thought for a moment before seeming to firmly decide that this would indeed be the extent of their order for now. "Yes, thank you." he said.

The hostess came and seated the man in the black jacket at the table next to them. The booth seat curved around to the other table, so it seemed somehow that the man was sitting with them. Martin hated this as it gave him an unfamiler audience. This man, however, seemed totally indifferent to anything around him, he was drenched to the skin but seemed not to notice and did not remove his heavy black jacket.

Picking up his menu and flipped it open with his left hand. He kept his right hand in his pocket as he glared at the food selection. He mumbled something under his breath as he read. Martin decide to ignore him.

"So, how's school going?" he asked Jocelyn

"Alright," she said, "I skipped Calculus again today. I can't stand the prof."

"Oh? who've you got?"

"Borman. He's a real tight ass."

"Yeah. I took it from Amick, he was ok."

"I don't know... I just don't seem to like math." She removed a pack of Camel Lights from her purse an d tapped it sharply against the table, then withdrew one and placed it in her mouth. When Martin grimaced she said "Don't worry, I'll put it out when the food comes. Could you get me an ashtray?"

Martin spotted an unused ashtray on the wet man's table, hesitated, and then asked "Excuse me, might I borrow that ash tray?" The man looked up, seeing them for the first time. He appraised them, his gaze lingering a little longer on Jocelyn than Martin thought was absolutely necessary. Martin repeated himself "Migh t I please borrow that ashtray? You don't seem to be using it." The thunder continued to crash outside and the storm picked up, rain striking the window in sheets, blown by sudden audible gusts of wind.

The man carefully folded his menu with his left hand, set it down and picked up the ashtray. He placed the ashtray on their table and slid it slowly across to Martin. Martin thanked him but the man did not respond. Without a word he picked up the menu and continued reading. His right hand never left its pocket. Martin gave the man a puzzled look and handed the ashtray to Jocelyn.

"Thanks." she said "I know you hate it when I smoke."

"Don't mention it" he said in a tone of mock bitterness and gave a hearty false sob. She laughed pleasantly.

The lights dimmed again and Martin gazed out into the storm. The lightning flashes were stroboscopic and each crash of thunder seemed to bleed into the next. "Some storm were having." he said to no one in particular and was surprised when the man answered.

"There are worse storms." he said

Martin waited for him to go on. He didn't. He just stared unblinking into Martin's eyes. "Uh, yeah, I suppose there are." said Martin, looking away. When he looked back the man was still staring at him. Martin tried to return the gaze but failed once again, his eyes darting to Jocelyn for support. She leaned back and puffed on her cigarette looking amused. Martin looked back. The man was still staring at him and seemed to be fingering something in his right pocket.

Just then their food arrived and Martin felt as if he had been saved by the bell. The waitress placed there plates in front of them and Martin dug in. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked and when they said no she laid their bill on the table face down. They do that so they can get away before you can see the total and start shooting, Martin thought and chuckled to himself. Jocelyn didn't even bother to ask. He was always doing that.

He barely tasted the greasy bacon, the mayo, or the sharp tomato; only the crispness of the lettuce and the crunch of toasted bread did he notice consciously as he wolfed down the sandwich. The waitress was still taking the man at the next table's order when Martin finished the B.L.T. and started to nibble on his fries. The fries were hot and burned his fingers but not his mouth. The man seemed to be ordering one of everything on the menu and telling her exactly how it should be cooked. She scribbled furiously on her pad to keep up with him. Martin resumed his vigil of the rain beaten parking lot. He was too busy trying to feel the lightning to notice when the waitress left.

"I love storms" he said to Jocelyn who had not yet put out the cigarette and hadn't touched her food. "Especially the loud ones."

"I love my Martin" she said. He smiled and reached over to scratch the back of her neck.

"I don't mean weather." said the wet man.

Martin started at his voice. Martin looked at him and he looked back. "Huh? What do you mean?" asked Martin.

"No, not weather, there are other types of storms that are far worse." He paused and looked out the window. The thunder continued unabated, muffled only slightly by the glass. "This can't even compare. No rain or snow or even a tornado can compare to the storms that are inside a man's heart, a man's mind and a man's soul."

Martin said nothing. He glanced at Jocelyn and they shared a look of amusement. But Martin wasn't really amused. Something in the man's words hit home.

"Its the storms of the mind that are the worse by far." the man continued, eyes on the glass, "They build and build all your life and there is no way to release them, no way to ease the pressure in your brain. You find yourself doing things. Terrible things. And its not your fault. You are merely swept away by powerful winds inside your skull. You have no choice but to go with them. After a time you cease to fight because they're just to strong." The man turned and looked at Martin again. "Soon after that you cease to even care."

Martin wished the man would shut up and he did.

The man stared out the window silently for a long time, fingering the object in his pocket. Martin finished his fries. All the while he studied the shape of the object in the man's pocket. It could have been anything, but Martin thought, he knew some how, that it was a weapon. Probably a gun. He was getting nervous and he mentally chided himself. You have no way of knowing what's in that pocket, stop being paranoid, he told himself. Jocelyn was only half done with her food. "Can you hurry up so we can get out of here?" he asked.

"No, I'll be done when I'm done" she frowned at him.

"Sorry. I'm just a little impatient I guess"

He tried to amuse himself by playing with the silverware and the little packets of sugar. But his eyes kept returning to the strange man's pocket. He found himself trying to pierce the cloth with his vision to see what the man was stroking in concealment beneath the material.

When the man's food arrived he dug in like a starving animal. He ate even faster than Martin did. Five plates of food, all of them entrees were vanishing at an alarming rate. He ate with his fork clutched in his left hand, cutting the meat by pressing down hard with the side of the fork. Martin watched the fork making quick repeated trip s to the man's mouth with quick breaths between bites.

"Can we go now?" Martin pleaded. She had finished her food and was preparing another cigarette.

"No, I want to smoke another cigarette and have another cup of coffee."

"Well make it fast." she gave him a strange look and he realized he had been speaking in hushed tones. He glanced over to the other table where the man had just finished the third plate of food. The man was paying them no attention.

Jocelyn had her cup refilled and martin fidgeted nervously while she drank and smoked. He glanced over at the man often to check his progress. He was almost done.

"Stop being so jumpy, we'll go in a minute." she said.

"Can't we go now?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, alright Martin, don't be such a crybaby. Let's go." She crushed out her cigarette. The man at the other table was wiping his mouth with his napkin for the first time. The plates were empty. He looked up and Martin glanced quickly away.

"Never stop caring, Martin. Whatever you do, never stop caring." Martin rose from his seat, refusing to meet the man's eyes.

He went quickly to the cashiers counter with Jocelyn trailing behind. He clutched her hand firmly. There was no one at the register and he had to ring the little bell a few times before a young lady came to help him. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that the man in the black jacket had risen and was approaching. The bill in his left hand. His right hand still in his pocket. Martin paid their bill quickly and pulled Joyceln towards the door.

The man was at the counter and was speaking. "I have no money to pay this bill"

"Pardon?" said the hostess.

"I have no money to pay this bill" the man said much louder. There was an audible click from his right pocket.

Martin bustled Jocelyn through the door and into the maelstrom outside. Looking back through the window as they hurried along the sidewalk toward the parking lot and the dry car, he saw the man pull the gun from the jacket pocket. The hostess's mouth was open but the thunder drowned out her yell if there was one. The man placed the gun under his chin.

It must have been a large caliber weapon because the report was quite loud outside. Jocelyn heard it and turned, then started at the sight. The man crumpled to the floor and Martin was surprised to see that the blood on the inside of the window ran down the glass faster than did the water on the outside. He reached out and placed his spread fingers on the ruby stained glass. Impossibly it seemed warm to his touch as he stood there shivering in the rain.

And then for the first time he could really feel it.

The lightning was about to strike.