​

​

​

Frances’s Day Off

 

 

 

     It was 5am Monday morning in late February, still nice and dark.

     Frances woke up to her alarm clock like any other workday.  She got up and thus set the hamster wheel in motion one more time.  A quick cup of coffee, dash of makeup and out the door to the car.

     She was about halfway to work when the rain began.  Now Frances was not exactly dressed for rain but didn’t mind the rain.  She owned no umbrella.  Because the number of time she’d ever wished for an umbrella was zero.  See, it was only sprinkling.  California gets sprinkles.  

     She arrived at the workplace parking lot where the plan, same as always, was to simply walk from her car to the door of her building.

     She cut the car’s engine.  Man, she was sleepy.  Too much booze over the weekend.  She’d have to remember to start making stronger coffee.

     At the very least the walk to the building and a sprinkle of cold raindrops might help wake her right up.  Better than a cup of coffee.

     How was Frances to know what she was in for? 

     As she opened the car door there came a sudden downpour the likes of which no Californian had ever seen save on a television screen. Apocalyptic rains hammered down, deafening, roaring in a sudden display of Greek god anger.

     Frances beheld the familiar parking lot in disbelief of the machine-gunning the asphalt was taking.  Gripping her bag in both hands, Frances leaned into the torrential downpour and hurried through the parking lot.  She could barely keep her eyes open as she was struck seemingly from all angles by a flurry of fat raindrops. 

     Was the sky mad at her for the booze?

     The hoodie she was wearing was a rainy day joke, the camisole underneath saturated against her skin.  Her jeans became soggy and heavy, her sneakers and socks soaked through in a matter of seconds.

     Better than a cup of coffee?

     Right.

     Still, Frances found the sidewalk and kept splashing along.  A most dedicated hamster was Frances. 

     When she got to her building she slammed through the double glass doors in a burst of flying droplets.  The building security guard glanced up from his cell phone.  

     Frances looked as though she’d just emerged from a lake.  Her hair was a soaked rat’s nest, her face streaked with mascara tears.

     Frustrated?  Upset?  A trifle angry?  Nope, it didn’t even occur to Frances to feel that way.  Not even slightly.

     Here is what she did.  She turned around and walked right back out into the madness of Mother Nature.  Once again in the downpour she ran all the way back to her car, dripping, splashing, sloshing.  She got in and squelched down, soaking the car seat.  Shoes squeaking on the brake pedal, Frances whipped out her trusty cell phone and called in sick to her boss one block up the street:  Ah, it was a real shame she wouldn’t be making it in today.

     And then Frances drove into the lunatic storm… All the way back home.

     She noted with some puzzlement that the weather gods were apparently playing games with her.  It was just as she pulled up to her apartment when the torrential rain cut off. 

     Frances went inside the warm apartment and threw her rain-soaked bag to the floor.  She took the wet clothes off and went back to bed.

​

     Later, Frances woke up and saw it had begun to rain again—the kind of sprinkles California was used to—so she opened windows, lit candles, cooked vegetable beef soup on the stove and toasted garlic bread.  She sat by the open window and ate soup. 

     But the festivities were not done.

     Frances had just finished supper when she heard a sound.  Sounded like electric fans… or…?

     Frances liked electric fans for their movement of air.  She stationed one high up in every room.

     But now, Frances listened to this sound… it sounded like the fans were all on at once, though she could remember turning none on. 

     No.  The sound was coming from outside.

     How was Frances to suspect the sight she was about to behold?

     She turned the door knob and …. 

     It sounded like the Pacific Ocean itself was beyond her door.  The rain had given way to winds moving at speeds no one ever fathomed outside of tornados and hurricanes.   Frances would tell you that she liked moving air, but this.... this was the Jupiter of all winds.  It sounded alive. Trees whipped around at death defying angles.  Windows shook everywhere.  Shuttling birds flew in the night like punted footballs.  France’s apartment was actually creaking… and the ROARING sound of the wind…

     The sky was at war.

     So Frances took a few steps outside into this severe weather system.  It was impossible to stand up straight in the wind.  Above, dark purple night clouds flew past like war planes.   Frances spotted a row of tree silhouettes on the other side of the complex, their trunks leaning impossibly sideways.  Any one of them could snap and come crashing down with the next vicious gust, the next strike…

     It was then that Frances realized something. 

     Something vital.

     This was the best sick day ever.