It was late. She knew she should have been in bed hours ago but the storm pelting against the window seem to be as restless as her soul. Kimberly stood staring out toward the blacken night. A bolt of lightning hissed in sizzling slow motion to an open area between where she stood and the distant yard light. Rather than jumping in alarm as some would react, Kimberly tossed open the French door and stepped out on to the balcony. On this night the storm was welcome. It seemed to be calling to her. The thin gossamer lace of her robe ruffled up to brush along her neck. The soft touch in the cool nocturnal air was sensuous. She moaned a soft hum as she leaned her head to one side then shrugged her shoulder up for more of the caress. It was soft, gentle and reminded her of him.
Kimberly lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled his scent deeply. A smile crossed her pink lips at how silly he must think she was when it came to things that reminded her of him. His deodorant had become her perfume of choice, his shirt which he intended as sexy sleep wear was now a part of her wardrobe when she tossed it over a pair of fitted leggings. The wind sent her blond tresses billowing.
Time slipped by before she felt the moisture against her skin. The material of her robe was searching her body for a place to adhere from the tugging rage of the swirling winds. The storm increased and her thoughts began to float away, far far away; chasing the storm toward the ocean.
She leaned against the banister, careless and wanton. The sting of the rain hitting her skin was welcomed. Kimberly just wanted to feel, needed to feel something anything tonight. The longing inside was like a disease that had crawl from a dormant state to ravage her mind while it ignore the screams of her body. She knew she should be stronger, yet as the thunder cracked so did her resolve to honor her self-imposed integrity.
Kimberly turned her back on the storm to look inside the window of her home. It appeared a haven of warmth. The fireplace emitted a soft glow in the far corner of the room. The light green paint was so faint that only the darker contrast of the room bought out the whisper of color. She had chosen it specifically for that reason. Knowing she was a walking oxymoron, why not be surrounded with them as well. Her blue eyes scanned the hand sewn quilt that was tossed haphazardly across her sturdy oak bed. The lace of the ruffle draped onto the rough unfinished wooden floor. Her delicate white ballet slippers lay one on top of the other, the lavender furry rug hugging the sole. They defined the beginning and ending of each day for her.
Her lap top and the desk lamp flickered. The candle on the desk top illuminated the pixie perched on the in and out box. Papers were stacked in an orderly fashion but a couple of reference manuals and a dictionary were left open. My life, she thought as the lights flashed off leaving only the fire’s glow to light her way. Kimberly took a step toward the door when her eyes caught the outline of her coffee cup; the steam rising in wisps toward the cool night air.
A shiver past through her as the dampness lay upon her skin, the pale color heighten in contrast to the dark night. No stars to guide her, only the wicked lightning and thunder cracking like a bullwhip. Kimberly stopped short of stepping inside, one hand on the golden handle to safety. She turned toward the storm in deviance.
“I’m not stronger than this,” softly spoken yet loud enough to be caught upon a shard of wind. Her eyes followed the words as they swirled through the air dodging the zapping lightning and running from the thunder. They had a destination, they had to find his ears to warn him she was weak and frightened.
Her tongue found her lips, licking them tenderly. She tasted the salt of her tears; the evidence of her emotion, her love and her passion, seeping out in her weak moment. Her body flex hard with the vibration of the thunder rolling from the sky to the earth. Her hand squeezed the handle in her hand determined to hold on for as long as possible. She may not survive until the end but she would give it one hell of a fight, she resolved mentally.
There was a point to enduring the storm. She felt it just as real as the soaked fabric coating her body, sticking to her thighs and stomach. Kimberly took a moment as the sky illuminated her haven, to appreciate where she was and who she was. The horses rushed toward the barn and cattle were laying low on the high ground for protection from the roughness of the night. The water of the pond rippled as it reached its bank and threatened to spill soon. Then her eye scanned the open meadow that lined her driveway. Fresh cut and manicured, each blade standing at attention begging for more. That is where she discovered it, the tiny amulet of hope on this night.
She raced through the house, down the stairs leaving a wet trail as she flung open the front door and darted wildly into the eye of the storm. The fear she had previously felt fading with each thump of her bare feet in the squishy red dirt. The grass magnetized to the skirt of her robe. Kimberly didn’t give a damn, she was on a mission. Her hand raised in the black night searching for the switch to light her path. She had to find it. Please she begged from her core, Please.
Kimberly slowed her progression to recall the vague space. She turned around searching for the object. It was just here, she screamed, Please, I need it. She fell to her knees, lifted her face toward the heaven in ultimate submission to her need being irrelevant. As she lowered her eyes, tears mixed with the rain, she saw the ray of hope. A solitary stream of lightning showed her the way. She scrambled through the mud to embrace it. The tiny flower stood in revered respect of the storm, its stem rigid and tall, the petals waved teasingly. She needed to hold it, feel it, to know that it was his way of showing he believed in her. He may not have planted the flower or caused the storm; but she had no doubt he loved her and that was all the hope she needed.