I started writing this story during my Computer Applications class freshman year of high school. The starting image was always in my head, and somehow this story grew from it. I rewrote it again sophomore year for a prose project, and got an A. Not that the grade really matters... I just wanted to write it.
The StormI was inside the time the storm hit, watching intently behind the glass of the bay window. It was like watching the edge of a paper towel touch a puddle of black ink, the blackness spreading far and thick. As I watch the sky become a sheet of tar, my mother was yelling at my brother, because she had finally found it. Underneath George's bed, in the box labeled, "ROCKS" which he thought she would never look in. The camera. The 700 dollar camera that my brother had bought by being a bartender at Shucky's after school. The 700 dollar camera that my brother bought with the money he earned. The 700 dollar camera my mother would kill him for if she knew he earned it by working in a bar.
My mother had two rules in life, Never Sneak Behind Her Back and Never Work in a Bar. Father never told Mother what he was doing, and when she found out, something in the house of his was buried in the backyard, as if it would ease her pain of deceit. I don't blame her. Some of the things Father did Mother wouldn't dream of telling me, but she told George so I found out. Father also worked in a bar. Father died when I was three, of alcohol poisoning. One night, he was working at the bar. Some men offered to buy him shots, and didn't stop until my father was passed out on the floor. The men that were there just pulled him into a booth and left him there to sleep himself to death. Pity I never got to meet the man. Then again I wouldn't have to suffer every day like Mother does. Mother has never recovered. If Father didn't die of alcohol poisoning, I'm sure Mother would have been an alcoholic by now.
"Mother, honestly, I won the camera in a school contest. The winner got an amount of money, and I used it to buy the camera!" George might have her.
"What was the contest for, huh? George, don't lie to me, don't be your father George!" Mother's face looked like an onion, her veins lined her forehead, her face flushed to a deep purple. I knew it, I knew she would drop the Father bomb on George. What was George going to say, now?
"It was a photo contest! Best photo wins 500 dollars! You don't believe me? Mother, you've seen my pictures!" Well, 200 dollars off isn't bad.
"
I've also seen a 5-year-old with a camera take the exact same pictures!" Mother's voice chilled the room. Goosebumps covered my arms, and my face trickled with sweat, as if I had the flu.
Now at this point the room got a shade darker, and I glanced out the window to see the storm rolling in, the black clouds twisting over the white ones, the black ink on the paper towel. My trustworthiness to George, my self-worth to my mother. One or the other, I couldn't have both. My brain tugged at each thought. Tell Mother the truth, and I'd be the saint to Mother, the devil to George. Keep my mouth shut, and watch my faithful brother try to hold his tears back as Mother stabbed at his weak points, Father and photography. I couldn't have both in this situation.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Rain and hail pelted the windows, and George gulped as a tear trickled down his red cheek. My brother crying, versus the truth. Cry, Truth. Pain, Pain. The battle continued, inside and outside.
As soon as it stopped raining hard, Mother left the home. She told me she didn't know what to do about George and his camera, and decided to stay the night with Aunt Clara, who lived across town, so she could calm down. I hugged her good-bye, and watched her red station wagon pull out of the driveway, and into the road. I pulled the curtains tightly over the window, unable to watch the storm any longer. George was sitting in the green armchair across from the bay window where I was sitting.
" Thanks." George broke the silence.
" No problem."
" No, really! Thank you, kiddo! You really saved my skin! I'm sorry for making you keep this from Mother. How did you stop yourself from just blurting out, 'George is working at Shucky's as their bartender! He works there at night!'? I mean, how did you find the self-control? How?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
" I just didn't want to live with you hating me while you were locked in your room for eternity." I shrugged. George laughed, his eyes glistened like Father's did every time he laughed.
" I'm going to call her up and tell her. I'm going to tell her I'm not an alcoholic, and people like me a lot more then Father. She has to come to her senses one of these days that I'm not a carbon copy of Father. I am George Matthew Bowmen, who works at a bar to get enough cash for the camera. I can't live in a lie forever. I don't want to bury myself in a hole like Father did. I don't." George crossed his arms across his chest, glanced over at me, and laughed.
" What is so funny?" I asked. He jumped up, and ran from the room. He returned with the camera, loading it with film as he walked. He clicked the camera shut, then smiled at me.
" Look, it's stopped raining, but the clouds are moving. This roll of film is black-and-white, so hurry up." He threw me my fitted black dress coat, and he threw on his old Green Bay jacket. He held the door for me as I ran outside, then he ran after me.
" Go stand over the pond." He ordered, pointing to the pond a few feet from where I was standing. I ran over, water sloshing everywhere, and George stood on the other side of me. I peered into the murky water, seeing my face in the reflection, watching the clouds in the sky swirling above me.
" Hold it." George yelped, as I heard his camera click a few times. Then George grabbed a thick, green, camping tarp, and we ran to the driveway. We spread the tarp over the messy driveway, then laid on our backs, watching the storm clouds roll over us. George clicked a few pictures, then we rolled up the tarp. He went inside first, and just as his foot hit the 'WELCOME' mat, rain began to pour again. He jumped inside the doorway.
" Hurry up! You'll get all wet!"
" Too late for that, Bowmen!" I cried back. As the rain poured over me, soaking me to the bone, I noticed that right by the doormat, right where George had stepped, a flower was poking up from between the concrete cracks, as if to say, " Ha, ha Rain! I beat you!". I looked at the doorway to see George on the phone again. Reading his face, I knew he was talking to Mother. As the rain poured even harder, I watched George's face scrunch up in anger, then grow soft from sadness, then red and tense from anger again, then finally his face was calm, and his eyes glistened just the tiniest bit, as if he was a little happy.
" I love you, too, Mother. I promise, NEVER to keep a secret from you again. I'm sorry, too. Come home when you are ready. Bye."
As soon as he turned the phone off, the rain stopped. George walked out with a blanket, and covered me with it, rubbing my back with his warm hand.
" Everything is okay, kiddo. Everything will be better." He reassured me, and as we stepped on the doormat, I noticed the flower was gone. I stopped, and began looking for it. George asked me what on earth was I doing, and I told him, there was a flower right where he was standing. He began to look too, but there was no flower. As I stood up, dusting off my knees, George gasped and pointed to the sky. A huge rainbow cascaded across the now blue sky, and I noticed a red station wagon in the distance, heading home. George grabbed his camera, took one picture, realizing the film wasn't color, and sighed.
" Remember this, kiddo. Remember this." George whispered, and we walked into the house.
