Saturday's Storyteller: Nimbostratus

Nimbostratus
by Belinda Roddie

Watch me: I'm holding a cloud in the palm of my hand. See, it dances. It's light. Surprisingly warm. If it's going to rain, it will only drench my fingers. Nothing else.

See her: I view her like a little sister. I see that light. The cloud I hold doesn't get close. But there may be shadows. Light always comes with shadows.

Why must I take the onus of others' potential darknesses? My expectations may very well fall like rain. Trust soaked in sewage. Silent treatment the only option. Because if I didn't do that, I would just scream.

Two people in love. Maybe three. Maybe four. Maybe more. Is it mutual? Is it consensual? Is there communication? Is there patience? We cannot dance with each others' demons if we don't try to practice the choreography.

I don't dance. I just stand there, watching the gala. Palming the little cloud. Waiting for it to burst. To inundate me.

And I'll learn to breathe in the storm.