by Randy Ribay
He glances back at the tornado. The distance between them is closing rapidly. It seems only a minute or two away.
Dante takes a deep breath, hops to his feet, and then rushes to the car using all his strength to push against the wind that seems to come from every direction. He yanks open the door. Startled, Sam stares at Dante. He opens his mouth to say something, but Dante doesn’t wait to hear what—he grabs Sam by the arm and pulls him out of the vehicle.
Dante drags Sam through the wind until they reach the ditch, and then he shoves him down to the ground next to Mari and Archie. Dante lowers himself on top of his friends, stretching out his arms to shield them as much as possible even though it means he can’t cover his own head.
Their clothes billow. Dust and dirt whip against Dante’s skin. Mari’s hair flies in his face.
Frightened and only half-believing in the reality of their situation, he braces for the worst.
The hail seems to cease, but their world becomes the wind. It does not seem possible, but the wind grows even louder, it blows even stronger. It roars and whips the tall grass into a frenzy. It drowns out the universe.
Dante hears something whistle by overhead. Several more objects whizz through the air.
Archie starts to look up, but Dante pushes his head down. A fraction of a second later, another object zooms past, grazing the air just inches above them.
“I’m so alone,” Sam says.
“I want my mom,” Mari says.
“I’m scared,” Archie says.
“I’m gay,” Dante says.
Suddenly, there’s the sound of bursting glass. A moment later, something scrapes across the back of Dante’s arms like a hundred razor blades. He grits his teeth. Leaves his head unprotected to cover his friends. They need him now more than ever.
But as suddenly as it started, the wind begins to die down. The rain passes. Silence settles all around them.
Finally, Dante looks up. “It’s gone.”
The dark funnel has disappeared. The wall of storm clouds has moved on, and in its place are insubstantial, white clouds and a shock of blue sky. Sunlight peeks through. The contrast is surreal.
Dante pushes himself up, uncovering his friends, and falls back onto his butt. Blood trickles down his arms. He feels no pain but knows it’s gathering.
Archie and Mari roll onto their backs. They kiss and then look up to watch the sky transform, at once apocalyptic and heavenly.
Sam climbs to his feet. “That was fucking scary,” he says. He brushes off the dirt and grass clinging to his clothes. “Well. Let’s go.”
Dante closes his eyes and says a silent prayer of thanks.
An Arrow Unloosed
Sunday, 10:49 A.M.
After he finishes duct taping a semi-transparent plastic garbage bag where the side window used to be, Sam closes the car door and steps back to examine his work.
“See? We don’t need to stop. It’s fine.”
Mari, Dante, and Archie eye the window’s sad stand-in.
“Maybe this is a sign that we should go home,” Mari says.
“We’ve already come this far,” Sam says. “We can replace it in Seattle. I’ll put it on my dad’s credit card.”
She sighs. “Fine.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says. “And because you’re being such a good sport, tell you what: I’ll even drive the next leg.”
“How generous,” she says, and then turns toward Dante. “How’s your arm?”
Dante twists his shoulder to reveal a number of red scrapes running the length of his forearm. Rivulets of bright red blood drip down his skin.
Mari moves closer and examines his cuts. “It doesn’t look like any pieces are still in there. But let’s go clean it. Then we can change into some dry clothes. Get some lunch. My treat.”
Dante nods. He heads down the walkway toward the travel center along with Mari and Archie, who are holding hands.
Sam hops onto the trunk of the car and slips a cigarette between his lips. He lights it as he surveys the parking lot, the damp pavement glistening under a bright sun. It is as if there had never been a storm, as if the world had not just nearly taken their lives.
What if it had?
The parking lot is filled with people milling about their cars, talking to strangers about the storm, about what they heard, what they saw, what they know. Even without being part of their conversations, Sam senses the nervous energy, the lingering fear mixed with excitement and coated with disbelief. He feels it, too.
He takes a long drag from his cigarette and then checks his phone. Still no e-mails or texts or calls from Sarah. After the message he left for her last night, he’s been expecting something. For better, or for worse.
Sam exhales a puff of smoke and dials her number. It rings a couple of times and then goes to voicemail. He ends the call and then slips the phone back into his pocket.
“Mind if I bum one?” an old man in a trucker hat says as he walks up to Sam. One of the man’s shirtsleeves is folded and pinned to the shoulder. He only has one arm.
Without saying anything, Sam hands a cigarette to the man.
“A little help?” the man says, tilting his head toward his missing limb.
“Sorry,” Sam says and lights it for him. The old man nods his appreciation as he stands opposite Sam, staring into the distance.
“Hell of a storm,” the man says.
Sam nods.
“Largest twister I seen in a long while. Were y’all near it?”
“Kind of,” says Sam.
“From what I hear, two young people died up the road. People saying they was just married. Matter of fact, on their way to the airport for their honeymoon.” He shakes his head. “A goddamn shame.”
“At least they died together,” Sam says.
The man lifts his hat and runs a hand through what little hair remains on the top of his head. “Take it from an old man. Don’t matter if you got somebody next to you. Every damn person who ever lived died by himself.”
“So then what’s the point?”
“The point is how you live, not how you die. And you ask me, the way to live is to surround yourself with those you love.” The man takes a long drag, letting his old man wisdom sink in. Noticing the car’s license plate between Sam’s feet, he asks, “A long way from home, eh?”
Sam shrugs.
“Where y’all headed?”
Sam doesn’t feel up to explaining where he’s going and why he’s going there. Maybe a t-shirt would be best. Instead, he just says, “West.”
The man nods. “So how you like North Dakota?”
“Besides the fact it just tried to kill me?”
The man laughs. “You can’t take it personal, son. It’s just weather. It has to get like that sometimes so it can get like this.” The man gestures toward the clear skies just as a few birds flit by overhead.
Sam surveys the flat fields. “It felt personal.”
“You from the city, eh?
“Kind of.”
“Well, just give it a chance,” the old man says. “It’s actually kind of nice. Quiet enough to think. Space enough to breathe.” The man exhales a puff of smoke. “Yup. Born and raised in these fields. I’ll probably be buried in them soon enough.” He drops his cigarette and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot. “Anyways, a young person like you probably doesn’t want to listen to the ramblings of an old, one-armed man like me. You probably got a pretty girlfriend to get back to. But thanks for the smoke and the conversation. You have yourself a good trip, wherever you end up.”
“Likewise,” Sam says.
The old man nods once more and then walks away.
There’s something about the man that reminds him of one of Sarah’s uncles. Sam had accompanied Sarah to his wedding last summer. But about halfway through the reception, she disappeared. Left alone, Sam just sat at the table and watched people dance. Her uncle had sat down next to Sam and they talked for a bit. He was actually a pretty interest
ing guy. Had gone to clown school in Paris before buying a bar in South Philly. Still. He wasn’t Sarah.
After her uncle left to mingle with the other guests, Sam had wandered around trying to find Sarah. He finally found her outside. She was out back, on a bench. Sitting on some guy’s lap, passing a cigarette back and forth. One of the waiters, she later explained. She knew him back in elementary school, she explained. She also explained that nothing had happened.
Sam believed it at the time. Thinking back on it now, though, he begins to have his doubts.
Sam checks the time on his phone and considers trying Sarah again. But he looks up to find Mari, Archie, and Dante standing next to him. Mari wears a sympathetic expression.
“What’s up?” Sam asks.
She holds her phone out to him. “Read it.”
It’s a long text, split over several messages.
From Sarah.
He reads:
Mari, are you actually on your way here with sam??? i really hope not. i really hope that rambling, incomprehensible message he left for me in the middle of the night was just a drunk dial and nothing more. if you are—TURN AROUND. PLEASE GO BACK HOME. DO NOT COME TO SEATTLE. yes, i love him. yes, i miss him. but it’s over. i’ve told him that. please. i’m not trying to be a bitch. i miss all of you guys and would love everyone to visit. but not like this. not for this. sam and i are over. that chapter of our lives is done. please help him realize this. if you’re really on your way here with him, you’re not helping him. you’re enabling him. if you guys want be good friends, help him move on!!!
Sam lifts his eyes from the screen. Smiles. “She said she loves me. She misses me.”
Mari snatches back her cell. “Are you an idiot? Did you read the entire thing?”
Sam hops off the car. “You guys ready?”
“Sam,” Dante says. “We need to go home.”
“Game over,” Archie says.
Sam shakes his head. “This is just the low point in the story. The final test of the hero’s resolve.”
“Unbelievable,” Mari says.
“I’m going to call Sarah and tell her I still love her, too. I’m going to tell her that nothing can stop me.”
Sam starts dialing Sarah’s number, but Mari slaps him in the side of his head. He drops his phone and it clatters onto the pavement.
“What the fuck?” he asks. He spits out his cigarette, and he picks up the phone. “You broke it.” He shows her the screen, now a web of cracked glass.
Mari snatches the phone from his hand, and tosses it into the tall grass. “It’s for your own good.”
Dante runs a hand over the top of his head. “It’s over, Sam. We need to go home. I’m sorry.” He puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam shakes it away.
“No. We can’t turn around. We can’t give up. Not when we’re almost there. I haven’t won her back yet.”
“Let’s go, buddy. The psychosis will pass,” Archie says.
“Leave him,” Dante says. “He just needs to calm down.”
Archie, Dante, and Mari walk through the wet grass toward a picnic table.
“Please,” Sam begs. “I need to get to Seattle. I need to get to Sarah.”
He follows after them and grabs Mari by the arm.
“Just wait, I—”
But before he can finish his sentence, Archie rips his hand off Mari’s arm and slams his fist into the side of Sam’s head.
Sam stumbles backward and trips to the ground. He stares at Archie. Rubs the spot where his friend struck him.
People turn to stare. A small dog barks at the end of a leash. Nobody moves to help Sam.
Mari turns on Archie. “What the hell?!”
“He was going to hurt you!”
“No he wasn’t—you didn’t need to hit him. I’m not some damsel in distress here for you to save!”
“You should be thanking me,” Archie says, shaking off the pain in his hand.
“And you,” Mari says, ignoring Archie and addressing Sam. “My mom has cancer. She might die. Her life might end. And what are you so pissed about? Your girlfriend dumping you? Boo-fucking-hoo. She doesn’t want to be with you, and showing up on her doorstep isn’t going to change that—we’re not in some movie. But you know what? Even though you’re a colossally self-absorbed, whiney jackass, you’re only eighteen. You will meet other girls. Chances are, some of them are going to be dumb enough to like you. So move on. This isn’t the end of your fucking life.”
Noticing that Dante is moving to help Sam, Archie turns his anger on him. “Why are you helping that asshole? What—are you in love with him?”
Dante stares at Archie in disbelief, realizing for the first time that his confession was not lost in the storm. But Dante needs to hear someone say it aloud.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dante finally asks.
A shadow passes over Archie’s face. “You know what it means, fag.” The word leaves his mouth like an arrow unloosed.
Dante’s shoulders sag. His eyes lose their light.
Archie turns around. He puts his hands behind his head, and watches the cars rushing by on the highway. He knows it was wrong, but his anger is too fresh to apologize.
Mari shakes her head and walks away from everyone.
Unnoticed, Sam rises to his feet.
He walks back to the car, and he pulls the keys from his pocket.
He opens the driver’s side door and climbs behind the wheel.
He starts the car.
Sam peers at his friends through the windshield and sees their faces colored with shock. They’re looking at one another, uncertain of what is happening, of what they should—or can—do. As they start to wander toward him, he waves goodbye and pulls out of the parking space. But he only travels a few feet before Archie leaps onto the hood, his body sprawling across the windshield like some gigantic, bespectacled bug.
Sam continues driving but clicks on the windshield wipers. They only swing a few inches before flapping uselessly against Archie’s side.
Archie pounds on the windshield with a fist. “Stop the car, dickhead!”
Sam hears Mari and Dante making a similar plea from somewhere nearby. He glances in their direction but cannot see through the plastic bag that now serves as the side window.
Despite the fact that Archie blocks most of his view, Sam accelerates.
Archie clings to the window, holding on with all of his strength. “Are you insane?!” he shouts. “Stop!”
“Sam!” he hears Mari shout. “There’s a kid in front of you!”
Sam slams on the breaks. The car skids to a stop. Archie tumbles off the hood and rolls across the pavement. Mari rushes to him.
The window cleared, Sam’s eyes scan the area for the child he might have hit.
But there is no kid. Anywhere.
“There’s no kid,” he says to himself. He slams his fists on the steering wheel. “There’s no kid! You lied to me!”
Dante rips open the plastic covering the side window, reaches inside, and plucks the keys from the ignition.
“Get out,” he says.
Sam watches as Mari hunches over Archie’s crumpled form. People gather around. Some look inside the car at Sam, wondering what the hell is going on. Others take out their phones trying to determine if they should call the police.
Archie stirs and slowly sits up. He shakes his head. He gropes the ground for his glasses. Mari finds them and places them in his palm. He puts them on. One lens is cracked. He flashes everyone a thumbs-up. Mari says something to the small crowd, and they begin to disperse.
Dante repeats his command to Sam. “Get out.”
When Sam neither replies nor moves, Dante climbs into the passenger seat.
Sam hangs his head. They sit together in silence.
“Is it true?” Sam asks. “You’re gay?”
Dante sighs. And then nods.
“That’s cool. Sorry, about last night, though. I can’t remember all of what I said. But
I’m sure at least some of it was ignorant.”
Dante lets the apology hang in the air.
A line of cars begins to accumulate behind them, honking with gathering impatience. Dante hits the hazards, reaches his uninjured arm through the broken window, and gestures for people to drive around.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Sam says.
“You hit Archie with your car.”
“No, not that. I mean with Sarah.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then tell me why she dumped me, Dante.”
“She moved.”
“Bullshit,” Sam says. “If she loved me, then she would have at least tried to make this work.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.”
“It’s not. We always think we know what’s going on with other people, but we don’t. We can’t.”
They watch Mari help Archie to his feet. He throws one arm over her shoulder and she helps him limp over to the car. Archie slides into the back seat, and Mari climbs in on the other side. She smacks Sam on the back of the head.
“You could have killed him.”
“Sorry,” Sam says.
“Why are we still in the middle of the parking lot?” she asks. “Let’s go home.”
Dante holds up the keys and looks at Sam. “I’m going to put these back in, but don’t take off for Seattle. Park, so we can talk this through.”
Sam nods. Dante inserts the key and starts the engine, and Sam does as requested.
Everyone gazes out the windows for a long time, watching the cars and people come and go. Nobody speaks because nobody knows what to say anymore. Nothing seems right. Words seem dangerous, as if to speak would be to light a match in room filled with gas.
But Sam eventually does. “I wasn’t asleep,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” Mari asks.
“Back there. When we pulled over in the storm. I was awake.”
“Then why didn’t you get out of the car?”
He shrugs. “I just thought, like what’s the fucking point? Sarah was the only person who ever cared about me.”
All of their minds go to the window that is no more. They had found it busted after they returned to the car once the storm had passed. A mangled, old muffler sat on the front seat amidst the pebbles of broken glass that had not been carried away by the wind.