LOL, Rough Weather in the SE :D

Apparently as I’m typing, a major SE city is or just got pounded by a storm.  I know cuz’ Bro called, and I’m still laughing.

I hear Bro.  It sounds like he’s in a minisub or something – like bursts of bubbles from an aquarium.

“Yo,” I say.

“Yo,” he says.  More bubbles.  Bubbles. “It’s dark out here.”  He’s driving.  “There’s a column up ahead.”

“An udder?” I ask.  Udders are precursors of tornados; something our family has reason to fear.

“No, it’s a column.  . . . .  and it’s coming down.  It’s straight ahead.”  You can’t get off the road in this city: speeds are typically 75+ mph, 10 lanes wide.

“Well,” I say dryly, chuckling, “Say hello to Dorothy when you arrive.”

“It ain’t Dorothy I’m worried about,” he says worriedly.  “It’s those damned flyin’ monkeys.”

I laugh.

“I thought the flying monkeys were cute.” (me)

“It’s getting darker . . . damn, black.  Looking for hail . . .” (him)

“Well,” I say as his phone starts cutting in and out.  “You don’t have to worry about the wicked witch.  She’s at her house down the road about four miles from here.” (Meaning mom.)

static, hiss . . . dial tone.

Well, I think, hanging up the phone.  I hope the flying monkeys didn’t get him.  And laugh, but a tad worried, okay?  My brother is a survivor, like me: tough, realistic, gritty.  Like most survivors in a pinch.

Ten minutes later I get a call.

rustle rustle . . . tap . . .  soft knock . . .

“Yo?” I say.  Then louder.  Then I whistle in the phone, wondering: is he laid up somewhere? Sucked up by a tornado and spit out?  Car turned over?  Not worried, mind you: I’m well aware of what I can and cannot do, and don’t worry about what I have no control over.  (A handy skill, you might wanna learn it if you haven’t already.)

Then I hear the sound of someone urinating.  Splish splash.

I laugh.

Pocket dial.  Sign of the times; only with a cell phone.

And am relieved, because I know: he made it home.

And then hang up.

Kewl.

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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