Brain Storm by Cat Gilbert (ebook reader computer .txt) 📕
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I LOOKED OUT over the debris field that used to be my dining room, more than a little appalled at the damage I’d managed to inflict. Heaven help me, there were actual dents in the walls from where I’d thrown the spoons, which had then bounced off and were now littered across the floor. I had gone through all the teaspoons of my everyday cheap-ware, as I liked to refer to it, and in a moment of pure insanity, moved on to the good silver service that I had inherited from my Grandmother. My thinking was that maybe the difference in metals would make a difference. But no. Didn’t make a bit of difference at all.
There was one spoon left in the chest, and I eyed it carefully, debating whether to give it one more try or just skip the process and throw it across the room to join the others. The indecision was probably a good thing. My anger was apparently ratcheting down a bit. The morning had been a real roller coaster of emotions. It had started out fairly normal, and then that whole fear and panic thing came into play. That had evolved into desperation, which instigated the whole spoon idea and finally the anger, which resulted in the dents in the wall.
I was a little ashamed of the dents. I’d always prided myself on being able to keep a lid on my anger. I’d had a lot of practice at it. In my line of work, as a criminal investigator, it was imperative, as there was a lot to be angry about, and more times than not, negative consequences if you couldn’t keep it under control. The trick was to channel it. Use it for good and all that. This time, though, I’d lost control, and it bothered me. What bothered me even more, was the fear that had nearly consumed me, before the anger had taken hold. Anger I could deal with. Fear was fatal and something I couldn’t afford to let in. I knew that from experience. Just the thought of the morning’s events sent a dangerous trickle down my spine, and I tamped it down quickly. How had it come to this? I had no idea, but I knew how it had begun. Or at least, I thought I did.
* * *
IT HAD ALL started a few months before. How many, I couldn’t say, but it was before I had moved into the condo. It wasn’t one of those things that you really pay attention to. I mean, if someone asked you the last time you wore something blue, you’d be hard pressed to remember the exact date and time, right? How are you supposed to remember when something huge happens, when you don’t realize that it’s all that important at the time?
The first time which I was aware of, it had just been one of those quirky things. I had come home from the grocery store, and it had been doing that rainy sleet mix type of thing that you hate to have to go out in. The stuff that stings your face and manages to somehow get down the back of your coat no matter how much you bundle up. It doesn’t happen that often in central Arkansas, but it does happen, and when it does, we are totally unprepared for it. They do fine with snow plows and sand, but people forget how to drive in those conditions, as infrequently as it happens, and only a few people, mostly skiers, have the proper clothing for it. Not being a skier, I was neither prepared, nor dressed properly, so I was understandably irritated when I remembered that I, unfortunately, couldn’t pull into the garage as it was full of junk. Faced with no other option, I was forced to use the front door, which was taking the brunt of the storm.
Observing what seemed to be a slight lull of the onslaught, I decided to make a run for it. Clenching my keys between my teeth, I grabbed my purse, two bags of groceries, a megapack of toilet paper and pushed my way out past the steering wheel. Both hands full, I somehow managed to kick the car door closed while keeping the other leg under me and successfully made the mad dash to the front door.
Why I didn’t leave the toilet paper in the car until later, I’ll never know. That’s one of those decisions you question after you get to the door and realize you don’t have a hand free to use the keys and get inside. By then it’s too late, and you just have to deal with it. I had just shifted the load and was reaching for the keys when somehow they fell onto the porch and into a puddle of watery ice.
There was no way I was going to set the bags down in that slush. Again, a decision that seemed reasonable at the time and in hindsight was incredibly stupid. It would have been so much simpler to at least put the toilet paper down. It was encased in plastic and stood a good chance of surviving the slush. But no. I did what any other person would have done in my situation. I jammed everything up against the door and tried to hold it there while reaching for my keys. This would have worked fine except for the fact that I needed arms about 12 inches longer, but with that ‘never say die’ attitude that rears its head at the most inopportune moments, I strained and wiggled, hoping to keep the bags up and somehow reach those keys at the same time. I was to the point of one last try, knowing I’d never reach them when suddenly the keys were in my hand. At the time, I was a little surprised, but relief outweighed surprise, and I had pretty much managed to forget about it until the following week.
This time, I was after a jar of peanut butter. I store all the spare stuff on the top shelf of one of my wall cabinets and that particular day, I was in need of a fresh jar of peanut butter. I could see it from my vantage point - right there toward the front, but stretch and strain as I might, the jar danced around just at the end of my fingertips. Do I have a step stool just for such circumstances? Yes indeed. Did I stop and go get it? No, I did not. I mean it was clear in the other room in the storage closet. I had managed to get it up there without help from the step stool. I just knew I could reach it, but try as I might, it persisted in evading my scrambling fingers. Finally, on what I had decided was my last try before breaking down and getting the stool, it happened.
Standing on tiptoe, one foot coming completely off the floor in the effort, the jar was suddenly in my hand. I mean in my hand as if someone had slapped it in there. Like a baseball in the catcher’s mitt. Startled, I jumped back and managed to drop the jar of peanut butter, which then hit the floor and pretty much exploded, leaving globs of greasy brown goo on just about everything, including my pant legs and shoes. I just stood there staring at it, not really seeing the mess. Instead, I was remembering the key incident and how they too, had practically jumped into my hand.
That’s when the thought first flashed across my mind. I dismissed it almost as soon as I thought it, as it seemed utterly ridiculous. Unfortunately, the spark had been lit, and it started to smolder. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on, but since there wasn’t any explanation for it or, at least a logical one, the best choice seemed to try and put the whole thing out of my mind. Which worked great until this morning when my whole ‘just forget about it’ plan was laid to waste. The fact that something was definitely wrong hit me about the same time the coffee did.
* * *
IT BEGAN AS a normal morning. I was stopping for my regular coffee at my regular coffee shop. Everything was as it should be except, this morning, everyone else in the city had decided to stop for coffee too. The line was long, and I am not the most patient of people, especially when I haven’t had my hit of caffeine yet. There were seven people ahead of me in line. Seven. And the guy ordering was having a hard time deciding what to get.
Now who does that? Stands in line
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