You Say When

Prologue

She sat at the water's edge; in a dingy gray, moss-encrusted plastic chair that was once white. The sky above was heavy with gray clouds. The trees swayed lightly in the breeze, signaling an oncoming storm. A drop or two of rain pecked her on her cheeks that poked out from the cover of her hood.

Looking out at the water, she pulled her jacket closer around her torso, hugging herself as a few more drops hit her skin. The water was brownish green at the shore. Hazy outlines of seaweed and pond growth peeked out across the glassy surface. Farther in, the shadows deepened, turning the water a brackish black that caused a shiver to run down her spine. The delicate surface of the lake rippled as another gust of wind spanned its width. A storm was coming. She knew that. But she stayed in that plastic chair, rooted in place. She imagined the muddy, wet sands beneath her feet piling up to engulf her shoes, sucking her farther into the muck, binding her to that place. She sighed deeply, knowing that if the sands did do such a thing, she would not mind; for the bright pink of her water shoes was too garish for the drab scene spread out before her. She imagined the pink fabric turning a dismal gray to match.

The burble of rain increased as the drops began to fall in a more violent stream. She made no move to protect herself from the dampness that was growing in the fabric covering her arms and head. Circular ripples spanned across the water as the rain made its impact. A drizzle of water beaded off her hood, splashing her nose on the descent.

The clouds were thick and dark now, a grumble of thunder issuing a warning in the distance. The temperature had dropped; the once muggy, comfortable afternoon turned cool. The bugs that had buzzed around her head had vanished to hidden shelters and the silence she'd allowed herself to indulge in was gone with the onslaught of rain.

The wind was gusting regularly now. One particular furl of air toyed with her hood, lifting it gently by one finger before placing it down again. It did this two or so times more before growing bored of the game and tossing the hood back with a final jerk.

The sudden exposure made her flinch, but other than that her face remained flat, emotionless, as she stared unseeingly at the storm unraveling before her.

As the rain's steady tempo increased to a jarring thump, the wind whistled and the clouds finally let loose their full power. The falling beads became pellet-sized stings across her skin. Her hair collected droplets as the strands grew limp and damp. The wind caught a few errant strands and whipped them against her cheeks. She closed her eyes against a shiver, a chill beginning to seep into her bones.

"You should come in," a voice said behind her. She didn't move, almost believing the voice to be imagined.

"Come in," the voice said again, louder this time, but no more forceful than before. And this time she heard. Again she did not answer. The vessel belonging to the voice knew better. Yet he tried to coax her in; in vain.

She remained rooted to her chair, imagining her feet becoming one with the muck beneath her, forbidding her from moving. She fought another shiver as she felt his presence at her side. A glance out of the corner of her eye revealed a small slice of him, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"No Tobias," she murmured, her voice low against gusty howls.

He stood for a moment in quiet contemplation. Then he released a heavy sigh; the sound sagging against the wind. Reaching an internal conclusion, he turned ever so slightly to face her.

"Then at least put your hood up," he said, tugging the soggy material up over her equally wet, stringy hair. She wanted to tell him the hood would do no good. Its usefulness was compromised now that the rain had wetted her hair and skin. It did not matter that something protected her now; the attack was already over.

But she withheld the words that hung on the tip of her tongue. She could not bring herself to say much these days. Her throat always felt too thick and clogged with gunk, or her tongue was dry like sandpaper, or heavy like a rock, barring her from uttering anything more than a breath.

Beside her, he shifted as if to lean forward over her, but he paused; his hand still on her head keeping the hood from blowing off. She knew what he wanted, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything for him. Her indifference these days had grown to become her only emotion, her insides feeling empty, the internal cavern that housed her heart felt hollow, and her mind was devoid of new thought; full of only rumination after rumination.

Finally, the weight of his hand left her head. She couldn't feel the usual cool that would come after the heat of one's being was removed. She should have frowned, but even if she did find it odd she had no strength to display such sentiment.

"Come in when the lightning comes," he said. Then he turned and walked away, his shuffling steps scuffing quietly against the sand.

She would come in when the lightning came, but until then she would look out across the tumbling black waters and listen to the discordant wind song.

As if to underscore the lyricism of its earthly symphony, the wind played a rousing crescendo; the airy conductor ending its concerto with a final flick of the wrist that caused her hood to settle about her shoulders. She was once again exposed. But, as she'd very quickly learned, it was never useful to react, to try to change the path laid out for her. It never did her any good.

Instead, she found it to her benefit to give in to it. When she felt the rain, it was often better to face the wind.