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Spinning Fiber: Rochelle

Rochelle enjoyed thunderstorms. She liked the sound of the rain pattering against the tin roof. The rattling of the window panes set her heart to racing. The crack of thunder sent a thrill of fear shooting through her body.

She lay awake in her bed, stroking her swollen belly. A shiver of light from beneath the bedroom door allowed her to glimpse the buttons on the ceiling tiles. Rochelle’s cousin, Jamie, hated thunder and tended to sit up until her sleeping pills took effect.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for an instant. Rochelle counted the seconds until she heard the thunder. One…two…three—crack! Three. The storm was getting closer. Rochelle stared out her window at the night sky. Everything was dark. The clouds obliterated the stars and the moon. The light in the living room switched off, leaving Rochelle in the dark.

Lightning flashed again. Rain streaked down the window panes. With the windows closed against the rain, the air had grown stifling. Her body, heavy with the weight of her baby, was hot and restless. Rochelle climbed out of bed.

For as long as she could remember, storms had held a fascination for Rochelle. She didn’t cower beneath an overhang when it rained. She walked out into the middle of it, her arms open wide, her face raised to the sky. She spun in circles, jumped in puddles. She felt cleaner in the rain. She felt more in control. Nothing, and no one, could touch her in the rain. No one followed her. They would yell at her, call to her to come in, from the protection of the porch or a window—but they wouldn’t follow her.

She stepped out, onto the front porch, and closed the door behind her. The storm was louder, drowning out the thoughts in her head. The baby was two weeks past due, and she showed no signs of leaving her haven. The spring had been unusually warm this year. The humidity under the porch roof was cloying. The thin cotton nightgown stuck to her.

Rochelle stepped off the porch. The rain pelted her head. She raised her hands to her face, slicking the water into her hair. The nightgown molded against her body as the rain soaked her. She laughed with pure joy.