Found Objects by Michael Boehm

 
     
     
     
    IN GOOD TIME
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    The town looked deserted, bu t Charlie knew better.   W i per blades thumped their rhythm as he rolled through town at a steady pace, doing his best to avoid debris strewn across the road.   A stopli ght suspended between two poles danced wildly in the wind, and Charlie accelerated through the intersecti on at the thought of broken power lines whipping and crackling across his SUV .  
    He stop ped outside of the small clapboard house and sat for a minute, playing his eyes over the familiar sights.   There was the tree he had fallen from as a boy.   Around back he could see the rusty swing set, the chains oscillating in crazy patterns.   Pulling the hood of his rain jacket around his head, he opened his door and stepped out into the maelstrom.   The storm assaulted him immed iately, horizontal rain stinging his cheeks as he hurried for the porch.   The screen door was blowing back and forth wildly in the wind; seizing it with one hand, he thumped heavily on the front door with the other.   After several minutes of pounding, his efforts were rewarded by a clattering that he felt through the wood as multiple latches were disengaged and bolts were drawn back.   Fin ally, the door came open , and behind it stood a small, solid woman, her steel-wool hair fluttering in the breeze.   She mouthed something that was completely lost in the howling of the storm, but seemed to begin with "Well I'll be dipped in..." Realizing the futili ty of speaking over the wind she gestured sharply for Charlie to come inside, stepping back to admit him before shutting the door with difficulty.  
    Charlie pulled his hood back and wiped water from his face with his hands.   "Hi, mom," he said.  
    She stood there a moment, surveying him with a level gaze, a hand on her mouth, the other on her hip.   Sighing, she dropped her hands to her side.   "Let me take your coat," she said.  
    "We can't stay long," Charlie said.   "I'm getting you out of here.   Get your things."  
    She stared at him coolly "Nine years, Charlie.   Nine years since your momma seen you last, and that's all you got to say?   I don't know what passes for hospitality up north, but here when someone pays you a visit, you show them a little kindness.   Now take off your coat and I'll make us some tea."  
    Charlie sighed and unzipped his jacket.  
     
    Th ey sat in the parlor sipping Earl Grey as the wind howled out side.   The ancient oak tree scraped branches against the window as Charlie fought to control his anxiety.   Every instinct told him to get out now, to bundle his mother up under his arm like a football and make a break for the door before the full force of the storm smashed the little house to pieces. "Momma, it's a h urricane," he said.
    "Been through p lenty of ‘canes, I have," she said, glancing at the window.   "She's coming on strong , that's for sure. And she's angry. But I think I'll be fine."  
    "Have you seen the satellite pictures ?" Charlie asked.   "I t's headed right for here.   It'll make landfall in a couple of ho urs, a nd the storm surge will be well over the levee s.   This whole town will be gone tomorrow."  
    The moments ticked by as Charlie watch his mother calmly sip her tea , carefully lifting the cup to her thin lips and slurping . At the best of times that annoyed him; now it pushed him close to a berserk frenzy.  He listened to branches scratching on clapboard siding while his impatience grew. Without looking at him, she said "So how come you never called after the funeral?"  
    Charlie lowered his head and steepled his fingers before his face.   "Things were crazy, momma. I was doing my internship at Stony Brook, pulling ninety-hour weeks.   Janet and I had just bought a house, and... ”
    "How is Janet," she asked.   "I not ice you ain't got no ring ."  
    "We divorced, momm a. A couple of years ago.   It didn't work out."
    She close d her eyes and lowered