She thought the menacing clouds in the distant horizon could only mean one thing: Her certain destruction. She feared being obliterated in to oblivion. So Rosalma battened down the hatches of her sail boat and prepared for the worst. Oh she had seen it coming from afar for a while. Having been in control of her situations all of her life she always knew what to do. But there was something different with these dark clouds she kept seeing approaching closer everyday; esta tormenta es distinta, this storm is different, she told herself. She knew it was bigger than any rain storm she’d ever experienced before. Rosalma knew it, could feel it down to her core. But she decided not to run. She knew whatever came, even if she were to be stripped of her sails and tossed about in turbulent waters, she’d make it…at least she asked SOURCE every night for strength.
The day the deluge came started out in a strange calm. Rosalma looked out of her 2nd story bedroom window and she knew the light breeze and sun playing in the clouds above were lies. She had seen what was coming. Suddenly the day grew overcast and the thunder rolled. Her heart skipped a beat. Should she stay and weather the storm or go out to meet it face to face?
She gathered her long copper toned locks in a messy pony tail, threw on her fisherman’s sweater over her jeans and boots; grabbed her back pack and headed out to the marina. The clouds were building and the hues of grey changed constantly from grey to charcoal; reflecting her fears. Undaunted, Rosalma , was going for it. She knew in the storm lay her destiny.
Vamomos Chica! GO girl, she encouraged herself. She found her sail boat; she’d christened her ALMA after her abuela, grandma who’d walked the earth for 98 years and taught Rosalma all about the storm. Rosalma headed out in Alma to find her soul’s purpose.
The water was choppy and the air now nippy. Rosalma tightened her raincoat a bit more snugly around her petite 5.2 frame. The water was merciless and kept over powering the deck. But, Rosalma kept on. She knew destiny’s end was ahead and staying where it’s safe would never get her there.
Soon enough the storm was beating Rosalma up and knocking her around, with fists the size of the Hulk’s. Every time she thought it would let up, the struggle intensified. She desperately looked up for any sign of her tomentor letting up and the storm today seemed relentless. It wasn’t quitting and neither was Rosalma.
Mid storm Rosalma’s spirit was sinking. She thirsted and no drop of water could satiate it. Water everywhere and none of it could quench. Water everywhere and nothing to stop the stench of hell’s flames. She wept and couldn’t tell where her tears began or ended. Her eyes swollen from the storm’s continuous beatings, felt like she was blind. She wanted to just lay there and give up and admit defeat on Alma’s deck. Who would blame her for quitting? Obviously this storm no man woman or child could overcome. So the minutes slipped away and her soul with them.
Until a light came from a light house. It was far off but the light shining from it was undeniable. Rosalma shot up to her feet. She steadied herself by grabbing on to a side rail. All of the sails on Alma now torn to bits; which hung on like rags on a homeless person. Her soul knew how that felt.
She had seen the light ; though it was faint, she knew her destination to Port Désirée was just ahead. Through the rain storm came peace.
So what now? ALMA was not tossed about anymore. The storm’s rage was lessening and the wind no longer howled in distress. The light tower was in full view straight ahead. Rosalma shook a little inside. What lay ahead for her? She had left it all behind; brought absolutely no baggage on this journey. She wanted to travel light and get places faster. But now with all that was familiar to her gone, she knew not what she’d face next.
Through the rain storm came peace and Rosalma knew it was all well worth facing the storm that threatened to finish her off as it had done to so many of her ancestors. This new place was like a new addiction she could not deny. The light here seemed blinding only becase she had been in doom and gloom for so long. Rosalma was here to stay. This new place of color and no grey was where she would stay…
-Eva Santiago ©2012 ©2023
2 thoughts on “ALMA’S STORM”
N.I.C.E. A good read.
Thank you very much!!!