The Wind

Scotty mumbled, fumed and stomped as he arrived at the clothes line, carrying a laundry basket. Angrily, the boy of twelve slammed it on the ground.

This isn’t fair! Gathering in clothes is girl’s work!

His mother hadn’t appreciated him shooting her empty canning jars with a b-b gun, especially since there was no money to replace them.

She didn’t need those old jars. She was just gonna can green beans in ’em, anyhow. I hate green beans!

Next door, peering down from her second story bedroom, eleven-year-old Jenny giggled and said to herself, “Scotty is really mad, but he looks so funny! He must’ve been bad again and his mother is punishing him.”

Scotty snatched several socks off the line without removing the clothes pins. Item after item–even his own shirts–he did the same. A bed sheet was next, and he pulled so hard that it ripped and sent him falling backwards onto the ground. Lying there, looking up at half a sheet that remained on the line, he somehow felt good about himself. It was all his mother’s fault, after all.

Now Mom’s gonna be sorry she made me come out here and do this.

Anger boiled inside him, but then something unexpected seized his thoughts–fear.

Oh, shoot! Mom’s gonna kill me!

Scotty tried to think of some excuse. He frantically ran idea after idea across his mind, but they were all flimsy and foolish. He thought there must be  something he could do–anything! Still lying on the ground, he saw the torn sheet flutter.

The wind. Look how it moves silent and unseen. It doesn’t have a bossy mother telling it what to do all the time. The wind does what it wants. I wish I was the wind.

Watching from her window, Jenny gasped and rubbed her eyes.

“Wha…? Where did Scotty go? He was there, and then he wasn’t.”

In the days that followed, Jenny desperately wanted to aid in the search for Scotty and tell someone what she’d seen, but didn’t. Who would believe the lonely little girl with a wild imagination? Already, her mom made her see a counselor and take pills. No, she’d keep the secret buried deep inside, along with any romantic notions she’d had of Scotty.

Scotty didn’t question how he’d become wind, and raced across mountain tops, through valleys and over oceans with abandon. Such joy there was in pushing water into great waves that tossed  ships about and crashed mightily upon shorelines! Once a tornado, the next day he’d become a hurricane or a waterspout. For simple fun, Scotty would sometimes steal kites from children or knock old lady’s potted plants off the porch.

Two years later, he blew January-cold across his old neighborhood, rattling shutters and pushing chilly fingers through cracks.  Jenny pulled her thick quilt up around her neck and thought of him.

“It’s been so long since Scotty disappeared. There’s a cold emptiness in my soul, and this frigid wind doesn’t help.”

Next door, Scotty’s mother shed tears, her poor heart still aching from the loss. Christmas without him had been especially painful.

Scotty knew nothing of the people inside or what thoughts they might have. He knew only to blow, and blow he did. For two more years, he moved across the earth, having his rude and ruthless way, but then that autumn, while absent-mindedly shuffling a few red and yellow leaves, he remembered a time past when he’d moved them a different way.

I used to move these with a rake, didn’t I? Oh, yes–when I was young, I had to…….

Scotty abruptly halted his shuffling of the leaves.

Mother made me do it. She used to give me chores, and I hated it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to have chores.

From that moment, Scotty lost some of his enthusiasm for huge, dynamic blows, and spent the rest of the autumn playing with  colorful leaves,  scooting them around or seeing how far he could carry them when they leapt from their twigs. That winter, he discovered soft snowflakes and cold, windless mornings of white horizons and pale blue skies. In those more docile moods, he began to think and ponder.

Perhaps I’ve been just a boy, but now am becoming something different–something better.

Spring soon arrived, and the world awoke from its cold nap. Scotty marveled at the bright, yellow daffodils, and nudged them just enough to make them dance. Likewise, the buds on the trees needed no strong gust, but only a gentle sway. Along with the buds that erupted, so too, did something inside of Scotty. Truly, springtime brings change.

Passing through the old neighborhood, Scotty saw his mother hanging clothes on the line. Hovering just above her head, he watched her pull each item of clothing from the basket, and with red, sore hands, pin each one to the line with care.

Mother, you work so hard! I didn’t realize it before. I know you got up at six this morning, cooked breakfast for father, washed dishes, then cleaned house. Now you’re doing laundry. I wish I could help.

A pallor came over Scotty, and it entered his heart.

I should never have wished to be the wind. It was a mistake.

Scotty gently brushed back his mother’s hair and tried to dry the sweat on her brow. The sheets, pillowcases, and such that hung on the line no longer stoked his anger, but became glorious symbols of his mother’s love.

She washed and hung them there for her family, because that’s what mothers do.

With great care, Scotty moved across and between the clean clothes, wanting only to dry them.

As she often did, Jenny looked down from her window upon the clothesline that swayed gentle in the Springtime breeze. It was her sixteenth birthday, and thoughts of Scotty still held a place in her heart.

“I’ll never forget that day, five years ago, when I last saw him. Scotty, if you’re out there somewhere, I wish you’d come back.”

Scotty still lingered about when they set up Jenny’s back yard for her birthday party. A light blue tablecloth was spread on the picnic table that sat between two large, blossoming peach trees. Soon, a big, white-frosted cake was placed in the center, along with paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils. When Scotty saw the colored balloons, he couldn’t resist but go over and give them a little breeze. Hanging about, he saw people arrive.

Oh, there’s Mrs. Waddell from across the street–she used to give me cookies. And… and there’s Billy Jenkins–I’ve known him since the first grade! Boy, we sure used to be good friends.

Someone Scotty didn’t expect took a seat.

Mother! What are you doing here? Oh, I guess folks around the neighborhood might have visited with her a lot after I left–maybe to support her, or something.

The girl of the hour, lovely young Jenny, took her seat at the picnic table.

Jenny? Is that you, the girl that always pestered me and wanted to play with me? God, you’re pretty!

Others gathered, and when the candles were lit, Scotty made sure he didn’t breathe on them.

Heh-heh. I’ll keep ’em lit, so Jenny’s party will be perfect.

Scotty hovered just inches from Jenny. Studying her close, he imagined what it would be like to touch her, and longed to be flesh again. The candles were lit and someone said, “Make a wish!” Scotty made a wish, too, and when Jenny took a deep breath, she pulled him right down into her lungs.

“Hwoooo!”

The candles not only went out, but leaned to one side from her mighty blow, causing everyone to laugh.

Careening wildly across the yard, Scotty knocked down the clothes line and fell dazed upon the ground. Looking up, he saw a torn sheet fluttering against an azure sky.