Day 29 – April 29 – Part 1 – NaShoStoMo Challenge – The Last Storm

Day 29 – April 29 – Part 1 – NaShoStoMo Challenge – The Last Storm

The storm I dreaded came at the end of April at four o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve feared the Highveld thunderstorms this year. Not the usual storms, the proper storms with lightning and hail and enough water to flood the streets and stall cars. One part of me hoped for that storm every afternoon of the rain season. Another part wished the storms were over forever and that global warming would see to that. The smallest part wished that winter would come and that it would snow at last. But who was I kidding? It almost never snows here. A few flakes now and then, sure, but not enough to get my uncle to come back. And it’s been nearly thirty years. But at least a good and proper storm would give me a chance to explain to my uncle what had happened to my father.

The day the storm came, I was in the mall on my day off. I sat in a coffee shop with a bottomless mug of the house brand getting cold and staring out of the glass ceiling at the thick clouds. Now and then I’d look at my watch and see the hands creeping towards four o’clock. At five minutes to four I was sure this was the day I’d been waiting for. I slipped a twenty under my mug, catching the waiter’s eye and made my way outside. The parking lot was quite busy and many people made their way into the mall in the hopes of missing the storm we all knew were coming. Lightning already flickered behind the koppie a kilometre or so away. Thunder droned and rolled a warning of the storm coming. Everyone was fleeing inside. Only I was foolish enough to stride out to the parking lot, my umbrella hooked over one arm.

At four o’clock, right on time, the skies opened and I was soaked before I could open my umbrella. But I kept my ground, breathing in the icy, wet air as I waited for the hail to come. The rain came down harder than before and the wind slanted it against me so that I had to turn my back to it to catch my breath. No one else was to be seen in the lot. Even the car guards had fled inside to miss the storm. Then the first sound of ice hitting the tar and parked cars sounded and I waited for the sting of ice on my skin.

 I closed my eyes briefly as the hail came down thicker for a few moments before being replaced by warmer raindrops. He stood before me, bedraggled, wet and still wearing the same clothes my father gave him last year when he visited. We walked back inside the mall and sat down at a table. He wrapped calloused hands around the coffee mug and shivered. Only after the first sip did he speak.

“Your father… is he…?”

I nodded. “Car accident. Over the holidays.” I swallowed. “It was before the rain season, I didn’t know how to contact you.”

He nodded, sadly but sagely and I saw the tears brimming in his eyes. He took another few gulps of coffee.

“I am sorry,” he said and briefly touched my hand. “I really am.” He looked at the sky through the glass. He always knew when the hail would return. “I have to go.” He took a last gulp of coffee.

“Maybe it will snow again this year.”

A brief smile lit his face and he nodded once. “Maybe.” And with that he stood up, placed his battered leather hat on his head and strode out into the rain as the second wave of hail beat down. And I knew he was gone again and I would have to wait for the next storm.