Francine

  I have never seen the sun and as long as Francine is alive I never will. When she first arrived, her presence felt familiar. Storms just like her have closed schools and businesses before. They’ve created chaos in big box stores and forced families to spend the week's check on copious cases of water, medicines and non perishables. Some have even worn people so thin that they uproot their entire lives and head North preferring the bleak winters over the slippery coast. But when a few months of bad weather turned into years of bad weather, that's when people realized Francine was something else entirely. 

     As conditions worsened the city issued a lockdown demanding residents to stay indoors indefinitely. But in a city full of storm veterans the order was virtually fruitless. People wandered in the streets, visited neighbors and took long walks without much concern. But by the end of the day none of those people had made it home.   

     Reports of missing people began to rise and as the numbers increased so did Francine’s strength. As research on Francine developed it became clear that she was a living beast. A Monster Storm with a heartbeat and an insatiable hunger for human life. For twenty three years she has raged above us while we cower below in our homes.

     Most of what I understand about Francine’s life comes from old news articles and theorists' chat rooms consisting of outdated information and the ramblings of stir-crazy environmentalists. I spend most of my time hoping for a new discovery, scrolling through forums in search of any evidence that this will be over soon. By the end of the day all I have is a splitting headache and little hope for a better tomorrow. 

     But on days like today, when Francine is heavy-eyed and breezy, I sit by the window and imagine myself on the other side of these walls. I imagine what grass feels like between my toes and if the dirt underneath is cool and wet or hot and sticky. I imagine myself with lots of friends going to parties or reading quietly against the trunk of an ancient tree listening to the natural sounds of birds and frogs. 

     There was a time when my mother would sit with me and paint a picture of her life before the lockdown. She’d go into enchanting detail about parades and festivals where hundreds, sometimes thousands of people gathered dressed in eclectic costumes to celebrate life and honor the dead. I’d hang onto every word she said and write her memories down as if they were my own. But gradually her stories turned bitter. Her animated retellings became ominous forebodings. 

     “There was so much destruction. We were chaos but we were too selfish to see it. The parties, the fun. We got too greedy. We got what we deserved.” I stopped writing her words after that and she eventually stopped sharing. We barely talk anymore and she mostly spends her days fading away in her room while I gaze out the window stuck in a dream.   

     But as I look out the window, imagining the many lives I could have lived, I notice a small crack in the gray mass of swirling clouds. I squint and crane my head to the sky. My nose is so close to the glass it fogs. Beneath the gray I see something blue. Something beautiful and bright. An opening, maybe an ending. 

   With much excitement and very little consideration, I rush to my mother’s bedroom and knock repetitiously. I press my ear to the door but I don’t hear any movement. I knock again louder.

     “Can I come in? There’s something I need to show you.” I never open her door without being invited in but there’s no telling when she’ll come out on her own so I grip the door handle and cautiously ease it open. The door only opens a few inches before it catches on something on the other side. A draft of dank sweat and rotting food wafts out of the room. I take in clipped breaths to keep from gagging.   

       In the dresser mirror I can see my mother’s reflection. Her small frame is curled into the fetal position amongst a mountainous pile of clothes, books and dirty dishes. I push hard against the door and whatever is blocking it falls away propelling me into the room. I catch my balance before stepping on a glass jar with a gelatinous substance caked inside. 

     “Molly?” Her voice sounds gravelly like sandpaper scraping concrete. I watch her awkwardly roll over to look at me. I can barely make out her face in the shadows. 

     “Can you come to the window? I have to show you something.” The words tumbled out and any conviction I had disappeared. I glance out of the room to check if the opening is still there but I can’t see it from down the hall. 

     “Molly, please. I don’t have the energy.” She rolls over again turning her back to me and curls in on herself. 

     I shift my weight and wring my hands until they are prickly. “The sun. I see the sun.” 

     “What do you mean you see the sun? How would you even know what a sun looks like? There is no sun, Molly. Grow up.” Her words slap me hard. I blink back tears and absorb their bitterness.  

     “I know what I saw. There is an opening in the sky so Francine must be getting tired or ready to move on. I can feel that she’s not as strong as she used to be. I can’t explain it but if you let me show you-” 

     “Fine! Show me this damned sun! Then leave me alone. ” My mother throws up her hands and flings herself out of bed. I look away from her thin body and step into the hall to give her some space. She bumbles out of the abyss and stomps towards the window, grumbling the whole way. She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at the window. 

     “See? That blue crack is an opening in the sky. It’s a clear sign that Francine is weakening. And based on her recent patterns, she has been much quieter than usual. I believe this is visual proof that Francine will die out soon.”   I search her face for a response, for anything that will tell me she understands. Her nose twitches and her lips tighten. I can tell she is on the verge of crying. She locks her gaze on the sky as the tears fall and splatter against her folded arms. She doesn’t bother wiping them away. I resist the urge to wipe her face and press her head against my chest the way she did for me when I was small and afraid of Francine. But I know she is too fragile to touch. One wrong move may send her into a violent spiral and right now I need her to trust me. 

     After a long silence, she opens her mouth as if to speak but only a small breath escapes before she closes it again. She bows her head and rubs the space between her eyebrows, gazes back out the window and speaks out to Francine.

     "You are just like him aren't you? Ain't a drop of me runnin’ through your blood is there?" A gurgled chuckle seeps through her teeth.

     My body stiffens at the mention of my father. It confuses me that she wants to talk about him at all. As far as I'm concerned he doesn't exist to us. He never lived in her memories and he certainly wasn't a part of mine. His absence was an open sore that neither of us cared to nurse.

     "I don't....I don't understand what you mean." And I don't know that I want to.

     “When your father left he threatened to take you with him. I told him that if he took you I would kill him before he even got the chance to touch the door knob. You couldn’t even walk yet and even if he did survive he wouldn’t have known what to do with you. To you, the world was still so magical and beautiful.” She looks away from the sky and smiles pitifully at me. Her sunken eyes and bruised lips crinkle. 

     “You were my only light in this dark city and I was not about to lose you over a feeling. Back then, he felt a shift too. Noticed the sky looked brighter, the winds were calmer, and it hadn’t rained for two weeks. But Francine was waiting. She’s patient like that. She waits and lures the non-believers, the theorists, the restless out of their homes. Your father was all three.” The smile fades and is replaced with a haunted glare. 

     “I begged him to stay. I cried and pleaded and damn near kissed his feet praying he wouldn’t leave us. But he had to know for himself. He said he couldn’t live in purgatory any longer. So he chose to leave in the middle of the night without a word. I figured he was too afraid to say goodbye because he didn’t want to have to look you in the eyes and hear you cry for him as he walked away from us. He left a note that said he would come back once he found a safer place.” She steps closer to me and I instinctively take a few steps back. The storm behind her eyes is brewing something fierce and I don’t want to be too close when her quiet anger turns to violent rage.  

     “I don’t need to tell you that he never came back. I don’t need to tell you that he died out there, Molly. He died because he was selfish and you’re planning to do the same thing! You’re going to leave and die a fool all because of a stupid idea! Because of an opening! A stupid little crack in the sky. So go. Go. But I ain’t coming with you. I’ve lived long enough to know there’s nothing out there for us!” She stalks towards me pinning me against the wall. Her words hit like bullets against my chest and I raise my palms to divert the shots. I thought I had been careful but my optimism got the best of me. I should have known she’d react this way. I should have just left her to rot in her room for the rest of her miserable days. 

     She continues shouting in my face, raining down insults and swears. I close my eyes and shield my body with my hands. Her jagged nails scratch my knuckles as she bats my hands away from my face. 

“ I did everything I could for you! Every goddamn thing I did for you! And you’re going to leave me?” Foamy spit forms at the corners of her mouth. There is no reasoning with her now. She is no longer in this room with me but somewhere far off in a much darker place. I’ve gotten better at letting go. I’ve learned how to swallow the hurt and numb my resentment so her feelings can take up space. But a part of her fury snakes its way into my body. It slithers into my veins and boils under my skin oozing out of my pores.

      “But what kind of life are we living trapped in here? We barely talk, you don’t take care of yourself, you never leave your room and when you do it’s to rip away what little happiness I have in this prison! You want to be angry. You want to blame the world. You want us both to die a sad, slow and miserable death. That’s what’s happening. This isn’t living. We are not alive!” A sharp flash of lightning illuminates the space between us. Francine roars above, rattling the house as she releases a fitful cry. Sheets of rain violently slap the windows and threaten to burst through the door.

     “Go! Get out of my house! Now! Francine, she’s ready for you!” My mother shoves me to the floor, grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me to the front door. I kick at her legs and thrash against her grip. She pins my arms behind my back to weaken my blows. I dig my fingers into her wrists until I feel chunks of skin and blood underneath my nails. I buck my feet wildly and pull her to the ground with me. Francine roars louder, drowning out our labored screams. 

     “Don’t do this. Please. I want to stay! I’m sorry. Please!” For a moment our eyes lock but it’s not my mother who looks back at me. She doesn’t even see me. Something sinistrous has taken residence behind those eyes. I plead and writhe as she yanks my wrists and slinks towards the front door. 

     “You’re right about my father! He was stupid enough to leave you and get himself killed out there. I’m not like him. I won’t leave you. It’s me and you. Always! I would never leave you alone!” My mother’s grip softens but she doesn’t let go. She twists my arms back and pulls my face up to meet hers, sending a snap of sharp pain to the base of my neck.

     "Do you mean it? Truly. Don't lie to me, Molly." Her lips curl into a warped grimace. 

     "I do. I promise. I won't leave you. Please, let me go." My heart is beating so fast that I can barely hear myself talk. My body is running on pure adrenaline but I can still feel the searing pain in my wrists pulsating against her palms.

     My mother releases my hands and slumps beside me. She guides my head to her chest and pulls me close, stroking my head tenderly. The rhythm of her watery heartbeat fills my ears. I let myself cry into her chest and wrap my aching arms around her frail body. Outside, the winds calm to a relaxed breeze and the rain slows to a steady trickle. 

     She whispers in my ear, “I’ve got you. Always.” We hold each other until the moment passes and she drifts back into her room while I sit by the window and imagine myself lying under a clear sky basking in the warmth of a golden sun.