Schooner Racing the Storm

The rain rumbled against the glass in the hospital room.

The spare, small room smelled of disinfectant and dust. The crisp white sheets shone bright against the yellow curtains and peeling trim. 

Sara Ann saw the concerned look of an elderly nurse, tilting her head at her as the door closed. 

She took off her rain soaked jacket, and looking around found a hook behind the door to hang it on, before turning to finally acknowledge the figure on the bed.

A pale gaunt man, hair thinning and gray, lay still, only his arms uncovered by the sheet and thin blanket. Life beat a slow pulse through tubes in and out of his body, allowing him to breath and eat. Wary of him still, even now, Sara Ann eased down onto the blue plastic visitors chair. After several hesitant attempts she reached out to touch his gray hand, veined and purple, the skin soft and brittle as tissue paper. At the touch, the man’s yellow eyes opened, and his head turned slightly.

“Hello Father. How are you feeling?” She whispered.

“Sara Ann, is that you?” He moved to sit up, but fell back, breathless. A weak voice came out of the old man. “Is Clara…?

“Clara…” She cleared her throat.

 “Clara is good, she has a good job in the City, and married you know. Mike. He’s a good guy. You’d hate him, a real City type, but.” Sara Ann smiled and gripped the hand. “She’s made it out, isn’t that great? She’d come, but it’s too far to travel, with the weather.” 

Sara wiped her eyes, a quick efficient motion before looking back up.

“I’m … fine. Still working at O’Malley's, Night Manager. I got your taste for the drink -”

Across the room, a framed poster hung against striped wallpaper. A faded, colorless schooner, tilted into the wind, sailing endlessly across the wall, never to reach the far shore. 

The storm rose up, wind pushing the rain hard, rumbling against the glass in the small room.

The sound echoed in her memory, the day she last saw this man standing, 10 years ago.

       ********************

The rain rumbled against the glass in the small kitchen.

“Gimme that!” her father yelled, his booming voice thundered through the room. One huge, strong hand reached out for Sara Ann across the kitchen, the other had her sister Clara, in a vice grip, holding her still in front of him. Sara Ann knew she had to rescue Clara from their father, but didn't know how.

“You’re a fool, girl. Don’t be stupid.” Spittle flew from her father’s mouth. He stood tall and broad against the wall, the cupboard next to him empty. He took a step forward-

“-No!” Sara Ann cried out. Tears blurred her vision, she had to stop this monster.

He stopped, his foot slid back. “You’d better be careful with that, girl-”

“Let her go. I told you, you can never-” Sara Ann’s voice cracked.

“Clara wants to come to my party, don’t you-” Thin lips peeled back to expose yellow teeth, his head bent down over the girl in front of him, but the dark bloodshot eyes never left Sara Ann’s. “You and and I have had lots of parties, can’t leave Clara out of the fun-”

The shotgun was so heavy.  

Sara Ann arms shook with the effort, as she used all of her strength to lift the heavy gun back up toward his face, that evil menacing grin. 

Her feet stuck to the cold kitchen floor like she had always been there, always in this standoff. She didn’t know the next move. How long had she been here, frozen against the hard linoleum?

Sara Ann let her eyes drop to Clara, crying, her bear shoved into her face. Torn in the struggle, stuffing fell out from its midsection. Clara’s body, too well developed for her 13 years, had betrayed her, and someone had to pay. Sara Ann had to get them out of there, but how?

“Better raise that up!” Her Father’s deep voice called out, and Sara Ann leaned back, the heavy barrel tilted, back up in the air. 

Her sobs flowed in waves, shaking the long metal barrel. 

“You don't want to blow away your sister do ya? Now give me that.”

It reached out, that terrible hand that had given her so much pain, and she thought in shame, pleasure too. She could just give in, take the punishment, easier than this, carrying the weight of the shotgun, and her final, terrible rebellion. 

“Don’t move!” Sara Ann screamed, a shrill sound that pierced through the man, like a nail pinning him back to the wall.

“I did those- things, and you promised never to touch Clara. You promised!”

“Don't listen to her Clara. Sara Ann’s gone off her head, just like her Mother.”

Sara Ann’s arms shook with fatigue, the huge shotgun so heavy. 

The kitchen, once a safe place, had become blurry, a fog of confusion shrinking her vision until all she saw was her father, his grin and those red eyes.

The barrel fell, and she scrambled to raise it up, her sweating hands slipping on the wooden handle and cold metal.

“Sara Ann, put that gun down, it’s too big for such a little girl. Come on, hand it over, and I’ll forget all about this.”

“Let Clara go-” 

“Where are you two gonna go? It's raining, and cold outside. I’ll light a fire, we can cook up some sausages and potatoes-”

“We don’t have any food Father! We don’t have anything- please just let Clara go! The barrel dipped, and again she leaned back, but this time her feet slipped, and she fell onto one knee. Fear pushed her to keep the gun level, but it was too late. 

His large hand reached out and grabbed the barrel, she felt control slipping, slipping… 

*************

“Goodbye Father.” 

Sara Ann stood, looking down at the hospital bed, her coat in her arm. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 She opened the door and left, her head down as she walked by.

“I want a daughter like that.” The older nurse said, nodding. She’s here every year for, must be 10 years now. Ever since the shotgun accident. That’s dedication.”

“Accident? The young nurse looked up.

“A terrible loss, that poor little girl.”