The Perfect Storm

Page 37 in the series Before the Pirates Came*

It was getting dark.  Miranda quickly plugged in the clandestine yellow cord, now carefully attached beneath her dock and running the length of the pier.  She wondered if the boaters who rent that slip in the summer would get a bill for her unauthorized winter use.  She wanted to do the right thing, to act like a moral person, someone who Harry would be proud of.  But she was busy getting ready for the storm, and there was no time to think about that now.

“This only have I found:  God made mankind upright, but men have gone in search of many schemes.”  Ecclesiastes 7:29 (NIV) 

It was starting to flurry and the water was black as ink. The boat she called “Seeking Miranda” seemed smaller and more fragile than the day before as she watched the storm roll in.  Miranda bundled up in all her heavy gear before making one last trip up to the ladies room and to see who was around in case she needed help.  The flurries quickly turned to snow.  Even her powerful floodlight (another “gift” from Charlie) couldn’t cut through her fear.  Speaking of Charlie, why was he never around when she really needed him?

Miranda always acted like she was bulletproof, fearless, and one of the guys.  But really, that was all just for show.  Not much had changed since her high school days when she wanted to fit in but never felt like she measured up.  Getting drunk worked fine back then, but tonight getting drunk might kill her.  She had to stay sober for just one night, have enough common sense to put her safety ahead of everything else. 

Water crashed against the seawall, sprayed her face hard.  She squinted against the wind and could feel the dock getting slippery beneath her feet.  Her dockmates told her to put on ice cleats, stay low, and  put down her swim ladder.  If one of them fell in, it would be the only way out of the water.  Miranda knew hypothermia would strike within minutes.  In the dark she would never find her way out, drunk or sober.  But she couldn’t turn back now and she secretly wished someone would rescue her.  She wanted Harry, Charlie, or even Brian, to take her someplace warm and dry, to sleep in someone’s arms.  Miranda wanted to be a princess again and wondered how in the world things turned out this way.

There was a fat man standing against the wall  beside the door to the ladies room.  Miranda had seen him there before.  He was a chain smoker, wrapped in a heavy down coat that barely zipped across his considerable girth.  A trapper hat was pulled down low over his eyes, and a runny nose was starting to freeze in his beard.  He was gross and gave Miranda the creeps.  She figured he was a maintenance man or a drunk who stumbled down from Jack’s Steakhouse.  Whatever the case, at this hour no one should be there.  She thought about the shotgun she slept with at night.  It made her feel better. 

Miranda was heading back to her boat, bracing herself against the wind as the snow stung her cheeks. Greg’s voice sounded distant.   He shouted at her, “Miranda.  Stay low.  Go back to your boat.  Grab a blanket and stay on the floor.  Sleep in your snowsuit, put on a life vest.  This storm will be worse than we thought.  Now go!  GO!”

“Be still and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 (NIV)

She looked back at the stranger, waiting for the red glow of his cigarette, but he was gone.  In an ominous voice, the wind howled.

Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 (NIV)

She would take her Bible out of the Ziploc bag.  Tonight she might need it.

*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.

This entry was posted in About Him, About me, Bipolar girl. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to The Perfect Storm

  1. .endtransmission. says:

    On occasion, I try to picture Miranda out there, freezing, shivering, in the frosty surf as it comes in off the lake. That took some serious guts to be out there.

    • Linda says:

      Very nice compliment, e.t… thank you. The roughin’ it days are hard for me to picture, too. But I sure wouldn’t trade it! ; )

  2. Theresa says:

    This is a moving post, especially these words:

    “In the dark she would never find her way out, drunk or sober. But she couldn’t turn back now and she secretly wished someone would rescue her. She wanted Harry, Charlie, or even Brian, to take her someplace warm and dry, to sleep in someone’s arms. Miranda wanted to be a princess again and wondered how in the world things turned out this way.”

    It brings back memories both from my childhood and also as an adult…times when I was far from home, far from my safe place of comfort. Sometimes the distance was measured in footsteps, and the walk ahead of me. Then at other times it was measured by miles, and hours of driving after dark when I was tired.

    Then there is that spiritual parallel. All of the uncertainties that confront us at times, and also the gift of faith… of hope that sustains us when sight grows dim.

    I am so thankful you are sharing these things. They are such a source great of comfort.

    Hugs,
    Theresa

    • Linda says:

      I like seeing the spiritual parallel, too. Writing this down has been sort of unnerving, considering what my fate could have been. At this point in the story, I actually was saying my prayers at bedtime… Now I lay me down to sleep… Like a child. (Also washing, toning, and magic skin creams. Even drunk, I never skipped flossing. Hahaha.)

      I like to share this stuff at AA meetings (the roughing it part not the girly stuff), because people who think they are total losers can relate. They just stare at me with their eyes wide open. They need to believe that God really does love them, too, just like He found me and loved me. Isn’t that exciting? I’m so glad it’s had an impact on you, too. Although it’s hard for me to picture you footsteps, miles, and hours in the dark and tired, I guess we’ve all been there. Hugs : )

  3. Larry Who says:

    “…She thought about the shotgun she slept with at night…”

    Miranda snuggles up with shotguns. Makes me wonder if the safety is on or shells are in the chamber.

    Okay, I’m ready. Turn the page.

    • Linda says:

      She only used it once. Seems that the “click-click” was enough to get the job done. Miranda was pretty bold. ; )

  4. Debbie says:

    The part Theresa noted got me too, Linda. So thankful that He did come to save me! And Miranda too. That you get to use what you went through, for Him, to help others, is just the bestest! :) God bless you as you keep uncovering this story and all that He wants to do with it! love and prayers!

    • Linda says:

      I pray about that all the time, and yesterday I got a word not once but twice. Once during Whitney Huston’s memorial service, and again watching Charles Stanley last night. It’s great to have direction when I read my Bible. And what I learned really pulled together alot of stuff that was still a bit fragmented in Part II.

      There are lots of older Jewish ladies at the pool here in Boca. Generational Jews, not faith based. And they’re reading my little story! Lots of printing involved here in the condo, but isn’t that awesome? If they like the story, and they like me, won’t they be more interested about how Jesus saved the leading lady? This is all very exciting. Up early, can’t sleep. Nice. : )

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