Page 4 of Maid Fohr Love
“Please have a nice night,” I interrupted, not utilizing the manners my mother had instilled in me as a child.
The call ended with the thud as I placed the phone on the hook. Slowly, I unraveled the cord from my finger and allowed it to slap the wall, making a bit of a fuss. The breath I was unaware of reserving was released along with the incline of my chest. Finally, I relaxed.
I could definitely use that wine, I thought with a dramatic shake of the head. It would possibly be some time before it arrived, so I toyed with the enticing sound of a bath at the back of my brain.
Well, wine and a bath sounds better. Nine isn’t too far out.I reconsidered.
The idea of bathing was promptly replaced with those of preparation for what was to come. A list of groceries and essentials quickly began swarming. I headed toward the fridge and removed the marker from its holding slot and began painting letters that soon became words onto the dry eraser area.
For close to an hour, I searched my cabinets, the pantry, freezer, and fridge for things that I was missing, could use more of, or wanted to utilize and added them to the list so that I wouldn’t forget in the event that I was required to order my groceries online. My preference was visiting the market myself, but it wasn’t the safest option with the pandemic sweeping the state. Everyone was vulnerable to sickness… even death for many.
Just as I blew the strand of hair from my face in exhaustion due to the laborious searching – and unplanned cleaning – of my cabinets and fridge, my doorbell sounded. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I was expecting something.
Wine. Quickly, I glanced at the clock on the wall of my kitchen and noted that it was twelve minutes to nine.Perfecttiming. The bath I had dreamed about earlier was necessary, now.
With my tired ringlets flopping as I galloped, lightly, through the corridor of my home. I unhinged the locks attached to my door’s frame and forced it open with a slight tug. The night breeze slapped my painted skin and sent a refreshing chill down my spine. In addition to the notorious smell of outside, I was presented with another familiar, impressive stench.
Rain.
The air is wet, I recalled my father proclaiming at the smell of rain glazing the air before it touched the surface. It was his favorite nature-thrown scent. He could smell rain days before it came around, sometimes. When he made the announcement at our kitchen table – most often – he’d warn against an empty fridge, sandals, and heat in our hair.
In the event of a storm, our shelves needed to be stocked. Sandals were prohibited to relieve us of the chances of catching too much hail from the rain that could leave us with nasty colds or sinus infections. Delaying the pressing of our hair that our mother sometimes managed on Sunday’s for church until after the rain, was always helpful. The rain would just destroy her hard work.
Kneeling slightly, I lifted the brown paper bag that had been left on my porch. Feeling as if it weighed a ton, I wondered just what she’d gotten me. Knowing Mrs. Rayland, she spared no expenses when placing her order, possibly making sure I was covered for the months to come.
My curiosity egged the snooping I took part in before making it back into my place. Six. In the huge kraft paper bag, there were six bottles of wine. I’d never even purchased as many at once for myself. Mrs. Rayland had definitely outdone herself. I was thankful, nonetheless.
“Alright. Now, I can enjoy my bath.”
TWO
The roaring lightning and thunder that lit the sky after every few seconds, accompanied by precipitation that cascaded down my windows, were hardly notable in comparison to the boisterous knocks against my door downstairs. Groaning as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I gathered the towel that had unraveled beneath me. The digital timekeeper at my bedside acknowledged the hour, helping me to quickly calculate the length of my slumber.
My long, precious bath had induced a three-hour long snooze that was intended to be uninterrupted and carried out through the night. Unfortunately, that was impossible with the rammingof a fist on the matte paint of my front door. The grogginess I suffered from was a clear sign that I was deep under while the inkling of a headache reminded me that wine – along with theLavender Lovebath soak I’d purchased – was a prime factor in the depth of my slumber.
“My GOD!” I yawned, growing frustrated with whatever was on the other side of my door, demanding my presence as if it wasn’t both inconsiderate and disrespectful to be there at two in the morning.
The dragging of my entire body commenced at the thought of ending the tirade of knocks at my door. The first shirt that I saw was large and white, perfect for the task. I pulled it over my body and grabbed a pair of cotton shorts that were in my top drawer. My urge to find out who could possibly be interrupting my sleep along with the anxiety emergencies plagued me with, caused me to bolt down the lengthy set of stairs of my home.
“Who is it?” I shouted over the rain as my thumb pressured the callbox that reached the outside of my home.
I hated yelling. It wasn’t a preference of mine and reserved too much of my energy, which is why I got the system installed to begin with. It was difficult yelling through the thickness of my door.
After a year of living in my home, I realized I was either going to sprang a vocal cord or purchase a system that would allow me to calmly speak to whoever was outside of my door. Unfortunately, with the thunder and rain, that wasn’t an option.
Met with silence, I pondered with upturned lips and brows. It wasn’t until the very moment that I realized I’d made a mistake by not going with the camera doorbell that the clerk had suggested when I made the callbox purchase.
Frustration quickly overthrew my other emotions, forcing me from the door to the hall that led to my great room, whereI shoved the perfectly positioned set of clothes covering my windows to see who was outside of my home.
The ash gray Bentley was obvious, even in the darkness of the night. A strike of lightning in the sky also helped me confirm the make and color of the luxurious car. Its presence intensified my confusion. The fact that I couldn’t see directly on my porch didn’t help much, either.
Figuring my best option was to open my door, I rushed into the kitchen for a sharp object, just in case protection was required. When I returned, the knocking ceased, again.
It had been going since I’d stepped from my window. With the sharp, shiny knife that I used to cut my fruits one piece at a time as I ate them tucked at my side, I removed the locks and slightly opened my front door.
The rain that had managed to stay outside came swooping in as the assaulting winds carried it across the earth. My porch’s covering did much of nothing to stop the viciousness of the storm. It was simply too intense. Much like the rain, my soul departed from my body and soiled my floor at the astonishing sight before me.
Tall like my favorite tree to climb.
