Gust Girl Kristina Cersey

Gust Girl Kristina Cersey

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Gust Girl

A novelette by Kristina Cersey


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1ST WIND

Do ya hear the wind? The tinklin’ of wind chimes in a soft breeze. The scratchin’ of crisp

autumn leaves rollin’ ‘cross pavement in a strong gust. The sharp whistle of air rushin’ through a

narrow alleyway on an otherwise still and quiet night. The screechin’ squeak of swings swayin’

on an old rusty playset. Do ya hear it…do ya hear it…do ya hear it? That’s the sound of my voice,

oRr rather it was. It was the only voice I’ve ever had.

The padded cell I now call home mutes the few sounds I’m able to make. There’s little air

here to manipulate anyhow. Are ya confused? If so, don’t worry. That’s why I’m writin’ this, to

give voice to all I could never say, to relieve myself of the heavy burden I’ve carried my entire

life. Whether anyone reads this or not, at least my story will be heard, if only by these pages. You’ll

have to excuse my grammar though. I only went to a few years of school, but that don’t mean I’m

dumb or nothin’.

My name’s Windy. I know, how fittin’. The girl that can use wind like a weapon is called

Windy. To be honest I can’t remember which came first, the name or the ability. I’m only

seventeen now, but it feels like I’ve lived so much longer. Actually, no. Not lived, just survived.

I reckon the beginin’ is always the best place to start, though my beginin’s were far from

the best. My momma was dyin’ before I was born. She didn’t know it, but she had one foot in the

grave and the other foot on a banana peel. When she was 6 months pregnant, an old lady found her

on the ground in the parkin’ lot of Piggly Wiggly, blue as a blue jay. Oxygen squeekin’ in and out

of her gappin’ mouth like air sucked through one of them coffee stirrin’ straws they have at the

Waffle House. Them ambulance guys rushed her to the hospital faster than coons to carrion, but


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she only stayed long enough for the doctors to diagnosis her with stage IV lung cancer before

daddy took her outta there.

“I ain’t got no money to be payin’ all thems doctor bills,” daddy said years later in one of

his drunken ramblin’s. “Served your momma right for smokin’ anythin’ that’d burn. She’d already

cost me too much.” His lip turned up in a sneer revealing a slimy wad of black dip. “It’s just a

shame she didn’t take you with her when she done died.”

I was born one month premature on February 27th, 1999 in our trailer in Killen, Alabama.

A tornado touched down that day, but no one made the connection at the time. My momma died

two days later layin’ in the same bed she birthed me in. I only survived through infancy because

of Beulah Blank, but that don’t make her no saint or nothin’. She lived in the trailer nearest to ours,

on the other side of the three broke down Ford Pintos. Buelah had seven kids of her own and was

still nursin’ two of them, so she fed me as often as her supply allowed. But she didn’t like havin’

an extra baby around, even one who couldn’t cry. I reckon it might’ve been some sort of twisted

blessin’, me not bein’ able to make a sound. If I’d been a cryin’ baby, I bet my daddy would’ve

left me for dead somewhere and never looked back.

My childhood was a series of games, but not the fun kind. My games involved things like

tryin’ to avoid daddy when he was drunk, dodgin’ the rocks thrown by Buelah’s brood, and

collectin’ enough change off the ground to buy food. Then there was the most difficult challenge

of all, findin’ ways to say things without words. See, when I was young, people didn’t realize I

was just a mute. They all thought I was deaf too, and sometimes people even assumed I was blind.

They’d look at me as if I had dark holes in my head instead of radiant crystal blue eyes. My eyes

are the prettiest gift I’ve ever been given. I got them from my momma.


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“Your momma only gave you one good quality, thems pretty eyes. The rest of ya she made

all wrong. You got them knobby knees, that stringy, ash-colored hair, and a body without any

curves. Sometimes I wonder if you’s even a girl at all! You’re so ugly your momma died ‘cause

she couldn’t stand lookin’ at you anymore.

“Of course, the biggest screw up is your dumbness. I swear your momma broke you on

purpose just so she could laugh at me from her grave.” Daddy had his games too, and hurtin’ me

with words was one of his favorites. I realize that the term “dumb” is just another word for mute,

but knowin’ that don’t make it any less hurtful when people say it to you all the time.

But words hurt less than daddy’s other favorite game, Knock the Wind Out of Windy. It

was round about the hundredth beatin’ that daddy started to notice a correlation between my state

of bein’ and the weather. A slap here or a punch there didn’t phase me much; but whenever he was

really whalin’ on me, the wind would rattle our trailer like rocks shook up in a tin can.

“Why in tarnation does it always get so blasted windy when I’s given you a lashin’?!” He

said it at first without thinkin’ much, but then—either through the fog of his intoxication, or

because of it—he looked at me with widened eyes like he was seein’ me for the first time.

“Windy?” Then his brief moment of intelligence passed and he knocked me out cold.

Now, I know you’re skeptical. You’re probably thinkin’ my daddy knocked me upside the

head too many times, because who in their right mind would believe they’ve got some kind of

control over the weather? If that’s what you’re thinkin’, fine. You can get in line with all the other

people I don’t care one whit about. I’m not interested in tryin’ to convince you otherwise. I’m just

tellin’ my story and you can take it as you will. That bein’ said, I can’t claim responsibility for all

the bad weather everywhere. The way the world works is a mystery to me. I’m sure them


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weathermen know a thing or two about when the wind is comin’ and goin’, but I also know they

can be dead wrong. Especially when I’m around.

When I was a kid, I didn’t realize it was unusual to be able to summon a summer breeze at

will, or whip up mini dust devils to scare off the Blank brothers. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it,

so I just assumed everyone else was doin’ it too. But as I got older, I started understandin’ I was

different. The way I see it, God was tryin’ to make up for takin’ the air outta my momma’s lungs;

He just overdid it a little when He gave me this ability to change the wind.

But that’s enough deviatin’. I’m sure you’re itchin’ to know how I got in the padded cell I

mentioned earlier. Don’t you worry. I’ll get there.

2ND WIND

Though nothin’ in my life had ever really gone right, things got a little better the first couple

of months in 2011. But this was just a brief period that led to things gettin’ much worse. I’d been

goin’ to school more regular ‘cause daddy had been gettin’ some heat from the county about my

attendance record. I’d just turned twelve and should’ve been in the sixth grade, but the all-knowin’

great state of Alabama held me back a year on account of my not givin’ a flyin’ fudgesicle about

my education since everyone thought I was stupid anyhow. So, there I was, the oldest one in my

fifth grade class, and the unthinkable happened. I made a friend. It wasn’t a kid in my class. Just

like every other year, the kids still thought I was a freak. No. My new friend was my teacher, Ms.

Alligood. I never knew there were kind people in the world until I met Ms. Alligood. She was

young, beautiful and spunky. She acted like life was worth livin’ all the time.


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Ms. Alligood came in half way through the school year because our other teacher, Ms.

Hooch, got caught workin’ nights at the Gentlemen’s Club. And by workin’ I mean strippin’…

and other things. I didn’t like Ms. Hooch much, but it never made much sense to me that they fired

her from teachin’ because of what she did at the Gentleman’s Club. After all, the “Gentleman”

patron that outed her was our Principal, Mr. Krank, and he kept his job. Lookin’s better than

hookin’, I guess.

Anyways, when Ms. Alligood started teachin’ my class, I figured she’d be just as sour as

all the other adults I’d ever known. But I was dead wrong. She was sweet to all the kids, but she

took a special shinin’ to me straight-off.

“Morinin’ Pretty Windy!,” she’d always say when I walked into the classroom. For days

I’d tried to play it off like I didn’t hear her. I thought she was workin’ some angle or somethin’,

but she broke me down right quick with her cheerful attitude and had me smilin’ more than I ever

had. Ms. Alligood was the only one that could convince me to try sign language, but even her

charm couldn’t make it stick. But I did finally learn to write because of her.

“Why Miss Windy, I do believe you have the prettiest handwritin’ I’ve ever seen,” she’d

say. It probably wasn’t true, but it made me try harder to make it so.

“Miss Windy, your hair looks mighty fine today.” I don’t think I’d done anythin’ special

to my hair that day, but you can bet that I started tryin’ after that. I tried pony tails, pig tails and

any other tail I could think of just to keep impressin’ Ms. Alligood. And even though other kids

made fun of me because of my new hairstyles—and in all honesty, they did look pretty bad—Ms.

Alligood continued to compliment me whenever it looked as though I’d made an effort. Her kind


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words canceled out all the negativity in my life, tenfold. I’d been thirsty for approval my entire

life until Ms. Alligood started fillin’ my cup every weekday from 8:00 am to 3:00 pm.

One time, there was a test comin’ up on the geography of our great state of Alabama, and

I studied so hard ‘cause I knew it would make Ms. Alligood happy if I did good. My daddy caught

me studyin’ one night and said, “What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doin’ girl?” He knew

I couldn’t answer, so he answered himself. “Studyin’! Only someone as dumb as you’d think you’s

smart enough to make that worth your while. Honestly, you’s dumber than a soup sandwich.”

I shrugged it off, and luckily he let me be, but I could tell another beatin’ was comin’ round

any day. It’d been a while since the last time. Daddy’d never gone so long without hittin’ me, but

I didn’t pay him no mind that night. I had geography to learn.

The day of the test came, and I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’

chairs. Ms. Alligood handed me the test paper and winked at me with one of her pretty, brown

eyes. That was all I needed. I knew she’d still like me no matter what grade I got. Surprised at how

easy the test was, I flew through it like a hot knife through butter. But even still, I was just as

surprised as everyone else when Ms. Alligood announced that I was the only one to make a hundred

on that test. I’d never been good at anythin’ before, let alone the best.

That day at recess, Ms. Alligood and I were sittin’ on the edge of the playground while the

other kids played.

“Windy, I don’t think you realize how amazin’ you are. You’ve got a lot to offer this world.

All you have to do is try, ya know?” Ms. Alligood looked at me with her kind eyes and I gave her

a blushin’ smile. She turned her face to the sky. Small beads of sweat started to roll down her


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forehead. It was only April, but it felt like the dead of summer. Ms. Alligood wiped her brow and

sighed. “If only there was a cool breeze to make this day less stiflin’.”

She’d asked for the one thing I could give. I summoned a cool burst of air to brush past

her. Ms. Alligood was startled and took a short intake of breath, so I let up and the breeze stopped,

leavin’ only Ms. Alligood’s tousled hair as proof that it had been. “How peculiar. That was an

Ask-and-Ye-Shall-Receive moment, wasn’t it?,” she said. I nodded enthusiastically. See, I wanted

her to know. I wanted to share somethin’ personal with her as a kind of thank-you for all that she’d

done for me, but thinking back on it now, it was the worst decision I’ve ever made.

“Now if only we could have a subtle constant breeze to keep the heat of the sun from

meltin’ us, that would be just perfect.” Ms. Alligood chuckled, darin’ it to be so. And it was so,

‘cause I willed it to be. She sat up straight. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! The breeze came back

right after I asked. What a wonderful coincidence! Let’s try it again, just for jollies. What do ya

say?”

I nodded.

“Wind, stop!,” Ms. Alligood commanded, throwing her hands out in front of her as if to

perform some magic trick.

She couldn’t tell, but I forced the wind to be instantly still. The air was once again stagnant

and rich with heat.

Ms. Alligood’s mouth fell open like it was suddenly weighed down by a bag of bricks, but

she shook off her surprise. “Well, that’s settled. I guess I can control the wind,” she chuckled,

smirkin’ a little at her joke. But I shook my head. “No? What do you mean, Windy? You don’t

believe me?” She smiled and nudged me with her elbow.


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I pointed to myself.

“Oh, I see. You think it was your doin’? Well, Little Miss Windy, I do believe you’re trying

to steal my thunder.” She laughed, still thinkin’ we were jokin’ around, but I was determined to

show her. I was tired of people thinkin’ I was nothin’. I was tired of people making fun of me. I

was tired of people not knowin’ I was special, and I knew she was the only person that I could

share my secret with, the only person who wouldn’t judge me. So, I looked up at the sky and Ms.

Alligood followed my gaze.

I used to spend hours in a field, not too far from the trailer, experimentin’ with what I could

do. It took a good bit of tinkerin’ to figure out how to make lightenin’, but I’d gotten pretty good

at makin’ small storm clouds by this point. I didn’t know the science behind it, but I had a general

feel for what I was doin’. It worked best on days when there were already big puffy clouds in the

sky and a warm sun blazin’. I’d make air come at them clouds from all sides like I was stirrin’ up

a hornet’s nest in ‘em. They’d get all dark and angry-like; and pretty soon, lightnin’ would rumble

inside like a belly aching for food. Thunder.

That’s what I did for Ms. Alligood to show her that I hadn’t stolen her thunder, but I’d

given it to her. I smiled at her, hopin’ she’d see the humor in what I’d done, but there was no sign

of amusement on her face. She just stared at me like I killed her puppy or somethin’.

“Windy Johnson, please nod when I say that was just the biggest coincidence of all time.”

Ms. Alligood’s eyes were all squinty like her eyesight was failin’ her.

I shook my head “no” and pointed to my chest again. She just kept starin’ at me all

dumbfounded, so I tried to lighten things up by pushin’ a short blast of air at her face while throwin’


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my hands up. I don’t need to use my hands to control the wind, but I thought it might look more

convincin’. My chest heaved with noiseless laughter as Ms. Alligood jolted in surprise.

The bell rang. Recess was over. I got in line with the rest of my class while Ms. Allligood

went through the motions of heardin’ us back into the buildin’ like a stunned zombie teacher. I

started gettin’ a little nervous that she wouldn’t like me anymore now that she knew my secret.

Little did I know, there was somethin’ much worse comin’.

That night I was sittin’ in my small corner of the trailer tryin’ to avoid daddy. He’d gone

back to his old ways and was drinkin’ up a storm. His mind was rollin’ around in his head like a

BB in a boxcar. One minute he was ramblin’ on about needin’ a job and the next minute he was

sayin’ he was never gonna work again. Truth is, I never knew what kind of work my daddy did,

or if he worked at all. He’d never told me, and I couldn’t ask. Some days he left the house and

other days he didn’t. Daddy liked to ramble on about all kinds of different things and I could never

tell if there was truth in what he was sayin’.

“I told that old coot that I can dig the best ditch this side of all the rivers, but he didn’t

believe me! So you knows what I done did? I dugged up his yard and piled the dirt in front of his

doors so he couldn’t get in his house!” He laughed, took another swig of his beer and added, “Then

I shot him.”

He’d tell far-fetched stories like this all the time and I didn’t know or care if they were real.

One thing I did know was that when he started talkin’ about momma it meant bad things were

comin’ my way. From what I can figure, even though he never said one nice thing about her, he

actually really loved my momma and he blamed me for her dyin’. So, maybe it made him feel

better to hurt me, I don’t know. That’s just me ponderizin’. Anyhow, that’s what was about to


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happen this particular night. He started talkin’ about momma and I curled up in a ball, hopin’ it’d

be over quick.

“Your momma was the worst kind of woman! She never gave me no love! Fact is she gave

me nothin’ but trouble and you’s the livin’ proof of that!” Daddy raised his hand to smack me

upside the head when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Daddy looked around all confused-

like. The knock came again more firmly this time.

“Whatcha waitin’ fur girl? Go see who it is!” Daddy used the hand he was ready to hit me

with to yank me to my feet and shove me towards the door.

After pushin’ our squeaky door open, my heart leapt and sank in the same moment. Ms.

Alligood stood there lookin’ all professional-like in a pretty, pink, lady’s business suit. I quickly

stepped outside and closed the door behind me. I nudged my teacher down the stairs and away

from the trailer shakin’ my head “no” the entire way.

“Wait Pretty Windy, what’re you doin?” Such sweetness didn’t belong near my home. It’d

never been there, and never would be. I couldn’t let my daddy see her, especially in the state he

was in. “Windy, honey. I just wanna talk to your daddy for a minute. Isn’t he home?”

I shook my head “no” as hard as I could.

“Windy, I heard a voice in there and we both know it wasn’t yours. I just wanna talk to

him about how amazin’ you are. There’s no reason to worry.” She had no clue that there was every

reason to worry.

Daddy came burstin’ out the door like a rattler ready to strike. “Who’s there and what d’ya

want?”


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Ms. Alligood straightened her jacket and stepped towards daddy. “Good evening Mr.

Johnson. I’m April Alligood, Windy’s teacher at Brooks Elementary.”

“Well this ain’t no school, so what business you think you got here?”

“Sir, I hoped to talk to you about how smart and talented your daughter is.”

She didn’t see it. To this day I still don’t know how she didn’t see it. She didn’t see that

daddy was dangerous. She didn’t see that he was just a shell of a man filled with sewer stank, and

that there was no sense tryin’ to talk to him. She’d never seen the underside of this rock we call

earth, so she didn’t know about the maggots that feed on the ugliness of this world. But she was

about to find out, and I hated that she was learnin’ it through me.

Daddy’s face got all screwed up like someone threw pepper in his eyes. “Either you messin’

with me, or you’s the dumbest teacher ever was, cause my girl there ain’t any smarter than a bag

of hammers. Now get off my property!”

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Your daughter is not only academically proficient, she is

also more gifted than anyone I’ve ever met. Perhaps more gifted than anyone in the world. She’s

quite remarkable and I believe it is of the utmost importance that we outline some plans for her

future. Care and speed are essential, so that her talents are not discovered by the wrong people.”

I stood there in dumb-struck awe of my teacher. My friend. Tears filled my eyes. Ms.

Alligood was the only person that’d ever stood up to my daddy for me. For a moment…just a

moment…I forgot that we were standin’ near a tickin’ time bomb.

“Your big words and high falutin’ ideas don’t mean spit to me lady! There ain’t nobody

gonna tell me what to do with my kid, ya hear?”


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As much as I wanted to believe it, bein’ tough as nails was simply not Ms. April Alligoods

callin’ in life. But bein’ mean as sin was what my daddy was born to do. I was mighty grateful to

Ms. Alligood, but she was bound to lose this battle, and my stomach was in knots knowing it. My

pulse was racin’ and the wind was blowin’ harder with every beat. The storm ragin’ in my heart

was manifestin’ itself in the sky. Grey clouds rolled in over the horizon. The wind started rustlin’

the leaves of the big magnolia tree in front of our trailer.

Ms. Aligood turned to me, recognizin’ I was havin’ a hard time keepin’ it together. “Windy,

it’s alright. Your father and I are just havin’ a little talk, that’s all. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Oh yes she does. And you should be too, lady. That girl’s my property and I ain’t got no

interest in what you got to say ‘bout her. I’m given you one last warnin’ to git, or you’s gonna be

sorry you ever met my good-fur-nothin’ daughter!” Daddy stormed back into the house as thunder

clapped overhead.

I stepped in front of April and tried to push her towards her car, my breath heavy with

urgency. But I was just a string-bean of a 12 year old, and she stood her ground. She looked down

into my eyes and touched my face with her pretty little manicured hands. In that moment I felt

somethin’ new. In that moment the wind stopped blowin’. In that moment I learned what hope

was. “I’m gonna to take you away from here Pretty Windy,” she whispered. Those were the

sweetest words I’d ever heard.

A door slammed behind me, and I whipped around just in time to see daddy’s pistol bein’

raised in his unsteady hand.

Now, I need you to know that I hesitate tellin’ you what happened next, because the truth

about that night is the hardest pill I’ve ever had to swallow. But I said I’d tell my story and I’ll be


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true to my word. But when you judge me—and you will judge me—remember I was only 12 years

old and carryin’ more burdens than any girl should.

Now where was I? Right. Daddy stood on the porch, 20 feet away, and pointed his old

pistol at us. I should’ve remembered that he was a poor shot even when sober. Heaven help me, I

should’ve remembered. But adrenaline was corsin’ through my veins and all I could think of was

protecting Ms. Alligood—the angel in my life, from my daddy—the devil.

“Times up teacher-lady!”

We could hear the click-click of the hammer bein’ pulled back on his gun. I reacted the

only way I knew how, and with as much force as I could muster. I whipped the wind ‘round and

‘round, faster than ever before. Birds and other critters scattered in all directions, lookin’ for lower

ground. The clouds above started funnelin’ down, sendin’ all the pine trees into a swayin’ frenzy.

I lost control, and there was nothin’ left to do but drop down low before my own creation got the

better of me. I clawed my fingertips into the grass and could feel April’s hand wrap around my

ankle. My eyes stung as debris flew into my face, but I managed to take a last look at my daddy.

One second he was there standin’ on the porch and the next second he and our trailer were gone,

sucked up and tossed like rocks in a sling.

As quickly as it came on, the wind let up, and I felt April’s grip loosen from my ankle. I

rolled over and sat up. Rubbin’ the dirt from my eyes, the first thing I saw caused an ugly, coarse

gasp to escape my throat. The only sound ever to escape my lips. Ms. Alligood’s petite arm

extended out from under her overturned Honda Civic, her little body crushed beneath the car’s

tremendous weight. The twister I created to stop my daddy from hurtin’ my friend had hurt her

worse than a bullet would’ve.


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While screamin’ in my head and achin’ in my chest, I tried and tried to push the car off

her—first with my hands, then with wind. But the car wouldn’t budge. The shock of the devistatin’

disaster I caused stole all my strength and focus. Ms. Alligood’s body was broken to bits, and so

was my heart. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay there any longer. I couldn’t face what I’d done

for one more minute. I brought Ms. Alligood’s soft hand to my tear soaked lips, and left an

apologetic kiss on her palm. Then, I ran.

3RD WIND

Rain started pourin’ from the clouds I’d drawn in, weepin’ right along with me. My run

slowed to jog, then a walk, then a stagger. When I made it to the highway half mile down the dirt

road, my shoeless feet were caked in mud, and my ragged, wet clothes hung off me like a scarecrow

that’d lost its straw. Cars flew past me, their headlights blazin’ in my unseein’ eyes. I hadn’t given

any thought to where I was goin’. I was just wanderin’. Wanderin’ away from where I’d been.

Wanderin’ away from what I’d done. I was in shock, plain and simple.

Firetrucks, police cars and ambulances blasted by with sirens blarin’, headed to where I

done my worst, no doubt. If I’d been even the smallest bit more aware of things, I most likely

would’ve chosen to step out in front of one those oncomin’ cars. I was so broken-hearted about

what I’d done, I’m sure I would’ve welcomed an abrupt end to my misery, to my guilt, to my life.

More cops sped by. The thought of them findin’ sweet Ms. Alligood’s body pinned under

her car racked my soul with torment. Them findin’ my daddy’s mangled body didn’t bother me


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near as much. Of course, no one would know it was me who’d done it. To them it’d just look like

an act of God. But it wasn’t God. He didn’t care one whit about me. If He did, He would’ve spared

Ms. Alligood. Or better yet, not made me a freak. Or best of all, just let me die in my momma’s

belly. No, over the years I’ve realized, God’s eyes are turned far from me. I’m an abomination. An

accident.

I don’t know how long I’d been walkin’ before a car stopped by the side of the road. It was

still dark out, but I could tell it was a nice car, at least nicer than any I’d ever been in. A man got

out and wrapped his jacket around me. He helped me into the passenger seat. Now, I know what

you’re thinkin’. I ain’t stupid. I didn’t trust him or nothin’. I was just too wet, cold and dazed to

care about who he was or where he was takin’ me. Plus, I’d never been given any special speeches

about not talkin’ to strangers, because I can’t talk. Well…that, and I’m sure daddy wouldn’t have

cared if I up and went missin’.

The man said his name was Tom. He talked a lot. He kept askin’ me questions and sayin’

things that he meant to sound sweet, but actually came out soundin’ more like sugar-coated creeper

crap pie.

“What’s your name darlin’? What were you doin’ walkin’ by the highway this late? Where

are your parents? Is someone lookin’ for you? You look real nice, you know that? Pretty girl like

you shouldn’t be alone. You’re lucky I came along.”

Tom didn’t seem to care that I didn’t answer a single question. He reached over and patted

my knee, but I jerked away. Sure, I could sense he was dangerous. I didn’t know about all the

different forms of evil in the world yet, but I could tell this man had taken more than a few baths

in some kind of evil stew. The long and short of it was, I didn’t care. Not right then anyhow. All I


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could think about was Ms. Alligood. Did she feel the pain of every crushin’ bone before her heart

stopped beatin’? Did she grab my ankle before, or after the car rolled on top of her? Was she tryin’

to get my attention? Was she askin’ for help? Had she tried to scream? Was she cursin’ me with

her last breath? How many people would be cryin’ because she was gone? It was all my fault, so

I figured I deserved any bad that was comin’ my way.

A couple hours later Tom stopped at a motel just outside of Birmingham. I remembered

where it was from my geography test. I’d never been that far from Killen before. In any other

circumstance it might’ve felt like an adventure, but on that night I was just hopin’ the distance

would lessen the pain I was feelin’ all the way down to my bones. It was a stupid thought. Now I

know that not hundreds of miles or hundreds of years will free me from the guilt that clings inside

me like hot tar.

Tom got two suitcases out of the trunk. One was black and the other was hot pink with

Barbie written on it. He took me into one of the motel rooms. I’d always thought that stayin’ at a

motel might be nice, but this place felt dirty and used like an old toothbrush. Tom gave me the

Barbie suitcase and told me to pick out some clothes from inside it. Now, don’t think I was too

dumb to see what was happenin’. Of course I thought it was strange, but I ignored all the red flags

that kept poppin’ up, because—like I said—I was feelin’ downright awful. So I went with it,

waitin’ to see how things played out. It wasn’t so bad at first. In fact, it was almost like I was livin’

the high life for a minute—except for the pit in my stomach. I took a nice warm shower, then

picked out the prettiest purple skirt and white blouse I’d ever seen, let alone touched. There was

even a pair of shiny black pumps in the suitcase. When I came out of the bathroom, Tom had set

food out on the small table. Pizza, soda and cookies. These were luxuries I’d only had a handful

of times, and never all at once.


18

“You like pizza, I see. That’s good. I don’t like it when girls stop eatin’ to get skinny. Girls

should be curvy, buxom—you know, shapely. You’re skin and bones now, but I don’t think that’s

your fault. You know what I think? I think you weren’t taken care of properly. But don’t worry.

Tom’s here now and I’ll take care of you,” he said while I scarfed down my food. The pizza was

fresh and real hot, and even though it burned my mouth with every bite, I didn’t wince or make a

sound. When Tom took his first bite he hollered and spit his pizza clear across the room. Pansy.

It was round about this time that Tom started noticin’ that it wasn’t that I wouldn’t talk,

but that I couldn’t talk. He squinted at me with curious cat eyes. He reached under the small round

table where we were sittin’ and rubbed his hand on my knee and up my thigh. I jerked away and

kept my gaze down while I was chewin’ on a cookie.

One of his eyebrows raised up all slow and wicked like someone was crankin’ a jack in his

head. “You can’t talk, can you?”

Obviously I didn’t say nothin’, but I didn’t shake my head or anythin’ either. If he was

gonna figure me out, he was doin’ it on his own.

“You can’t, can you?” He reached under the table again and gave me a hard pinch on the

leg. I jerked away quick. No cries of pain could come out of my mouth, but the tears in my eyes

were evidence enough that he’d answered his own question. “Well, I’ll be! I must say, that makes

things worlds easier for me. If I had known that—well, who knows? I do like the chase, but this is

a sweet surprise.” He started rubbin’ his chin all thoughtful-like. “Hmm, well you’ve thrown me

off my game. I suppose we’ll just proceed as usual until I can think things through.”


19

I’d like to say I wasn’t that naïve, but I’ll be honest, I had no idea what he was talkin’

about. If I’d known what he meant I’m sure things would’ve gone different, but that’s easy to say

now. If “if’s” and “buts” were candy and nuts then we’d all have a Merry Christmas.

“You must be exhausted. Why don’t you go lay down for a bit?” He motioned to the room’s

only bed.

I did as he said. It’s not that I felt safe enough to sleep, it’s just that after livin’ with daddy

my whole life, I’d learned how to sleep even when I didn’t feel safe. It was part of my life.

When I woke up, well…that’s when I knew without a doubt that things were bad. Real bad.

My hands and feet were tied to the bed. I know I said I’d tell you the whole story, but what that

man started doin’ to me should never be read, spoken, or done ever again. I’m sure you’re gettin’

ideas in your head, but before you think one second more about what happened to me, let me cut

you off by tellin’ you what happened to Tom. Let’s just say that with the help of my ability, I gave

myself a crash course on hands-free strangulation. This was the moment that somethin’ snapped

inside of me. I suddenly knew without a doubt that I didn’t have to be the victim in my life

anymore. I had taken beatin’s for years, but Tom had crossed a line. He wasn’t my dad. He was

nobody to me. And he wasn’t just hurtin’ me, he was violatin’ me. As I drained the air from Tom’s

lungs, I didn’t feel scared or sorry or sad. I felt strong. I felt empowered. Maybe you think that’s

wrong. Maybe you think that makes me a bad person. Maybe you’re right. But I still ain’t sorry

for what I did to Tom. There are a lot of things I’ve done in my short life that I ain’t proud of, but

killin’ Tom ain’t one of them. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the other people I’ve killed,

but I’m gettin’ ahead of myself.


20

I laid there tied up in that bed next to Tom’s dead body for two days thinkin’ about what

he’d done. Thinkin’ about that pink suitcase and wonderin’ how many other girls had worn those

clothes before me. Where were those girls now? It hurt so bad just thinkin’ about it that my mind

had to shut down. If I opened my eyes his rottin’ face was there starin’ back at me with his purple

tongue hangin’ from his gapin’ mouth. His eyes fixed and glossy. But when I closed my eyes his

face was still there, and so was Ms. Alligood’s, like she was watchin’ me in my shame. Like she

was judgin’ me. So, I kept my eyes open because the face of a corpse was far easier to bear.

4TH WIND

When the manager came burstin’ through the motel door two days later demandin’ his

money, he got the surprise of his life. I suppose I could’ve gotten someone’s attention sooner by

causin’ a little whirlwind in the room, but while lyin’ in that there bed I decided it was best to try

to keep my abilities on the down low for a bit so as not to raise suspicion about how Tom really

died. Even though I knew I wasn’t a victim anymore, I didn’t want other people to know that. I

mean, what would the police do if they knew I killed two—possibly three—people in less than 24

hours? Lock me in a padded cell? Yeah, we’ll get there, but not quite yet.

The police came and I surely did look every bit the victim, and I played it up just to be

sure. It wasn’t hard to get my eyes filled up with tears right quick.

The cops were frustrated with me at first because I couldn’t tell them what happened. Then

I wrote down my name. I wrote it all sloppy-like so they wouldn’t ask me to write anythin’ else.

They figured out pretty quick where I’d come from and then they had all kinds of other questions.


21

“You’re from Killen, Alabama, right? Shake your head yes or no.”

I nodded.

“Your father is Gary Johnson, correct?”

I nodded.

“Were you there when that tornado touched down last Friday?”

I hesitated, wonderin’ if they knew, but the cop put me at ease. “It’s okay honey. I know it

must’ve been a scary thing to witness.”

I nodded and let the tears flow freely. I wasn’t a witness. I was the culprit.

“One thing the local police couldn’t figure out is why your teacher, April Alligood was

there. Do you know why she was at your house?”

I thought for a minute. I didn’t wanna tell them anythin’, but then I thought about Ms.

Alligood’s family. They deserved to know the truth, or at least enough of it to put their minds at

ease. It was the least I could do.

I nodded slowly and gestured for somethin’ to write with. In my worst handwritin’ I

scribbled, “To tell Daddy I done good.”

The officer read my note and forced a kind smile. “That’s nice. She was a good teacher,

wasn’t she?”

I nodded again, my genuine tears fallin’ like rain.

Then the officer said somethin’ that about made me wet my pants. “I’ll take you to the

hospital now so you can be with your father.”


22

I started fidgetin’ around, not knowin’ what to do. Daddy was still alive? Did he know I

caused the twister? Did he tell them?

The officer noticed I was all confused and added, “You thought he was dead?”

I nodded somberly.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you…” the officer paused. He squatted down to my height, his

eyes full of pity. “…when your dad hit the ground, he broke his neck. The doctors can tell you

more, but just so you’re prepared…” he put his hand on my shoulder. “…if your dad lives—he’ll

be paralyzed from the neck down. Also, they say he’ll probably never speak again. I’m terribly

sorry. You can stay with him for a few days, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to find you a new

home.” The officer gently squeezed my shoulder. I’m sure it was meant to feel comfortin’, but he

might as well have handcuffed me. I felt shackled. Chained to a life I didn’t want, and now I was

draggin’ the heavy guilt and shame of the past few days through the fog of my uncertain future.

But I was determined to use that weight as kindlin’ for the fire burnin’ inside me. The fire that I’d

use against anyone who tried to hurt me or someone I loved.

Daddy didn’t die right away. It took four months before he passed on. Durin’ those four

months he got to know what it was like to not have a voice, to feel powerless and afraid. I could

see it in his eyes too, that he knew. He knew that he got what was comin’ to him. I almost felt

sorry for him. Almost.


23

5TH WIND

After a few days with daddy at the hospital, the social services people picked me up and

took me to a foster home. It was the first of many, but this one was different than the others. Like

I mentioned before, I was dead-set on not bein’ a victim anymore. That would cause problems for

me later, but in my first foster home it wasn’t me who needed protectin’.

I was placed with a nice-enough single women who had no children of her own, but she

did have one other foster kid at the same time as me, Lilac. The name was fittin’ cause she was

pretty as a flower. She was ten years old, so just a couple years younger than me. Lilac had long

golden hair like honey drippin’ down her back and sparklin’ big brown eyes like bubblin’ root

beer. The lady we lived with was called Ruby, and she took real good care of us for the most part.

But that poor plump woman had no backbone at all. Honestly, I saw her fall to the floor in a puddle

of her own skin just because she’d caught sight of her shadow. She loved cats, but she was too

jumpy to own a real one, so she collected little glass cat figurines. They were perched all over the

house like little booby traps for clumsy people. Luckily, Lilac and I were light-footed, a skill we

both learned from our troubled upbringin’s.

Lilac was the second friend I had, after Ms. Alligood. She was quiet, but that didn’t bother

me none. We wrote each other notes every day, and most nights she’d whisper stories to me while

we were in bed. Lilac always said she made the stories up, but I knew there was mostly truth in

‘em because they never changed much.

They’d always go somethin’ like this…

Once upon a time there lived a King, his beautiful Queen and a Princess who all lived

happily in their castle. But one day, the Queen and Princess were banished to a small cabin in the


24

woods on account of the King not likin’ them anymore cause he found a new queen. The old Queen

was so angry with the King that she went off-her-rocker-mad and started hurtin’ all the friendly

little creatures in the woods and sometimes even the Princess. The Queen became so wicked that

her beauty faded. Her once pretty smile turned to an evil sneer. Her once silky, golden hair turned

into a frizzy rat’s nest. And her kind heart turned to stone. She’d become a wicked witch. The

Princess started sleepin’ under her bed because she was so afraid of the Witch that’d once been

her mother.

One day, the Witch was so spitfire mad she was throwin’ things all over the cabin. The

Princess thought she was a goner for sure, but then a brave Knight knocked down the door and

rescued the Princess. The Knight tried to take the Princess back to her castle, but it was discovered

that the King was stealin’ money from the townspeople, so the Knight had to lock the King in the

dungeon. Instead, the Princess was taken to a nice cottage where a kind old hag took good care

of her, and she met a pretty new friend that made her feel safe. The end.

I wasn’t too stupid to recognize what her stories meant about her life, but other than bein’

her friend, there wasn’t much I thought I could do to help Lilac. That is, until one day after I’d

been livin’ there about a year. We were sittin’ in the kitchen eatin’ our favorite breakfast of

Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal with a side of actual cinnamon toast when suddenly there was a

loud bangin’ knock at the front door that made all of the glass cats rattle. Of course Ruby hit the

floor like shots had been fired, but Lilac and I were curious. We crept into the livin’ room and

parted the blinds on the front window to see who was knockin’.

To me, it just looked like some small, insignificant, crazy woman was standin’ on the

porch. She had wild blonde hair and wild brown eyes to match. When I turned to Lilac there was

fear smeared all over her face like a biscuit drowned in gravy. I put the dots together and realized


25

the silly-lookin’ woman outside was the Wicked Witch. I grabbed Lilac and we ran upstairs to our

room. I wasn’t afraid, but I had to protect Lilac. She was my friend, and even though that little

woman didn’t look all to threatenin’ to me—I had lived with a much bigger villain—Lilac was

tremblin’ like she was strugglin’ to keep a heavy weight from crushin’ her. I knew what that was

like, so I stayed with her so she wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone. The yellin’ burst through

our room’s open window like thunderous daggers piercin’ our ears. “Hello! I knows you’re in

there! Give me my daughter!”, “Momma’s come to get you Lilac!”, “Get out here girl before I

come in and get you myself!” It didn’t take long for the neighbors to get fed up with all her hollerin’

and they ran her off, but she’d be back. They always come back.

Later that day, I overheard the social worker talkin’ to Ruby.

“She just got out of prison last week. I’m not sure how she found out where her daughter

was placed. We’ve kept that information confidential. I know it must have given you a scare, Ruby,

but don’t worry. We’ll be moving the girl within the week. In the meantime, if you see a red Chevy

Malibu driving by your house, just call the police.”

“Bu-but, can’t you just take her now? Or at least keep some police stationed outside?” I

could hear the cowardice rattlin’ chubby Ruby’s teeth like she was munchin’ on her last meal.

“Ruby, these things take a little time, and Lilac’s mother didn’t actually do anything illegal

today. I think Lilac will be happiest in your care until we find her a new home.”

I couldn’t stand to listen anymore. My blood was boilin’. I was mad that Ruby was a

chicken. I was mad that social services was gonna take my friend away from me. And most of all

I was screamin’-mad that Lilac’s mother was a downright good-for-nothin’, low-life bully who


26

got her jollies from hurtin’ someone half her size. There was nothin’ I could do to change Ruby,

or social services, but the Wicked Witch—I could maybe work somethin’ there. I made a plan.

For the rest of the day I stared out the front window waitin’, prayin’ for that red Chevy

Malibu to drive by. Lilac kept askin’ me what I was lookin’ for, but I would just smile and pat her

shoulder to assure her everythin’ was fine. Ruby left the house to “run some errands”, but I knew

she was just a big fat lily-livered chicken.

I gestured for Lilac to get me a pen and some paper while I continued to keep watch. She

may’ve thought I was gonna tell her somethin’, but the note I wrote was for later. There was no

reason to upset her if nothin’ happened. But deep down I hoped somethin’ would happen. I was

itchin’ to teach that crazy-haired, child beaten witch of a woman a lesson. People like her ain’t got

no right to have kids. If there’s one thing in this world I’ll never understand, it’s why God lets

rotten people have babies.

When the sun dropped out of the sky and my eyes were tired of watchin’ the dark street, I

almost lost my grit. But then I saw it. Like God had answered my prayers and summoned that red

demon straight up from hell. That no good red Chevy Malibu crept up the street. The Wicked

Witch was behind the wheel, sure ‘nuf. She drove past the house at a crawl, and stopped up the

road, her gleamin’ brake lights starin’ at me like they was hankerin’ for a showdown.

I jumped into action. First I turned off all the lights and rushed Lilac upstairs, usherin’ her

to hide under the bed. I pressed the note I’d written into her small hand. I’m your Knight tonight.

I’ll protect you from the Witch. Stay under this bed no matter what you hear, Princess Lilac.

She read it and nodded, too terrified to say a word. I smiled, hopin’ it would make her feel

safe, but now I wonder if it was my face that was scarin’ her. See, I was feelin’ a strange


27

combination of fear and excitement that probably gave me a wicked Cheshire cat grin, just like

one of them stupid glass cat figurines layin’ around the house. My heart was poundin’, anxious to

execute my roughly thought out plan. Luckily, my immaturity gave me naïve confidence.

Honestly, nothin’ I’d thought up was all that threatenin’. I’d protected myself with wind a few

times, but I’d never attacked to protect someone else. It made me feel empowered.

On my way back downstairs I grabbed a tube of red lipstick from Ruby’s bathroom. In the

livin’ room there was a large, framed mirror on the wall. I scribbled somethin’ on it with the lipstick

as fast as I could. Then, with no small effort, lifted the mirror down off its hooks. I almost crushed

myself under its weight. Like I said, not the most brilliant plan. It was a struggle, but my pumpin’

adrenaline enabled me to drag the mirror to the foyer. The bottom of the stairs was the perfect

place to prop it so it was visible from the front door. Racin’ to the window, I saw the wild-haired

woman stomp up the path to the house. I flung the front door open before she even reached the

stoop. Then, fast as a jack rabbit, I crouched down behind the large mirror.

“Knock, knock. Anyone home?” The Wicked Witch stepped in the house like a cautious

cat, her honey-sweet voice echoed like vinegar down the hall. “Lilac, momma’s here. Come out,

little LiLi.”

This was my chance. In a strangely satisfying twist of fate, I knew I could make someone

else the victim for a change. Someone who deserved it. With a sudden flare for the dramatics, I

flicked my little wrist, sendin’ a gust of wind through the open door behind the Wicked Witch,

pushin’ her forward. She spun around to see where it’d come from and another gust slammed the

door closed. She turned back toward the interior of the house.


28

“What’s goin’ on here? Someone leave the back door open or somethin’?” her words faded

off as she noticed the message on the mirror scribbled in red lipstick.

Leave Lilac or Die! Sure, it was a little melodramatic, but give me a break. I was goin’

through puberty.

“What’s this? Some kinda haunted house trick or somethin’? Lilac, are you doin’ this?

Cause if you are, it’s gonna come right back down on you, girl. Yer mine, ya hear?” Wild-hair’s

voice softened, “Yer all I got, Baby Love.”

She started walkin’ into the livin’ room, but I summoned a gust to knock a chair over in

her path. Stayin’ in a crouch, I slowly pushed the mirror closer to the Wicked Witch one inch at a

time.

She looked down at the message again, “Leave Lilac or Die, huh? That’s funny, Lilac.

You’ve got quite the twisted sense of humor, just like your stupid dad did.”

I’d gotten too close. The Wicked Witch lashed out and kicked the mirror. As it shattered, I

toppled backward underneath it. A piece of glass cut my cheek and I could feel blood start to trickle

down my face and into my open, stunned mouth. I got up and grimaced at the pain in my cheek,

my teeth coated in blood. I could taste the tangy iron on my tongue. An eerie moment passed

between us. A red coated smile spread across my face. She didn’t know what I knew. She didn’t

know that I’d survived much worse than her. She didn’t know there was no way she was gettin’

up those stairs to Lilac.

“Well, what’ve we got here? Yer not Lilac at all, but I know she’s here.” Her voice

hardened. “Go get her, you creepy little girl!” As she lashed out to grab my arm, I shoved her back

with a burst of air. She stumbled and looked at me all crooked-like. The wind picked up speed.


29

Small furniture began to topple over and glass cats went flyin’ every which-way. Lilac’s momma

squinted her eyes against the gale and started backin’ away from me as the lights suddenly flipped

on behind me. Ruby had come in the back door through the kitchen, but within seconds I heard

her shrill scream as she looked around the corner and saw what was happenin’. Then came the

thud as she crumpled to the floor.

“What’s causin’ this wind? How you doin’ this?” The Wicked Witch yelled over the howl

of the rushin’ wind and crashin’ glass cats.

I looked at her, then at Ruby layin’ in a lump on the floor behind me. Shakin’ my head, I

pointed at the Wicked Witch as if to say, “I’m not doin’ a thing. You’re causin’ this.” I’m sure she

didn’t know what I meant, but an idea occurred to me, and she was in the perfect spot for me to

carry it out.

Redirectin’ the wind to blow the glass cats towards me and Ruby, I braced myself for their

impact. Carried on my wind, wide-eyed, painted cat faces came hurtlin’ at us as. Pointy cat ears

and shards of broken, glass cat bodies embedded themselves into my skin. Some flew past me and

sank into Ruby like pins in a pincushion. It sounds bad, but only a handful of figurines hit us.

Besides, Ruby needed a few scars to remind her to stop bein’ so yella.

We got cut up enough to make the Wicked Witch look like she’d gone mad-as-a-hatter to

the cops. All I’d originally planned was to scare her, but it played out better than I could’ve

imagined. With Lilac hidin’ under the bed the entire time, it looked like we were protectin’ her

from her momma. The cops took one look at the scene with the overturned furniture, the pile of

broken glass cats, and the cuts and bruises on Ruby and me and assumed it was all the Wicked

Witch’s doin’. Of course, she tried to say it was the wind that did it, but that just made her look


30

crazier. Ruby didn’t argue the wild-haired lady’s guilt because she’d been in a faint on the floor

durin’ the worst of it. Really, it couldn’t have worked out any better. The police even thought the

Wicked Witch wrote the message on the mirror—without correct punctuation, Leave Lilac or Die!

Lilac’s momma got thrown back in prison for parole violation, breakin’ and enterin’, and

two counts of assault and battery. I kept my promise. I was Lilac’s Knight. Ms. Alligood had told

me that I was smart, and this was the first time since her passin’ that I came close to believin’ it.

Now, that don’t mean this was a happy endin’. I never saw Lilac again after that night. The

next mornin’ she was placed in a new home. They moved me too because Ruby said her nerves

were shot and her fosterin’ days were done. The way it turned out made me bitter towards the

whole fosterin’ system. Even good intentions couldn’t protect us kids. We had to protect ourselves.

I didn’t get too close to anyone for a long while after that. There was no point. They were

just goin’ to move me again soon anyhow. Yeah, bitter, that’s what I was. I didn’t use my ability

though, not for a long while. I realized I’d been lucky with the Wicked Witch, and with Tom too.

Ms. Alligood had wanted to protect me from people who would use me for my ability, so I needed

to keep it hidden. For her.

Ms. Alligood had believed in my academic potential too, but unfortunately, when it came

to my education, I went back to not givin’ a nut-nugget about it. Some foster parents made me go

to school, but usually I’d just leave after they’d walked me inside. Sometimes they’d try to punish

me for not doin’ chores or homework by not givin’ me food or lockin’ me in my room. They

didn’t realize I’d been through worse stuff.

I went from house to house, only stayin’ as long as they could tolerate me. At about 15 I’d

had enough. Enough movin’, and enough of people not gettin’ me. So I got careless. When things


31

weren’t goin’ my way, I used it. I used my ability. Just a little burst here or a gust there, you know,

to knock stuff over when I was angry or somethin’. Nothin’ serious. Then, I met Slade.

FINAL WIND

Slade was my first love, I guess. I say “I guess” because after what happened, I’m not sure

I really know what love is.

I’d done a lot of growin’ by the time I turned 15. At 5’9” I towered over most girls, and a

lot of the boys too. So, even though I was still string-bean skinny, I’d become somewhat

intimidatin’ on account of my height. That combined with not bein’ able to talk, skippin’ school

all the time, the scar on my cheek, and the sneers I handed out like candy corn on Halloween

earned me a solid Tough Girl reputation. People at school kept their distance and didn’t give me

too much trouble. If anyone was gonna get close to me, it’d be because I made the first move.

One day, I was ditchin’ out of freshman English—I remember it was English because it

was actually my favorite class, and I considered stayin’ at school that mornin’. But, I hadn’t done

my homework the night before and I didn’t wanna endure the shame of comin’ to class empty

handed. So, I passed the classroom and headed out the backdoor of the school. That’s when I saw

him. He was hidin’ in the shadows of the underside of the bleachers, smokin’ a cigarette. I don’t

know why I approached him. Maybe it was because I was tryin’ to be territorial, but it was probably

more cause I was lonely.

“Hey. What’s your name?” He let out a long stream of dirty smoke.


32

I looked at him all crooked. I didn’t like smokers. Smokin’ killed my momma.

“I said, what’s your name? You dumb or something?” He took another drag and examined

the red embers of his butt.

I just stared him in the eye and nodded. I liked makin’ people uncomfortable by lookin’

them in the eye. But he didn’t seem to care.

He laughed. “You saying you are dumb? That’s a first.”

I responded the way I always did to communicate that I can’t speak. I pointed to my throat

then shook my head “no” while openin’ and closin’ my hand like a mouth.

“Oh, I get it. You can’t talk. That kind of dumb. That’s funny. I mean it’s not funny you

can’t talk. It’s just funny like in a pun kind of way. You know, because of the word’s double

meaning. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I knew what he meant, but I’d never heard the word “pun” before. He didn’t have a southern

accent like most people in Alabama. He wore a leather jacket and those expensive jeans that look

cheap because they’ve got holes all over them on purpose. His thick, dark hair and sparkalin’ light

eyes, clashed like two beauty queens fightin’ over a crown. If it weren’t for that nasty cancer stick

in his hand, I might’ve found him attractive right off.

He lifted his cigarette to his lips and before suckin’ said, “My name’s Slade.”

I nodded. Then without warnin’, I snatched that awful smokin’ butt from his mouth, threw

it on the ground, and stomped on it.

“What the frick did you do that for?”

I looked him in the eye then put my hands around my throat like I was chokin’.


33

“Oh, I see you’re one of those people. The type that likes to get on a high horse and tell

everyone that smoking will kill them. Well, guess what Blondie, everyone dies at some point.

Maybe I’d like to be the master of my own demise. Ever consider that?” Slade took another

cigarette out of his back pocket, put it in his mouth and lit it up while inhalin’.

I grabbed that one too and before he could say a word about it, I put my mouth on his and

sucked the air from his lungs, smoke and all. I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt him or nothin’. I just wanted

him to know what it felt like to be helpless. To not be able to breathe for a few seconds. To show

him none of us are masters of our own fate. We’re all gonna get what’s comin’ to us sooner or

later.

Slade’s pretty, sparkalin’ eyes filled with panic like water risin’ to the brim of a bathtub.

He pushed me away and staggered backward, coughin’ up a storm.

When he finally stopped coughin’ and looked up at me, I winked and ran off. He considers

that our first kiss. I consider it my first warnin’. After that, he didn’t smoke around me anymore.

I didn’t try to keep my ability from Slade. I guess I just wanted to impress him. The second

time we saw each other I pushed him up against his locker with a gust of air and gave him a real

kiss.

“I don’t know how you do that, but it’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Well,

that and your rack.”

I bit his lip and walked away. After that, we started meeting up on purpose. He would write

me notes and I would write back in scribbled shorthand. I didn’t want him to know how stupid I

was, since he was so smart. I made up for my all my shortcomin’s by showin’ off. It started out

harmless at first. We’d hide under the bleachers durin’ football games and I’d send bursts of wind


34

up the cheerleader’s skirts, or I’d blow the players around on the field a little. A couple of times I

brought storm clouds in and got the game rained out. Slade loved it. He liked encouragin’ me to

do things for him. When we were together I always thought I was in control, but he was so good

at manipulatin’ me, I didn’t even realize he was pullin’ my strings.

Slade was 17, and he came from rich stock. His daddy had some fancy job and his momma

looked like a Barbie doll, but Slade didn’t like his parents much. I never understood why. No

family is perfect, but he had it better than most. The way I see it, we came from opposite ends of

the same dead end road and met somewhere in the middle. My dad beat me and treated me like

dirt; Slade’s dad pampered him and treated him like gold. We both got to a point where nothin’

was good enough. So we rebelled against everyone together.

Now, listen up because this is what you’ve been waitin’ for. This is where my story, and

in some ways, my life come to an end. To be clear, I ain’t proud of what happened next, but I’ve

sorta come to terms with it. So it won’t bother me none if you hate me more than you already did

after you read this. I deserve it.

On my sixteenth birthday our childlike pranks became somethin’ of the past and Slade and

I stepped up our game. We were drivin’ ‘round town that night in Slade’s black mustang when he

got a mischievous look in his eye. He stopped at a convenience store.

“Let’s go in and get some beer, you know, for your birthday.”

We’d been together for three months and he’d started readin’ my gestures real good by

then. I shrugged to say “how?”

“You know how. We’ll have to steal it. We’ll pick out some stuff to buy, then while I’m at

the register, you grab a six-pack, stuff it in your backpack and walk out. Easy.”


35

I squinted at him all judgey like. I hadn’t ever stolen anythin’ before, but I didn’t want him

knowin’ that.

“Come on Babe, you got this. If something goes wrong just kick a little dust up into the

guy’s eyes or something. Then we can go to a romantic spot and get properly wasted celebrating

your sweet 16.”

I pushed him playfully and we got out of the car, but I gotta say, I was real nervous. We

were the only shoppers inside. We walked around the store and I loaded him up with my favorite

snacks. Slade went to the counter while I pretended to keep browsin’. I went to the cooler and

looked at the beer. My eyes found the brand that my daddy always drank and I couldn’t do it. I’d

never tried beer, and I never wanted to. I didn’t wanna be anythin’ like my daddy.

I started to walk out of the store, but then a bottle of wine caught my eye. Now, that was

somethin’ I could try. Wine seemed more romantic anyhow. I swung my backpack around to my

front, and slipped a bottle inside. But, like a nimrod, I didn’t realize that there was a camera pointed

right where I was standin’. I started to walk out, but the man behind the counter started shoutin’.

“Get back here girl! I know what you have got! Neither of you is going anywhere! I’m

calling the police!”

Slade looked at me, his eyes like little daggers pokin’ me. I wasn’t proud of what I was

about to do, so I closed my eyes. The air in the store started to circulate slowly at first. I could hear

Magazines start fallin’ off the shelves, and the bell on the door jingle nonstop. As the speed of the

wind picked up, I could hear things crashin around. The man started yellin’.

“What is happening?! How are you doing this?! Stop! Stop it now! Wait, what are you—”

Then he just stopped talkin’. I opened my eyes. Slade walked towards me, his dark hair blowin’


36

about like he was in one of them sexy perfume commercials. It was hard to take my eyes off him,

but I glanced over to where the man had been. I couldn’t see him, but I heard him moaning, like

he was hurt real bad. I wanted to check on the man, but Slade was pullin’ me out the door.

“He just hit his head on the counter. He’ll be fine. We’ve gotta get out of here.” Slade’s

hands were shakin’ a little as gripped my arm and rushed me into the car. We sped off thinkin’ we

got away, but we were just two dumb teenagers.

What goes around comes around. Just like daddy got what was comin’ to him, I was gonna

get what was comin’ to me, but not before I made things worse.

Slade drove us to a quiet spot by the river, not too far from a little trailer park. “Show me

what you got,” Slade said.

I pulled the wine out of my pack.

“Oh, I see. You’re a classy girl now. Too good for beer? That’s fine, I guess. It’s your

birthday.”

We sat on the hood of his car and struggled for a while to get the cork out of the bottle, but

Slade finally managed it with the pocket knife he carried around all the time. He said it was for

emergencies, but I thought it was just for show. I could’ve sworn he’d never hurt nobody, but that

night he held his knife differently. He held it like he had a new respect for what it could do. I wish

I’d known sooner why I couldn’t see the moon glint off the steel, but my young mind was too

preoccupied to notice the blood on his blade.

It didn’t take long before the wine started makin’ me tipsy. The more I drank the more my

anger at the world started to slip away. I forgot that I hated my foster parents. I forgot about Tom


37

and his wanderin’ hands. I forgot about daddy and his drunkin’ rages. And I forgot what I’d done

to sweet April Alligood. All I knew was that I was with Slade and we were in love.

He gave me yummy wine kisses and nibbled on my ear lobes, which made me tremble with

silent giggles.

“What’s that sound?” Slade asked. “Did you hear that?”

I hadn’t heard anythin’. I pulled him back on top of me and nipped at his neck.

“I’m serious, Babe. Someone is out there.” It was dark and the only lights were comin’

from the trailer park a few hundred yards away. “We should go.” He was jumpy like a nut-stealin’

squirrel.

I tried to draw his attention back to me, but he’d already gotten it in his head we were

leavin’. Reluctantly I rolled off the hood of the car. I hit the ground harder than I expected. That

wine had me feelin’ like I was floatin’ on a cloud. Slade picked me up and lifted me into the car.

He started up the engine, and as we pulled away from my romantic birthday spot, five police cars

pulled into the trailer park with sirens blarin’. Slade revved the engine and peeled through the

grass, tryin’ to avoid the cops by going the long way around, but they were on us like white on

rice. My senses were foggy, but I knew I should be worryin’.

“Babe! Don’t just sit there! Do something! Get ‘em off our tail.” But there was no time for

that. A police car nudged our back bumper. Not hard, but as the mustang lurched Slade lost his

grip on the wheel. We careened into a thick pine tree, our heads whipping forward to meet the

dashboard. Somehow I managed to maintain consciousness, but Slade was out like a light. His

head had a gash that soaked his perfect hair with dark blood.


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My muddled brain wasn’t workin’ right. Was this my fault? Is someone else I love gonna

die because of me?

A cop with a megaphone started shoutin’ the words I’d heard in police shows, “Come out

with your hands up. Move away from the vehicle. There’s nowhere to go. Come out now and you

will not be harmed.”

I stumbled out of the car. Headlights beamed in my eyes. Blue lights flashed all around.

This couldn’t be happenin’. We just took a bottle of wine.

“Tell the man in the car to get out too.”

I couldn’t.

“Tell the man to get out or we’ll be forced to open fire.”

I couldn’t!

“We know what you did at the convenience store.”

They knew? They knew I could control wind?

“We don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t guarantee your safety unless you do as I say.”

Guarantee my safety? Safety? Safety. No, I was not a victim. Not ever again! No. I could

protect myself. I could protect Slade, and if they already knew what I could do then there was no

point in hidin’ it from them. No one could hurt me anymore. Not daddy, not Tom, not anyone! I

didn’t need safety. Everyone else did.

I fought through the haze in my head and brought on the wind, bigger than I ever had

before. Trees started creekin’ and crackin’. Homes started moanin’ and groanin’. Leaves and trash


39

started twirlin’ and swirlin’. And then, without warnin’, three sister funnel clouds twisted down,

down, down from the dark sky like tentacles on a sea monster, pickin’ up anyone and anything in

their path. Trailers toppled behind the wall of police in front of me. Men screamed as they were

ripped from the ground, their limbs flailin’ like they were fightin’ a ghost. Police cars took flight,

blue lights twirling through the sky until they were flung back to the ground like a child done

playin’ with his toy. Screamin’, howlin, caterwaulin’, that’s all I could hear. But I kept control of

those twistin’ wind demons. I held them away from Slade and me. But then Slade’s weak voice

crept into my ears like an unexpected visitor.

“Stop. Windy, please stop.” There was somethin’ about how he said my name. He was

afraid. Afraid of me. I could hear the fear drippin’ off his tongue as he mumbled the word that was

so much more than just my name. It was the only way I could be heard.

Then, in my head I heard sweet Ms. Alligood’s voice. “Pretty Windy, I’m gonna take you

away from here.” I felt the touch of her hand on my cheek, the softest thing I’d ever felt. Hope

burned in my heart only to be shattered by the image of her on the ground, graspin’ at my ankle…

screamin’, pleadin’ with me to stop. “Stop! Windy, please stop!” The pain and fear of those words

echoed in my ears. If only I had heard her. If only I had stopped the wind. If only, If only. I dropped

to my knees and calmed the storm. My sobs blended with the wimperin’ of men, and whinin’ of

dyin’ sirens. I pushed my face into the damp grass, wishin’ the ground would open and bury me.

I barely noticed when my hands were cuffed behind my back. I barely noticed when I was

thrown into the only undamaged police car. I barely noticed when I was locked in a cell. I was

numb with pain—not my own—but all that I had caused.


40

Later I was told that 4 people died that night and a dozen more were injured. Men, women,

children, innocent people that had never done anythin’ to me.

Slade had stabbed that store clerk. It was all caught on the security cameras. I’d closed my

eyes because I didn’t wanna face what we were doin’, but there was no “we” in what Slade did to

that man. I never would’ve gone into that store if I’d known he was gonna pull his knife. Sure, I

was an accomplice, but the cops were after Slade that night. They had no reason to think I’d caused

the wind in the convenience store until my horrific display in the trailer park.

The cops didn’t know what to do with me, so they called the FBI. Of course then they

started pokin’ around, askin’ people questions, diggin’ into my history. My daddy and Ms.

Alligood dyin’ because of a twister. Tom dyin’ from unexplainable asphyxiation. The incident

with Lilac’s momma. All of these occurrences that were only suspicious when examined together.

Plus, my various foster parents told them about the strange times when objects had been flung

around as if a poltergeist was in the house. Kids at school told them about unusual gusts of wind

during football games or in the halls. And Slade, Slade told them everythin’. His parents got him

some fancy lawyer who worked out a plea deal for him if he told the Feds all he knew about me.

And that was it. I never saw him again.

Once the government was convinced of what I could do, they locked me in this padded

cell. They say this cell prevents me from using my ability somehow, but to be honest I haven’t

even tested it. I know this is where I deserve to be. They think I’m their prisoner, but they’re

wrong. Right now I wanna be here. I’ve got nowhere else I wanna go. But I’m not a victim. Maybe

one day I’ll decide to show them that. As for now, they only let me out when they need me for

somethin’. Like right now. The colonel is at the door again.


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“On your feet, Gust Girl. You’re going to generate a sand storm in Afghanistan to cover a

Seal team mission. Let’s go.”

Date post:	06-Dec-2021
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Gust Girl Kristina Cersey

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