Staring into the storm

By Dave Jones, Special to the Times
Published January 27, 2008

The crackling light sneaks through the bedroom window and lands on the corner of my left eye. A moment later I pry my eyelids open and blink rapidly to get rid of the fogginess. My thoughts of what to do next come slowly at first but then spring on me. I bounce out of bed instead of my usual dip and roll, which seems to jump-start me to a quicker than usual start to the day.

As I dress, my mind races through a maze of thoughts. I have no idea what I put on nor do I care. As I sit on the couch taking the last sip of a stoutly made cup of coffee, a blank stare settles in. I can't tell you how long I sat there. I suddenly come to and think to myself, "Oh my, I can't even remember making the coffee and that was just a few minutes ago." It is kind of like driving while talking on the cell phone and when the call is over you realize you can't remember the last minute on the road.

As I head to the front door I'm shaking my head trying to get a clear thought of what the future might hold. Before opening the door I pause as I usually do to think about what I'm forgetting. The thought of remembering something after walking down three flights of stairs will do that. Nope, got it all, I tell myself.

At about the halfway point of opening the door to leave, I hear rain crashing through the trees that are standing tall above the outside catwalk. I take a short step outside and while still squeezing the door handle I stop and look out through the branches above. The rain seems to be falling through the trees, as if in slow motion. The sunlit background is bright enough to see the rain dripping from the leaves just to be caught by the next cluster below. The wind is singing as it kicks the branches around in a soft, circular motion. It catches my attention as I think how pretty it all looks. I close the door and turn the key until I hear the familiar click of safety. I walk about four or five steps down the first covered stairway just to think again, "Dang it, I better get the umbrella." Using the words "dang it," even to myself, is a product of my upbringing. It took me many years of correcting myself before I stopped calling anyone who looked older than me a sir or a ma'am. It's just the way I was raised. I quickly get back inside, as I feel as if I'm running late for work.

After sliding out the umbrella from a closet near the door I turn to repeat the same moves, only this time something is very different. I open the door a second time and quickly notice that the song Mother Nature shared with me earlier is gone. "That's odd," I thought. I know that in Florida the rains can suddenly start and stop but this is different. From a crashing rain to nothing in just a few seconds seems a little weird. I take three more steps out to the railing to get a closer look at the trees. I peek at the ground, then follow the tree limbs from the bottom to the top.

It is dead silent.

There are no limbs swirling around, no wind singing through the trees and no water dripping off the leaves. Something tells me I am in trouble. I slowly walk downstairs and then a few feet to the trees. I am surprised to hear the crunch of leaves under each step I take. My mind starts racing for an answer. I kick leaves around in a panic. Not a drop of water anywhere. I spin around to check out the sidewalks but they're totally dry. I get on my knees and make several slow swirls of leaves, as if I'm swimming. There's no water anywhere, not a drop. I lower my head in disbelief. I'm stunned.

Pushing myself up on the massive tree trunk, I slowly walk back upstairs, open the condo door and move down the entry hall where I pause to softly lean against the wall and cry. I haven't cried in many years but I did today. Yesterday I was told I have cancer. The fight has begun.

Dave Jones is director of construction services for a commercial builder in Orlando. He had surgery earlier this year and his prognosis is good.

[Last modified January 25, 2008, 17:07:14]