Friday Flash Fiction - Yet Another Storm
Her skin is wet with sweat hemmed in by the humid air. The hot air is heavy on her skin, heavy on her lungs. The air is suffocating. She wipes the salty sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and feels the sting as it drips into her eyes. Her hands sweat inside her gloves, clumping dirt under her fingernails as she snips at the overhanging branches. Fuck Jed and his messy gardening, blocking the sun to her veggie beds.
‘Ha, caught you in the act!’
She swings around, her secateurs clattering to the ground, off-cuts still in her hand, her sweaty face glowing like a guilty beacon. Jed is standing with hands on hips like a smug, arrogant Superman. Why is it always the people who are pristine and neat in appearance who are such messy gardeners?
Tess is not at fault here. She has spoken to Jed about this before. Her beds need direct sun in the morning, and his messy (or lack of) pruning keeps blocking light, stunting plant growth and slowing fruiting. He's not even growing food.
‘You're welcome to cut some off if you want a smoke. God knows you could do with some mellowing. But please don't waste it by throwing it in the compost.’
Tess narrows her eyes and turns back to her garden. Jed is an infuriating, patronising bastard, but she needs to get finished before the afternoon storm rolls in. A breeze is picking up, whispers of relief in the sticky air, and the sun is blocked by dark clouds. Anticipatory silence hangs in the air as Tess picks the ripe tomatoes and zucchini; her recovered clippers fly through the stems, snicker-snack. She seethes, carrying the storm-charged atmosphere in her guts. How dare he have a go at her.
‘Hey, Tess.’
She swings around and barks, ‘What?’ A gust of wind hits her face.
There is no trace of arrogance left. Jed points to the southwest. A swathe of dark clouds, with bursts of flashing lightning tearing up the inside, are hurtling towards them. If a storm this size dumps hail, it'll shred everything.
Together, they swing into action. Raindrops splat onto the paths between the garden beds. The wind whips away Tess' hat, and it flies off to join the leaves and anything else light enough to be torn away from the earth's surface. They work together in tense silence, securing the cloth covers over the plants as the rain pelts down on the rooftop garden. Half a dozen other residents dash up to help, and within five minutes, all the beds are protected, and everyone is under cover, safe from lightning strikes.
Tess walks over to Jed and hands him the now bedraggled clippings she had cut earlier, a few tomatoes and a zucchini. Before he can say anything, she strides briskly towards her apartment to remove her wet clothes.