Haunting Storms
Storms like that hit only once or twice per year. When they came mommy barricaded the doors and windows.
The skies settled on a grumpy grey and the rumbling of the thunder grew with the hours. She switched her thick hips up and down the hallway unplugging everything. Then she went to her room and changed into her silk housecoat. After shutting off the lights, she gathered her candles and lit one for the hallway and one for the living room. She brushed against me periodically but never looked at me. When the house was secured to her liking and all you could see was the jagged flashes of lightning, she retired to her broken-down burgundy recliner, where she sat all night, lighting cigarette after cigarette. The smoke overpowered the vanilla scented candles and stole my clean air.
She rocked back and forth in a trance, squinting every so often with her head cocked to the right side. I sat on the stairs as close to the candlelight as possible and peeked at her between the pillars. The rain pummeled the roof and the house shook. I stayed attentive, searching the darkest corners for ghost spirits. Halfway through the night, Mommy began to play Mary J. Blige’s “Missing You.” I rustled around a bit, hoping to snap her out of her coma, but she lit another cigarette and rocked. The storm tossed trash cans across the street, smashing them into the neighbors’ cars. Deeper into the night, rain pellets shot against the metal doors. By then Mommy’s tears were streaming. The mystery man with the slanted smile stared at her from the broken picture frame. She reached into the coffee table’s cabinet and got her Christmas tin can, which once held Christmas cookies. She lit up to Mary J. Blige singing “I’m Going Down.” I watched her for hours. She exhaled in a smooth steady trail. Her head bobbed slightly as she closed her eyes, embracing the melody. I lay my head on the stair and watched her stare at the cracks stretched across the wall. My eyes were heavy.
She reached into the coffee table cabinet one last time and grabbed her pint of Hennessy. She hummed “I’m not gonna cry…cause your not worth my tears.” After her second shot, my eyes began to flicker and sleep took over.
Within what seemed like just a couple of hours, I miraculously awoke snuggled in my bed. Trudging through the house, I saw the sun beaming through the windows. The barricades were gone and Mommy was in the kitchen flipping pancakes, her eyes bright and her smile shining as if last night’s storm never happened.
About R.B. Minors
Dr. Rayna Briceno is currently a school leader at Community Academy high school in Boston Public Schools. She is a dedicated educator who focuses on inclusive student engagement and holistic wellness. Dr. Briceno served in many areas such as a teacher, Assistant Principal, and central office Operational Leader. She trained over 100 teachers and principals using a broad range of program and curriculum development strategies. She has worked on district wide initiatives such as expanding advance work classes to all students, cultural relevancy improvement plans, and district wide young men’s programs serving over 200 male students of color from first grade through twelfth grade and developing rites of passage training sessions for adult male educators. Dr. Briceno earned her Bachelor’s in English Language Arts at Tufts University, a masters in public health from Northeastern University, and a masters degree in educational leadership from Boston College. Dr. Briceno has also earned a doctorate in education from Endicott College. In addition to her career in education, Dr. Briceno also founded a nonprofit organization, Who’s Got Morale, which serves the Boston, Ma community through four featured mental health and wellness programs and workshops.