The Boy Who Cried...

“No, I swear, Pa!” his words came spluttering out between a mixture of deep breaths and tears. The man he was speaking to, Pa, placed a hand placatingly on top of his head.

“You swore last week that there was a great big storm brewing!”

“And there was! That one hit way down in the other islands, Pa, but this one… this one’s coming straight for home.”

The older man sighed, looking at the men sitting on either side of him on the porch. “What do you think, Bill?”

Bill shrugged, looking at the other man opposite him. “I don’t know. What do you think about our prophet of a little brother, Jim?”

Jim shrugged, unable to keep his quivering lips from hiding his delight at the situation. “Well, I think he ought to tell us about the lottery instead of all this bad omens!”

“Damn right, you are, son!” Pa’s laughter was the last thing keeping the two older boys from holding in their own. The youngest of the men stared up in disbelief at them all.

“The radio…”

“Ah, that radio’s been busted for two generations! Your brothers couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fix it. Hell, even your grandfather couldn’t fix it, and he built this whole damn place!”

“But I did! I’ve been trying to…”

“Trying to this. Trying to that. Trying to the other. All you do is try-”

“And I’m trying to warn you! There’s a big old hurricane that’s coming over the seas! The weathermen are warning us to take precautions!”

Pa sighed, turning to the boy to his right, “Bill, go and fetch this boy’s mother for me please.”

“Sure thing, Pa.”

The oldest man nodded at Bill as he walked in front of him. He watched him enter the door before staring back at the crying boy before him. “You need to learn when to quit with your silly little jokes. Didn’t I ever tell you about that one boy that cried wolf?”

“Well, this boy always cries hurricane!”

Pa chuckled at Jim’s words, only stopping with a dramatic sigh when he saw the young boy’s lips begin quivering again. “Ah, don’t go making a bigger fuss than you already have now. Go back to tinkering away at your radio, maybe it’ll start playing some music or something.”

“Something that we can all hear, instead of just you!”

Pa waved off Jim’s words, though the smile couldn’t escape his lips or eyes.

“You always tell me to come to you when there’s trouble. And when I do, you make fun of me!” The young boy wiped his eyes, gripping his jersey tightly in both of his hands and squeezing them tightly in his fists. His eyes, bloodshot from the tears, had lost all trace of the fear which had been begging for help just moments earlier. Now he was staring at his father with rage and betrayal.

“Boy, either way, storms aren’t something I can just get rid of.”

“But it’s something we can prepare for! We don’t have to just let it hit us! We can go to the cellar!”

“Is that what the voices in your radio box told you?”

Puffing out a breath, the boy rushed Jim. Jumping as high as he could, he swung one of his balled-up fists at his older brother.

“Pete! That’s enough!” A woman flew out of the door, grabbing the young boy just before his fist could land on Jim. “Is that any way to be treating your older brother?”

Pete wriggled, writhing in rage within his mother’s strong arms. He kept shaking and huffing his frustrations as she carried him into the house and away from the men on the porch. His mother grunted as he began to slip free from her hands but she propped him up with her knees quickly. The sudden impact stunned him enough for her to tighten her hold on him as she entered the kitchen. Dropping him near the dining table beyond the kitchen counter, she motioned for him to take a seat.

“Now, what’s this about a hurricane?” Pete folded his arms across his chest, choosing instead to glare at the floor than to answer. “If you’re going to act like a child, should I send you to your room until dinner?”

Pete huffed, swinging his arms free from their hold on each other as he stared at his mother petulantly. “You’re just going to laugh at me like they did! I’m always made fun of here! Nobody ever takes me seriously, no matter what I do!”

The woman sighed, pulling a chair and sitting down. Opening her arms wide, she motioned for him to come over. He stared at her for a few moments, contemplating whether he should or not. He caved as she offered him a smile so gentle that he felt the tears prickling his eyes once more. Hiding in her warm embrace, he let her shirt dry his eyes as he squeezed her tightly.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about. Being right, or being wrong. Those things aren’t always for other people to decide. See, I don’t think there’s going to be a hurricane either…” She squeezed him tighter as he opened his mouth to protest, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore you. What do you think we should do?”

Pete smiled into his mother’s chest, his tense body finally relaxing.

“What was that?” Pete’s mother said as she pulled the mumbling boy from her chest and stared at him with a small laugh. Pete chuckled himself, staring up at her with big hopeful eyes that made her sit back in her seat. She kept her hands on his shoulders as she urged him to repeat himself.

“The man said to take shelter in a cellar or a basement. So, we can go and hide out in the cellar!”

“Do we have to go right now? Because there’s no reason for us to go hide out not if the hurricane isn’t here… yet, is there?”

Pete scrunched his face up in thought and his mother laughed softly once more. “How about we go and put some supplies there? If there is a hurricane, we’ll be fine. If not, we’ll just go and get them without telling the rest of them that we put anything down there. Does that sound good?”

Pete smiled widely, before crashing back into his mother’s chest to hug her tightly.