Shelter

I must have rolled over, adjusted my pillow, pulled the blankets up.

My tea was nearly finished when the hail started to come down like a gentle rain of salt. I left the diner then to enjoy its soothing massage, and the sound of it on the pavement was like confetti falling to the ground. After I’d been out walking for some time, after I was at my most vulnerable, the hail grew; beads, marbles, eyes, fists, heads. I turned and ran down an adjacent street. There were gazebos full of people, women inside unmoving vehicles and men underneath them, and nowhere for me to hide. The sound of the hail on the pavement was like cannonballs breaking through, startling me with every crash. A voice called to me from a tall building and I ran towards it like a beacon. When I reached the building’s entrance, a woman that I recognized begged me to come in, as though I were doing her the favour by coming out of the storm. She sat me down and offered me tea and took my coat, which I now noticed had been worn through by the hail.

I looked at my arm, my hands, my body; bruised, bleeding, broken.

She came back to the room with tea that warmed me right through, making me feel healed instantly even though I knew better than to believe that. It would take longer to be well after what I’d been through. I sipped my tea and thanked her for her kindness. She replied with a polite smile;

Really, it was nothing. You’d do the same for me.

I could detect uncertainty in her voice and I knew that it was well-placed. Would I really have done something that kind for her, after all the years that passed by while I cringed at her memory? Still, I didn’t want to return to the storm, so I lowered my eyes and nodded to her. The awkwardness of the silence echoed in the room, from the walls and through the seat I was in, its reverberations shaking me first at the legs and then at my hands. My teacup trembled in my nervous hands but by the time I spilled it on my lap, it was cold and harmless. She looked at me, surprised, and wondered if she should get a cloth.

No, I don’t want to trouble you, I told her, it won’t be long until the storm lifts, then I’ll be on my way.

She looked at me, surprised, and wondered what storm I was talking about.

The hail, I said, and looked out a window, puzzled. There was no storm outside – not a single sign that there had ever even been one. I scratched my head and turned to her. She was holding my coat, waiting for me to step into it. I had insulted her and was now unwelcome. As I walked out the door, I looked up at the clear sky and wondered where the hail had come from, where it had gone. I tried once again to convince her that there had been a storm. She replied with a polite smile;

That must have been something else entirely.

I knew she was right. This time, she was right, and it all made sense. I thanked her for the tea and again for her kindness, and stepped out onto the pavement, where I heard my footsteps mix with the sound of confetti falling, and felt the soothing massage of salt once more.