The Muse

Cecilia had always wondered why it was necessary for human beings to have five fingers on each hand when they could so easily survive with only four. She picked up her iced tea and wiped the sweat off the glass with her good hand. Cecilia knew that when she went into town everyone was staring at her “bad” hand. She was born with only four fingers on her right hand. This never really bothered her because she didn’t see the need for five fingers, unless she happened to be around people who did not understand. Everyone always looked at her with such pity in their eyes. But, Cecilia didn’t need their pity. You never use all of them anyway, she thought.

She took a long drink of her tea. The sweetness of the liquid filled her mouth and she held it there for just a moment to savor it. There really was nothing like iced tea. Her mama used to make the best sun tea in the summertime. She would fill up a pickle jar with water and place her homemade tea bags in the top of the jar with the pieces of thread hanging out of the lip and place the lid on the top. She said that the secret to good sun tea was to leave the lid unscrewed so that the air could get into the jar. Cecilia didn’t know if she quite believed this because she always closed the lid. Always. If she didn’t close the lid she was afraid that the gnats would fly in and she would accidentally swallow one.

Swallowing a gnat had to be Cecilia’s greatest fear. Along with stepping on the cracks in the porch, going up into the attic at night, down in the basement any time of the day or night, and losing Wendell. She sat and thought for a moment, no losing Wendell had to be her greatest fear. Gnats, cracks, basements, and attics aside it had to be Wendell. He had always been there. Ever since she could remember he had held her hand as she fell asleep at night, and greeted her every morning in his special way. He loved to sing her songs when there was a thunderstorm, and when the wind picked up and started blowing across the plain he would always sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the sitting room so she could watch the dust cloud come in from the south.

Why did it always come in from the south, she wondered? Even now she could feel the air getting dryer and dryer. They hadn’t had any rain in months. If it didn’t rain soon they would surely have a dust storm. Oh how she loved to watch the power in those things. The cloud would build and build until it seemed it would burst with pure dust. One time she was making sun tea out on the porch and saw the cloud coming in from the south like it always did and made it out to the porch just in time to rescue her favorite pickle jar. She knew that she wouldn’t have any tea that night, but being able to watch the storm from beginning to end was reward enough for her.

Wendell had come running in from the fields. He was so worried that she would walk out and try to get in the middle of the cloud. Cecilia had always wanted to be swept up. She remembered the look on Wendell’s face when she had told him. They were just kids sitting at mama’s feet in the sitting room and they heard the rumble that always comes before the dust and knew it was coming. Wendell was worried that she was afraid of the storm, but she had told him no, she was not afraid. She loved the dust storms. She imagined that her house would be swallowed up in the dust cloud and she would drift on the prairies forever with her mama and Wendell there by her side. No more bad hand, no more work for mama, and Wendell would be with her forever.