Fiction Friday: bad news (new entry)

This week's theme: Write the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line: Bad news cures all things.

Mama called it a silver lining. "See that cloud up there," she'd say, pointing off into the distance where it looked like a tornado might drop from the sky any second and gobble up half of Kansas City. "It's a cloud, and it's raining--you can see the lines in the sky where the rain is falling." I'd nod, though I never saw any lines. "That rain cloud has a silver lining. That's why it looks so dark and gray on the outside."

When my ice cream fell off the cone one day, Mama told me that it was God's way of keeping the sugar from rotting my teeth. When I ran over a nail with my bike and the tire popped, Mama said it was God's way of protecting me from falling off a few minutes later. Only God would know what was going to happen next, and He was just protecting me.

We were coming home from church that day, the day the tornado touched down outside Liberty. We heard it on the radio, and Mama thanked God that it was a Sunday and the tornado had come that day and taken the elementary school when the children were in church. Daddy said God was punishing the school board for something they did. I wanted the radio to play more music and stop talking about tornadoes. It was sunny in our town.

Mama sat between me and Daddy in the old truck. She wore her white gloves, and it being so hot and muggy she had on her sun dress with the yellow flowers on it, and her hat with the big rim sat on my lap where I liked to hold it when we drove. Daddy said it got in the way of the mirror if Mama wore it.

It happened quick, a little boy's ball bouncing out into the street. He was a boy who didn't go to church, leastwise not our church, but I think he didn't go to any church. He was dirty, dirt all over his face and his hands and holes in the side of his coverall pants and no shirt. He chased out after the ball, and I saw his eyes in front of the truck, his big dirty brown eyes.

The ambulance came. Some sirens had woke me up, and big, cold hands held my head. I saw the boy's eyes again above me with some dark clouds behind him. It must have got cloudy, I thought. Maybe a tornado picked us up and set us down in Liberty, I thought. Some men picked me up and set me down inside an ambulance. Mama was there, holding a big white thing against her ear.

"Darling," she said, and she looked scared. One of the men said something to her, and she looked less scared. "God looked out for us today," she said. "God sent that boy to save us, you and me" she said.

"Where's Daddy?" I asked her, feeling like someone had taken out my teeth and stuffed my mouth with straw.

"I guess," Mama said, "God had to talk to Daddy, so He took your Daddy away."

"Maybe God forgot to tell Daddy something when we were at church," I said, and I felt the ambulance jerk a bit and then bump around.

Mama laughed, but she had tears in her eyes. "Yes, darling," she said, and when she put her hand on my forehead she moved the towel and I could see a lot of blood. One of the ambulance men touched her arm, and she put the towel back up to her head. "I think," she whispered, "I think God wanted to tell him not to hit you any more."