The Tempest Inside

The glass had clouded over the years, darkening to a translucence that tempered the scene outside, but for the patrons of the Ayers Café on 44^th street, the storm seething just on the other side was still clearly visible. Raindrops swirled in confusion, each bouncing off street signs and bicycle chains in perpetual fear of losing themselves to the chaos. They coalesced into unrecognizable shapes, attempting to console each other in their misery, but quickly broke alliances, speeding off into the darkness, powered by the sheer madness of their primal energy. One shape did not fade however; it swelled and intensified until the shadow became a girl, bursting through the door in a sudden moment of clarity amid the mayhem. Wet and dripping, Jessica Colletti was born from the tempest.

She let out a slow breath, listening to the sound of it whistling through her teeth. The howling wind outside was replaced by soft, simple music that drifted through the room on a gently bobbing cork in a tub now leisurely draining the rain collected during the storm. Jessica stumbled over to a chair and slumped down into it. Her long dark hair stuck to her face and her clothes fell askew, but she allowed herself to be enveloped by the warmth of the place, sipping coffee brought to her and nibbling on a small sandwich.

Around her, people laughed and talked about petty matters: the outcome of a football game, wedding plans for a young couple, the advantages of adhering to a steady diet of iced coffee and sudoku. Patrons came and went, not noticing the storm or simply not caring.

A hint of a smile flashed across her face. Maybe, she thought, this could last. Maybe there’s something here, something that could save me. There was something about that café, the cracks in the tile, the white swirls the light brown of the baristas’ aprons, the toddlers giggling into their sweaters. They were breaches in the cacophony of her mind. They were hope. They were silence.

            Abruptly, a bottle broke. Someone shouted. She heard the muffled thud of a clenched fist to the solar plexus. Jessica’s eyes dilated and her breath snagged on a coat hook. She turned around to see two grown men brawling in front of everyone, but no one was doing anything to stop it. The other customers could only look on, too stunned to act, like small children watching parents quarrel late at night. One of the children began to cry, screaming uncontrollably, and some of the employees snapped back to reality, suddenly spurred to action by the bawling children. They scurried frantically, worker ants answering the call of the nest, doing something, anything, everything to remove the disturbance. They rushed from every nook and cranny, every crack in the tile, and Jessica screamed as she felt them crawling up her legs. But her cries only swirled into the coffee-colored chaos, unheard and unnoticed by anyone else.

            And the storm broke free. A volley of wind and rain shot through the windows, shattering glass like puzzle pieces thrown on the floor. It jumped into the room, hurtling towards Jessica with an unmistakable purpose. She twisted around desperately, bolting away from the door, but the wind wrapped around her and wrenched her backwards, through the maze of tables and chairs, out the window and back into the night, returning her to the nightmare of her mind.

            The doctors tried to help her, gave her pills and a diagnosis, told her she had paranoid schizophrenia, told her they understood her, told her they could save her. But no one could save Jessica Colletti, for the storm still seethed inside her. If you looked close, you could see it in her eyes. No matter how hard she fought it, no matter where she hid, the tempest always followed, always raged, right on the other side of the window.