Category 4

by Gill James

malted milk

"Honey it looks as if it's going to be pretty bad." Lydia turned away from the TV set and looked at her husband. "Should we start packing?"

"Do you think that the Lord would leave us die? Don't you think we should be doing His will?"

"Of course, dear."

Lydia wasn't so convinced, though. They'd said it would be a category four. That could wipe out whole buildings. Lots of trees would come down. The power would most likely fail and the damage might take weeks if not months to put right. And they'd told everybody to evacuate.

Bill put his arm around her. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. He will provide." He sighed. "Anyway, I think it’s a sure sign that the end is nigh." He rubbed her arm and brushed her cheek. "Now, I'm going to have a quiet time and prepare to meet my maker. I'll be in the study if you need me."

The rain started at that very instant. Lydia watched it cascade down the window panes for hours as she listened to further weather reports. It was getting worse by the minute and the TV reports weren't encouraging. Then there were claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, both more violent than she'd ever seen before. One particularly loud clap made the house shake. Was it going to fall down? 

"Bill," she called. "Bill?"

But he didn't answer.

Then Cormy and Suzy appeared at the top of the stairs. "Mummy, we're scared," whined Cormy.

"Come on then. Come downstairs and sit with me."

Bill appeared on the landing. "What's going on? It's no good being soft with them, Lydia. Children, go back to bed. The Lord will provide."

Suzy started crying, but took Cormy's hand and the two of them began to make their way back upstairs. Before they reached the top, however there was another almighty bang. The lights went out.

"That's the power line, Bill."

Suzy and Cormy began to scream.

"Say what you like, Bill. I'm getting them out of here. She ran upstairs, gathered the two children in her arms and led them outside, collecting hats and coats on the way. Once outside she wrapped them and herself up as warmly as she could.

She watched in horror as the house was hit by yet more violent lightning. It burst into flames. "Run," she shouted. Where was Bill? Oh, she'd have to worry about him later.

They ran as far as they could and then when they had no more breath they turned to watch the house burn. She was relieved, or at least she realised she ought to be as she saw her husband limping towards them. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His dog collar was firmly fixed to the top of his crease-less white shirt.  

The children were sobbing and screaming. 

Within a few minutes there was no more of the home that she and Bill had built up over fifteen years.

Still the rain torrented down.   

"I'm sorry, said Bill.”I just wanted to keep all of you safe from the others. I really thought it was going to be the end of the world."

"Bill, it's a goddamn hurricane, that's all. We could have been safe and dry in one of those refuges if we'd left when they told us to."

Bill looked as if he was going to cry. Lydia remembered how she had first fallen in love with him. He was a big softy really. She shook her head and touched his arm. "You and your precious principles."

Bill stood up straighter, fiddled with his dog collar and frowned slightly. He pulled them all into an embrace. "The Lord will provide."

There was another huge clap of thunder and a flash of lightning.

Lydia doubted He would.       

About the author

Gill James is published by, amongst others, Tabby Cat Press, The Red Telephone, Butterfly, The Professional and Higher Partnership and Continuum. She is a Lecturer in Creative Writing at Salford University.

She edits CafeLit.

She has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing    

 

 

             

   

The Instruction Manual

Greg Bresciani 

warm malted milk  

Why does everyone keep saying that children don’t come with an instruction manual? Sure they do. I use one all the time.

I can never have children of my own- my lazy sperm made sure of that. However, since becoming a foster carer, I always read the instruction manual for each foster child that is placed in my care. The instructions help me with that which I have no previous experience in.

The first section of the instruction manual covers the basics: clean your teeth, clean your room, have a bath before bedtime etc.  This is the easiest part. You can’t go wrong with it.

Much of the instruction manual’s focus is on open-mindedness. Achieving this requires plenty of field trips to festivals and cultural events. I don’t know why so much emphasis is placed on open-mindedness, but I do know that the children in my care rejoice in the weekend outings- and so do I.

The section on discipline is unusable. I am instructed to smack naughty children with a wooden spoon. I refuse to do this as it is common knowledge that most foster children are victims of abuse. The lessons taught by the sting of a wooden spoon would be lost on them.

Another concern with the instruction manual is section four: teaching children good manners. No matter how hard I try, I can never get good manners to stick. It doesn’t help either that the pages for this section are blank.

Hmm. This could be a problem. Technical Support may be the solution. I should phone them; their contact details will be somewhere inside the front cover. Yep, here it is.  Only after I’ve dialled do I realise that Technical Support has the same phone number as my mom.

“Hello?”

“Hi mom.”

“Oh, hi Glenn.”

“I, um … need some advice mom.”

“Yes?”

“I’m trying to teach my kids manners, but it’s not working mom. How did you do it? You know, with me.”

“But I raised you from a baby. Foster Care is a totally different situation. “

So, it seems the problem with the instruction manual goes far beyond the support provided by Technical Support.

Am I even using the right instruction manual? Is it an older version? Do I need to upgrade to a newer one? I should contact Head Office and ask. I’ll just find the company’s details- ah, here it is: Kiehna Incorporated. Kiehna? But … that’s my mom’s maiden name.

Shit! What was I thinking? Children don’t come with an instruction manual. They never have. That’s just silly.

When I’m raising a foster child, I’m not mentally flipping through the pages of a booklet. Oh-no. It’s much more grandiose than that. I’m accessing a file cabinet inside my head with thousands of memories filed away in each draw. Memories of a mother’s love and devotion directed at me. Memories of being reminded to clean my teeth, clean my room, have a bath before bedtime etc. All throughout my childhood, my mom asked me to do these chores more times than there are people in China.

Memories- I will cherish forever -of weekend outings with my mom. Festivals and cultural events, if it encouraged me to explore the world around me, my mom would take me there. Only as an adult, do I now understand my mom’s hidden agenda of teaching me tolerance and to value diversity.

I remember the fear of the wooden spoon more so than the smacks across my buttocks. I believe this was the whole point. The fear of being smacked forced me to stop and think of the consequences of my actions.

I have no memories of my mom nurturing my good manners. She would have taught me this valuable lesson as soon as I could walk and talk. No one has memories of their life under the age of four.

It amazes me, the more I consider it, that parenting skills don’t begin with the birth of a baby. Everyone has memories of being raised by their parents that they can use as a reference, should ever they find themselves raising a child.  Plus what’s most exciting, I can gain new parenting tricks- or undo bad parenting habits –through learning and experience.

With the foster children in my care, my success or failure as a parent depends on how these children will one day parent children of their own.   

About the author

Greg is n Australian who is a factory worker by day and a writer by night. he an his partner have been caring for foster children for seven years.  His stories on foster care have been published on the websites Parenting Express and Next Family.