Under the Weather

Meteorologist Mark Stone was as predictable as cold snow—steady, unremarkable, and utterly dependable. But that night, as he traced the storm's path across his screen, a chill of unease swept through him.

He reclined in his worn, office chair and rubbed his eyes. Today’s forecast was being unappreciated and underpaid. He heard the sound of stilettos on cement and knew his boss was coming. The evening news hour would commence shortly featuring Mark Stone aka Winnipeg’s Trusty Weatherman.

“Mark, you’re on in two,” Margot Stern said, poking her head in his door, “I trust there are no surprises on the horizon tonight?”

“Uh..well there’s an alarming stor..”

“Stick to the script, Mark. No blither blathering about. Our sponsors would not approve.”

“Margot, hear me out. I utilized qualitative extrapolation to conclude these incoming weather features will continue to travel in the same direction as they’ve been indicating…”

“Like I have time for this? Just stick to the script. We sell peace of mind, Mark. We sell predictable. That’s why everybody loves you. That’s why I love you. You’re on in one.”

He glanced in the mirror on the back of his office door. The dashing 42 year old was showing traces of grey at the temples these days. He straightened his tie and smiled winningly.

“You’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and doggone it people like you!” he said to the reflection.

The reflection appeared doubtful.

Frowning, he noticed the arrival of a new email. He’d better check it, to ensure nothing weather-related had suddenly changed. The message was anonymous and brief.

"You control more than the forecast. Prove it."

Puzzled, he closed his browser, wondered ‘Wtf?”, and hurried out onto the station floor to do that evening’s weather report.

*****

Later that night, exiting the elevator into the dimly-lit lot beneath CIFC news, he noticed something sitting on the hood of his rocksalt-spattered 2012 Ford Cavalier.

It was an empty can of spray paint.

Picking it up carefully, he glanced around but deduced that whoever had left it was now long gone. Shrugging, Mark tossed it and slid behind the wheel. As the windshield frost dissipated, he noticed a symbol appearing made by someone’s gloved hand. It resembled a round-edged triangle with a snowflake in the middle. He wondered why a blizzard symbol was on his windshield, but wiped the condensation off the inside of the glass, pulled out of the parking stall, and drove home.

*****

The next morning, Mark awoke and glanced out the window of his bedroom. Outside looked grey and cold.. But, what he saw on the adjacent apartment building made him stop openmouthed and stare. Someone had tagged the neighboring complex with a weather symbol he knew warned of a hurricane.

“Well, if that’s not the weirdest thing,” he thought audibly.

*****

During his morning commute, Mark noticed the prominent graffiti of weather-related symbols on three other buildings around the city. He was starting to feel the nagging pull of uneasiness by the time he got to the news station. Another email awaited.

"Forecast change, or stay silent forever!"

Sent by the Earthfront Alliance, a radical, climate-awareness group known for bold and illegal protests, Mark realized they wanted his platform as a weatherman to advance the group’s environmental cause. He’d caught wind of them and knew of their stance against climate change. They were pragmatic extremists who favored strategic, high-profile actions to gain public sympathy and media attention.

This contradicted how the news station banked profits. It relied heavily upon the industries that contributed negatively to climate change. Speaking out would be instant career death. Mark was there to predict the weather, not to make rain.

Wrapping up his nightly forecast, Mark assumed that the storm outside was just a prelude. When, he’d attempted an unscripted environmental warning in that evening’s weather segment, his fuming boss had threatened to hand him his ass along with his walking papers. At his desk, he opened a new email which contained the location of the Earthfront Alliance’s next planned protest. Mark Stone’s mind was now made.

*****

The next day, Mark strolled into work wheeling a suitcase laden with spray paint. He entered his office. Closed the door. Shut the blinds. He hung up his suit, unloaded the canisters, and packed everything that belonged to him into the suitcase that had never seen a tropical beach. He climbed the back stairs. The coast was clear. Mark shook up the spray paint and drew a gigantic blue diamond symbol that covered the entire roof of the news station.

He fist pumped and exclaimed, “Hail Yeah!” wondering fleetingly if it could be seen from space.

Then he ran downstairs to change for his last live broadcast. Standing in front of his mirror, he smiled and did his last Stuart Smiley imitation.

Margot Stern knocked and opened his door.

“Heeeeere’s Margot,” Mark grimaced.

“So, we good?” she asked. “Just stick to the script, Mark. No shenanigans.”

“Not the news, just the weather,” he replied, noosing his tie securely. “We’re right as rain.”

*****

“CUT! CUT GODDAMN IT! BREAK TO COMMERCIAL!” Margot Stern yelled as she watched all hell break loose that night during the weather segment of CIFC’s evening news. She, along with the nation, had watched in horror as Mark Stone had reinvented himself as ‘Winnipeg’s Untrustworthy Weatherman’ right before their very eyes. He had defiled the script using his segment to plead the climactic plight of the Earthfront Alliance to millions of viewers.

Swift was retaliation. Followed by an escorted final exit by security.

*****

Months later, watching the sleepy city awaken from his bedroom window. Mark felt just like Environmental Batman when his group’s symbol lit up the city skyline with paint aglow.

He appraised his reflection and smiled. Mark Stone aka Winnipeg’s Trusty Weatherman had a new daily affirmation.

Not all heroes wear capes - some spray paint.

Then he went out into the night, heart soaring, knowing he would change the world, one cannister at a time.

The End.