Stormy Micheals

Stormy wore tiredness on her face, like the sagging skin on a turtle. She was tired, tired of prison, tired of going, tired of going back, tired of hustlers, grifters, bad girls, gangsters, tweakers, junkies, butch bull dykes, testosterone-filled prison guards, and really tired of her own shit. She had been here this time for nine hundred twelve days, six hours and fifteen minutes. At the Nevada State Penitentiary Camp for women the last six months with a parole date of 1 month out, she was just trying to keep her head down and her mouth shut. God knows she had caused enough damage in her life with her mouth. Like a Fox News host, she just spouts out shit she has no idea about and usually offends someone and ends up in a fight. It is just easier to not say anything, cause like a snare in the forest for a hare, she can snap at a second's notice. It’s like walking around with a string of hand grenades strapped to her belt with all the pins pulled out half-way. Everywhere she goes, things could explode without notice or warning, any unsuspecting human can get blown up along the way, and Stormy isn’t sure why all the bodies are left in her wake but is convinced somehow it isn’t really her fault. She’s not stupid though and has begun to see a pattern that seems to involve her in every stupid thing and bad luck scenario she’s been in.

Take the last time, there is no way that shit was her fault. How was she supposed to know that the car was stolen when she had borrowed it from her dealer to run and get some syringes? Yeah, she wasn’t supposed to be shooting up speed either but come on, give a girl a break. She had to do it just to be able to breathe, the voices were too loud otherwise, plus she had figured out how to bypass the piss test anyway. Violating her parole with a new charge of driving a stolen car and being under the influence of a controlled substance, which in Nevada was a felony had gotten her five more years. Now a two-time convicted felon with a heavy speed addiction and a personality like smoothed over gravel, she had started to ponder what exactly she was going to do when she got out this time. She just knew she felt tired. Fucking exhausted.

It was visiting day in the prison and all the women were as giddy as eighth-grade girls getting ready for their first school dance. No one had visited Stormy any of the times she had been to prison. But she heard her name being called over the loudspeaker. “Michaels, you have a visitor.” Stormy was curious and suspicious. No one in her life was going to come here, she had made sure of that with her shit-show background. She headed over to the visitation lounge. It was a minimum-security yard so there weren’t partitions of glass or anything to separate the visitors. Walking into the lounge she spots a nervous-looking skinny guy with landmine acne scars on his face and big black frame glasses and a nice suit. She sat down and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Michaels, my name is Foster Grant, and I am an attorney representing your late uncle's, Harrison Michael’s estate.”

He didn’t shake her hand or attempt any kind of personal contact. He opened his briefcase, and pulled out a stack of legal-looking documents. “I’m sure this must be a surprise, but your uncle has left you a significant sum of money, his farmhouse, and a car.” He just kept talking without pausing or blinking. “I have several documents for you to sign.”

“How much?” Stormy asked. “How much money?”

“Miss Michaels, your uncle left you 120,000 dollars, along with the farmhouse and a car which are all part of a trust. I am here today and after you sign these documents, I can deposit the money in your accounts here at the facility.” Foster fidgeted some more, and Stormy commented, “that old man hated my guts, why would he leave me anything?’

Foster paused for a moment “Miss Michaels, I have no way of knowing your uncle's motivations, I am just here as a legal representative of his estate, if you decline to sign these documents, the money will go to charities your uncle favored.”

Stormy grabbed the stack of papers and made sure it wasn’t a contract with the devil for what little soul she had left, and signed them as quickly as possible. Foster packed his case and jittered out of the visiting room like a man afraid the dirt from the place might rub off on his personality or something. Stormy headed back toward her pod, on the way she decided to go to the yard to get a little fresh air and sunshine, also to attempt to comprehend why the bastard she knew as her uncle would even consider her as an option to leave something too. It’s not like they were close. She began to fantasize about all the ways she could use that money, wondering how much dope that could buy, or how long she could live in Mexico, with that much cash.

Walking past the weight and recreation area, suddenly there was a pain in her lower back, and suddenly she was laying on the ground in the dirt with blood running into the sand, gravel, and broken pavement. Dirt grated her mouth, the air horn was blaring on the yard, and the convicts scatted as only criminals know how to do when the cops are on the way. Jesus this really hurts, she thinks. Assuming she had gotten stabbed, Stormy put her hand on her lower back with some blind hope it would stop the blood from flowing. The guards rushed to her with a gurney, lifted her, and rolled her toward the infirmary. The world around her was losing focus, becoming blurry, spinning around, and she felt like she had to poop and puke simultaneously.

Fluorescent lights lasered her eyes, the commotion of the nurses and prison doctor were the last things she saw as darkness slipped into her, fading from this world to the world of unconsciousness, as she slipped away into sleep, she remembered she had forgotten to ask Foster what kind of car it was. She guessed it didn’t matter now, she was sure she would die here today, all alone in this world, with not even one person to care, their care only being some gratitude that her long battle with this life was finally over.

The nurses converged on her and were yelling at the doctor, “BP is dropping fast, she has lost a lot of blood.”

The doctor rushed over to Stormy. “Let’s get her stabilized, get that would clean, and get the blood to stop.” The nurses and doctor moved as smoothly as a Rolex automatic watch, efficient, elegant, and beautiful. “Doctor, the blood loss is too much, we are going to lose her’” The head nurse Molly breathlessly shouted.

“The heck we are” the doctor replied. “Get some plasma in here and get her stabilized!” Doctor Jonas, hyper-focused, had gotten the plasma going and the wound closed up, but the blood loss was significant and the chances for Stormy surviving were extremely slim.

“If anyone wants to offer a prayer, now would be a good time.” The doctor said.

Molly bowed her head and said, “dear God, spare this woman and show her some mercy.”

Everyone replied in unison, “Amen.”

Stormy made it through the night, and the next night, never waking or having any sign of waking. Molly continued to check on her. Nervously praying every time. “God please help her.”

Four days later Stormy awakes, looks around at the beeping machines, tubes coming out of her arm, pulls the oxygen tube from her nose, and pushes the call button.

Molly comes rushing in and says “Miss Michaels, oh my gosh, I was so worried.”

In a hoarse voice, Stormy says “I need to write something down; can I have a notebook?”

Nurse Molly says, “of course. Don’t you want to know what happened?”

Stormy replies “yeah, I saw something, I have to write it down.”

Molly goes to her bag and pulls out a little black book that she has been keeping track of her macros with for a CrossFit challenge she is in. She hands it to Stormy. “Here you go, you can just keep it, I’m not really using it anyway.”

Stormy looks at the book, on the back, is the Moleskine logo, brand new and shiny black. Stormy frantically opens the book and begins to write at an impossible speed. Page after page gets filled with words and images.

Nurse Molly asks, “what do you mean you saw something?”

Stormy looks at Molly, her face looks conflicted, her face relaxes, makes a decision, and hands Molly the little black book, “Here read it.”

Molly takes the book and sits down on the chair next to the bed, opens it up, and begins to read.

“Right next to our world is an invisible world, in that world, there are beings of light, the light radiates from them, so bright it should blind your eyes, but it does not. From this light, healing energy has entered my soul and graced me with a sense of peace and forgiveness that I have never considered could be possible. I know now that we are all connected by this Power, that this Power did not come from these beings. It came from The Source. These beings merely are able to lift the haze that blocks it from our view. I had been given the choice to stay with them or to come back here and have knowledge of this light in this world, only if I told others of it and turned my life over to the service of others. I wanted to stay, I felt so warm, so welcomed and so loved that I never wanted that feeling to stop. Something was tugging me back though. I had done so much harm in this world, that I knew I had to come back and attempt to repair the damage I had done. The beings of light acknowledged this and let me go. Rushed through a corridor of stars, I awoke in this bed, machines beeping and hoses coming from my body. I will go out to do what I can, from this day on, I will sit with The Source, bringing its light into the world, helping whomever I can, one day at a time.” Molly closed the book, tears were streaming from her eyes.

“Stormy, I have been praying for you, if this is true, you must tell everyone.”

Stormy smiles at Molly and replies “The old Stormy needs to stay here in prison, with her past, her addictions, and her old life. Yes, Molly, it’s true. I will do what I can, but first, I gotta get out of here.” Knowing that parole was just around the corner was a relief and a curse. She had so much to do, knowing it started right here and now today.

Stormy says to Molly, “Thank you for praying for me, I know a person like me doesn’t deserve it, but I think that’s what grace is, a gift, a lifeline across to the shore when all of your bridges have been burned.” Stormy closes her eyes in prayer and thanks The Source again for this opportunity, she takes her little black book and tucks it under her pillow, and drifts off to sleep.

Molly says a prayer as well, “Thank you God for your help, I love you”. She walks back out the door to shine her light out into the world. One day at a time.