Dorothy
1
The clock wall slowly ticked forward. The teacher, Mrs. Balm, seemed to have been talking for what seemed like an eternity. Seventeen year old Dorothy Gale sat at her desk at Clifton high. Her teacher, Mrs. Balm was discussing the three branches of government. A subject not too many of the students seemed interested in. Dorothy was slumped in her desk performing the amazing rubber pencil trick. She glared at the clock and it's glacial pace. She dropped her pencil onto her desk carelessly and decided to see what her fellow classmates were doing. Keith Johnston was staring at the back of Katie Newburg's neck. He was no doubt playing connect the dots with her freckles. Keith traced the air with his pencil with one eye shut. His mouth moved silently as he decided what he just had discovered. He once told Dorothy in Bio lab that he had found several different constellations on the back of Katie's neck. After which Dorothy prayed the seating arrangement stayed the way it was. She didn't want Keith playing connect the dots with on her neck or god forbid, taking whiffs of her hair. Dorothy looked back up to the clock, the bell was going to ring in two minutes. Her heart fluttered. It was Friday, the gateway to a long and lazy weekend.
Mrs. Balm had finished one sentence and was about to begin another when the bell cut her off. Dorothy jumped from her desk and grabbed her army bag. People poured out of the classroom door and into the hall eager to start their weekends. Dorothy followed suit but before she could make it out Mrs. Balm called out to her.
"Do you think you have taken on sudden invisibility Miss Gale?"
Dorothy stopped and sighed.
"Unfortunately I haven't, ma'am."
Mrs. Balm tidied her desk as Dorothy gloomily strolled over to her.
"Your last paper," she paused, "were you trying?" Mrs. Balm tiredly finished.
"It certainly felt like it," Dorothy replied.
The teacher shook her head.
"Dorothy, sarcasm doesn't get you into college, hard work and good grades do; both of which you're lacking. If you don't bring up your grade I'm going to have to fail you," Mrs. Balm sadly informed her. She handed Dorothy her last paper. A dismal red number was marked at the top.
Dorothy felt queasy just looking at it.
"I'm going to assign you some extra credit work and let you re-write that. If you can get that done, I'll pass you. Otherwise, see you in summer school."
Dorothy shuttered at the thought.
"That's what I thought. I'll see you Monday, Miss Gale."
As she walked out of the classroom she felt tempted to crumple up her sorry excuse for an essay and toss it in the waste bin. Instead she opened up her bag and tucked it away to be forgotten until the following week.
Dorothy made her way down the busy halls, navigating through the many students and out the large doors. The sky was a cloudless azure, assuring it would be a cool evening. Dorothy tucked a chocolate brown lock behind her ear and made her way into the busy courtyard. A group of kids were comfortably seated beneath the school's large oak tree. Amongst them was Lucy, Dorothy's closest friend. Dorothy strolled over to the shade of the tree as Lucy peered over her sunglasses.
"How's it going, Dork-othy?"
Her black hair was left loose as always and in her lap sat her cell phone. She was in the middle of writing a text message while sitting cross legged in a mini-skirt. Typical behavior for her.
Dorothy dropped to the grass and tossed her bag to the side.
"Where were you during fifth period? Mr. Benson's head was extra bald today."
"It was too nice of a day to spend it looking at that man's—what I am sure is hereditary balding." Lucy replied.
"You're passing how?" Dorothy asked laggardly.
Lucy just shrugged and leaned back against the tree.
"Wanna go to the lake tonight? Daniel Collins and the rest of the football goons are having some sort of rager. Plus, I hear the lake is extra lake-y this time of year."
"I'll pass. I have to re-write my paper," Dorothy declined.
Lucy rested her arms atop of her head and sighed.
"Dorothy, I'm afraid if we don't pull you out of this socially awkward stage you'll end up like principle Gulch; bitter, alone, and possibly a lesbian."
Dorothy chuckled and picked up her bag to leave.
"I have to, I refuse to spend my summer here. Besides, Gran will have my ass. You know how she is."
"It's your loss, Dorothy. You're missing out on seeing half the football team vomit all over one another."
"I thought you were trying to persuade me." Dorothy reminded her friend.
"Not to worry, the pictures will be on Facebook. I'll see to that. Don't work too hard."
The two said their goodbyes and Dorothy headed for her car.
2
The little blue car pulled into the front yard of the Gale's farm sending spooked chickens in every direction. The Gale's house was quaint; a slice of Americana with green shutters, a screen door, and a swing and rocking chair on the porch. A few yards away stood a large barn which housed some horses, pigs, and a dairy cow. The chicken coop sat off to the side of it, door open so the chickens could roam freely during the day. They ate the bugs that loved to eat Emily Gale's flowers. Dorothy lived here her entire life. Her mother, Elizabeth, passed away when she was only a baby and she never met her father. So her grandparents raised her like she was theirs and she loved them dearly for it. Emily Gale stood at the clothes line in the front yard, hanging a fresh load of laundry. Her gray hair, which she stopped dyeing at Dorothy's request, was pulled into a large loose braid. Her face carried the universal look of a grandmother. Emily Gale had indeed aged well, and boy was she grateful. Dorothy got out of her car, grabbing her bag before closing the door.
"Hey, Gran," Dorothy greeted. She had called her that since she was five.
The smell of the fresh laundry wafted through the air. A gentle breeze assured the sheets would be dry in no time.
"How did it go today?" Emily said picking up the empty laundry basket.
Dorothy dropped her bag in it and took it from her Grandmother.
"School is school," she answered.
They climbed the stairs to the porch and went inside.
The house was decorated accordingly to a grandmothers taste. Pictures of baby Dorothy hung on the walls among photos of other family members long since gone. Including pictures of Dorothy's grandfather, Henry, in his Naval uniform and her Grandmother-baring a striking resemblance to Dorothy-standing in a field of sunflowers. A picture of Dorothy's mother was always kept in Dorothy's room. Above her crib as a baby and now on her nightstand as a teen.
The two strolled into the kitchen. Dorothy plopped the wash basket next to the pantry and headed to the table. She sat down and dropped her head onto her arms. Her Grandmother pulled a pitcher filled to the brim with ice cold tea.
"Do you want some tea?" she asked.
She knew that she herself was going to drink at least a glass and a half. In just the little time she was hanging the laundry her mouth had dried up. It was something she was quite used to being a native of this dry climate.
She finished pouring a glass of tea and pushed it over to Dorothy.
"So, tell me about your day?" Emily asked.
Dorothy lifted her head and sipped her tea.
"I have to re-write my paper if that's what you want to know."
Emily sighed.
"Honey, I thought you were going to trying harder."
Dorothy fidgeted with her glass.
"I am Gran. I just…" she trailed off.
"Dorothy, your grades are slipping in most of your classes. Well, all except gym. But you can't make a career out of Archery."
"Tell that to Robin Hood," Dorothy retorted.
Dorothy had been on Clifton High's archery team since ninth grade. It was the one thing she enjoyed at a school and she was actually very good at it. She took first in the prior years regional championship. Her grandfather beamed with pride when they returned with the trophy and it was all he could talk about anytime they ran into a family friend while in town. Archery grounded Dorothy. The only time she felt at ease was when she had a bow in her hand and an eye focused on a target.
"Surely you don't want to go to summer school. You have one more year kiddo, you gotta keep at it," Her Grandmother urged.
"Mrs. Balm is giving me extra credit and said I'll pass if I can produce something worth reading," She assured her Grandmother.
"Good. I know you've got it in you."
Emily smiled at her Granddaughter who was resting her chin on the table.
"I need to finish this laundry if we're going to Hank and Cynthia's tonight," Emily said getting up from the table.
"And I still need to pull your Grandpa from that tractor and get him to clean up." Emily ran a hand down Dorothy's hair lovingly and flashed her a wink and a smile when she looked up. Dorothy suddenly felt guilty for giving the woman so much grief when it came to school. Emily walked out of the kitchen carrying hr laundry basket, ready to start another load.
Dorothy continued to rest her head on the table. She watched the condensation run down the side of her glass. She thought about school and how much she felt out of place. This was common for kids her age, she knew that. But this felt different. Almost like she didn't belong...anywhere. Dorothy was so deep in thought that she didn't even notice her Grandfather walk in through the backdoor. His hands were black with engine grease. A tattered rag hung from the pocket of his overalls. It was stained with the same black goop that covered his hands and whatever mechanical contraption he was working on.
"Hey there, Jellybean."
He called her this from the time she could walk.
Dorothy smiled and went back to staring at her glass.
"Long day I take it?" Henry asked as he wiped his hands on the tattered rag.
"Not really, just thinking."
Ben chuckled.
"I thought I saw smoke coming out of those ears," He joked.
Dorothy pulled her head off the table.
"Gramps, have you ever felt like you just don't belong?"
Henry took a seat at the table, careful to keep his hands on his coveralls and not on the table. Emily would have his head.
"I'm sure we've all felt that way at one point or another. I lived in the city for a few months before I met your Grandma. I never felt so out of place in my life."
Dorothy took a drink of her tea and thought.
"School must be getting to me." She speculated.
"You need to clear your head. Why not take Sable out for a ride? I know you'd both enjoy it."
Dorothy nodded, thinking it wasn't the answer but could certainly help. She finished her tea and placed her glass in the sink.
"Jellybean," Henry called to her before she stepped out the door, "don't worry. You'll find your place. And when you do, it'll make more of an impact than you know."
Dorothy smiled in return to return her Grandfather's kindness. He always knew what to say to make her feel better.
3
Dorothy opened the gate to the large pasture and Sable, a large brown horse with a dark mane, cantered through. Henry had been right, the ride certainly cleared her mind. The feeling was still there but she could at least think clearly now. The feeling had always been there but It was only recently that it truly made itself known. Dorothy closed the gate behind her led her horse over to the barn. Sable was one of the two horses the Gale's owned and Dorothy's favorite. The other, Big Ben, was a large draw horse who didn't like to be ridden very much. She had grown close to her in the few years they had her and she was quite the rider now. Sable was gentle and obedient, the perfect riding horse. Not to mention she could run like the wind. Dorothy swept her wind-blown hair to the side and locked Sable into her pen. She threw a large helping of green hay into the pen and stroked the horse gently. Sable chewed contently and gazed up at Dorothy.
"I wish I could be as easily pleased as you are. A good run and mountain of hay is all it takes." Dorothy gave the horse one last pat on the side and walked out the barn. The sun had already begun to set as she made her way to the house.
Henry and Emily were coming out the front door to meet Dorothy. They were each dressed in their finest, ready to meet some close friends for dinner.
"Are you two taking off?" Dorothy asked as she climbed the stairs.
"Are you sure you don't want to come honey? Hank and Cynthia would love to see you," Emily invited.
Dorothy shook her head declining.
"I really want to get that paper taken care of. Besides, I am worn out from riding. You two have fun."
Emily smiled and kissed her Granddaughter on the cheek.
"I left you some roast and potatoes in the fridge. Put it in the oven and not the microwave, the meat will dry out," Emily warned her in a motherly tone.
"We'll be back at eight."
Dorothy nodded as usual and headed for the house.
"Dorothy," Henry called to her before climbing in the old farm truck, "remember: Big impact..." He reminded her.
Dorothy waved with a smile and entered the house.
The two pulled out of the driveway, arguing as they always did, unaware it would be the last time they would see their Granddaughter.
4
Dorothy tried to work on her paper. A blank page glowed on her laptop screen, the blinking cursor taunting her.
She had already eaten dinner so she had no excuse to get up and knew if she didn't start now it would never get done.
Her fingers danced on the keys but not a single word was produced. She rolled over onto her back, meeting the ceiling with a blank stare. Her head was filled with a fog that clouded her thought process. There had to be more than this; history papers and drunken get-togethers at the lake. When everyone else around her was itching to go out and live it up, she could show nothing but apathy. Where was her passion for life the young are branded as having? Feeling an itch in her hand, Dorothy scratched at it, examining the creases in her palm as if she could read them and find the answers to life's questions. She traced them up and down and side to side.
They look like pathways and roads...
"I see... yes, in your future, a failure to get anything done in a timely manner."
Dorothy sighed exasperatedly and pulled herself up.
"Maybe I need some TV to inspire me, " She told herself.
In no time she was sprawled out on the floral print sofa in the living room channel surfing like the wind.
"How the hell can there be over a thousand channels and nothing on?" She complained.
She landed on the weather channel and tossed the remote on the coffee table.
She wondered if this was a divine sign that she should get back to her paper. Dorothy sighed and pulled herself off the sofa. Maybe it wasn't too late to change her mind about the lake. She pulled her phone out and started a text to Lucy.
Her fingers jumped from button to button as she typed. And that's when she noticed it, the sound of the wind chimes.
At first they rang softly as they always did, the gentle evening breeze making its presence known on the porch.
But soon it grew louder, and louder, until the ringing had become a violet racket.
Dorothy got up from the couch and tucked her phone into her pocket. Listening, she approached the door curiously. Her hand began itching again and scratched at it reflexively. The front door was open leaving the screen door as a barrier from the bugs. She could hear the wind rushing through the branches of the large elm tree out front.
She walked out on to the porch and was met with forceful gusts. Dorothy grabbed the noisy wind chime and set it on the floor of the porch. The silence was a relief but now she could hear what she didn't want to hear. The sound of a freight train speeding down the tracks, the all familiar sound of a tornado.
Dorothy bolted across the porch and over the railing. Her feet meeting the ground, she took off at top speed, headed for the barn. She peered inside to see Sable and Big Ben staring back at her on the verge of hysteria.
"Easy guys…" She assured them.
Dorothy locked the barn door tight and bolted back to the house. This wasn't the barn's first tornado. The farm had seen a few and always came out on top. Still, she said a silent prayer for her animals and went inside.
"What is with my hand, damn it!"
Her hand continued to itch almost incessantly now.
The TV was still broadcasting the weather channel. Where there should have been red letters and flashing warnings was a gentleman in a suit gesturing over a digital map.
"Cool temperatures for the evening with a slight chance of AM showers…" he predicted.
Dorothy stood panting in the living room, confusion washing over her.
"What?" she gasped.
Suddenly the power flashed and then went out. Thunder made Dorothy jerk her head around to the front door. Distant lightening flashed to reveal a large spinning funnel approaching the farm.
Quickly thinking and short on time, Dorothy sprinted down the hall to her bedroom, narrowly averting a collision with the door frame.
She opened her closet door and pulled boxes and shoes out before locking herself safely inside.
"Where are the sirens?" she asked out loud. Her voice cracked as she was on the verge of tears.
"Why didn't I go to the storm cellar?!"
Dorothy glanced at the closet door that shuttered and rattled, as she clawed at the palm of her had; feeling as tough it was on fire.
The air filled with a loud roar and the sound of glass shattering. Dorothy felt short of breath as the air was sucked from the house. She became lightheaded and dizzy as blood rushed to her head. Before fainting she would remember feeling her stomach drop as her little farm house was torn from its foundation and lifted into the sky.