Crisp Nothing

It comes to me with the click and pop of a soda can. The ripe stench of absolutely nothing and a taste that can only be described as tv static passes my lips and I sigh, La Croix. The bane of my existence and the centerpiece to every hippie fueled, health-conscious household endeavor. The condensation matches my frustration as the taste of carbonated nothing bubbles down my throat like a thought without a point.

We are crammed into the house due to un-forecasted weather that swooped in over our gathering with the power that only Mother Nature can display. Being that it was mid July and the house lacked air conditioning, the French doors stood open as a weak attempt at both fresh air and a live show. Thunder pounds above our heads loud enough to make walls shake, and still I taste nothing from the pastel tin can in my hands.

Packed like sardines with humidity rising, friendly chatter had become snippier, more territorial. Hair, where not plastered down in sweat, had risen on the backs of necks and on one occasion a minor altercation broke out. At this point an impudent noise began that drew the majority of attention. A high pitched squealing reverberated through the air. Nerves already raw, the noise twisted my veins like nails on a chalkboard- it sounded as if ice cracked or froze around us, but how silly was that… An icy itch gathered which matched the sound but not the situation as the heat we were in was ready to boil us alive.

As if the Universe had been gearing up for a good laugh, it took this opportunity to strike the tree right in front of the open French doors with lightning. The squealing noise had been its wind up, like a Jack-in-the-Box from Hell. It’s energy whipped through the room faster than anyone could react and when it was gone, it had managed to take the foul mood that had grown, with it. As the rain poured, the humidity lifted and the air cooled both inside and out. People went back to mingling and I, unfortunately, was left with my seemingly bottomless pit of tasteless wonder.