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piratekane · 5 years

Text

A Vanessa-Noah centered short, featuring the absolute murder of storm-related metaphors (for which I apologize).

every storm (runs out of rain)

Noah slinks around the pub with a black cloud over his head. His footsteps sound like claps of thunder and his eyes are lightning every time they cut over to her.

She’s always been afraid of storms.

She’s older now, though. She used to hide under the bed, a flashlight and a book pulling her into another world of sunshine and summer showers that left only rainbows.

Noah leaves black, scarred trees; doors booming as he exits rooms.

Now, when she’s hiding from storms, she sits in the pub, hands wrapped around a cold cup of tea, Charity’s smile her only anchor.

“He’s a teenage boy, babe,” Charity whispers at night. Vanessa can hear it coming, the slow rumble building at the end of the hall. “Moody as a cow.” She rolls over, her weight settling warm against Vanessa’s hips, her arms on either side of Vanessa’s head. “He’ll come ‘round.”

The rumble becomes a roar.

“Course he will,” she tells Charity, not believing it for a minute. “Course he will.”

“Bit gross,” Noah grumbles.

Vanessa looks up, eyes wide in surprise. “What’s that?”

Noah jerks his head towards the magazine she’s holding. Lightning cuts through the living room. She’s been consuming them lately, the anticipation of getting her suspension lifted running through her like a live-wire. Pearl picked her up a new one when she went into Hotten and she hasn’t put it down yet.

“That... cow whatsit.”

Vanessa closes the magazine, her thumb keeping her place. There’s a cow stomach on the back - and ad for a new feed company. She nods slowly. “A stomach,” she tells him.

He shrugs his shoulder carelessly and Vanessa heads the windows shake.

“Gross.”

She wants to argue with him. A cow’s stomach is fascinating. But there’s a flash of light there in the corner of his eyes and she can feel herself shrinking into the corner of the couch. So she folds the magazine over and goes back to reading her article on horse tracking in the 21st century.

When he leaves the room, she lets out the breath she was holding and tries not to feel the lightning licking at her feet.

Charity has her own kind of storms, subdued with age and Vanessa’s steadfast support.

“You said you’d stop meddling,” Vanessa reminds her.

Charity throws her arms up into the air. “Well, I lied!”

Vanessa sighs and pushes her hair back. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need you-“

“He’s my son.” Charity’s shoulders pull back and Vanessa can see the regret building in her eyes, but Charity pushes on. “An’ I get to decide what I do with him. Not you.”

Vanessa exhales a slow, steady stream of air and it ripples between them. “Fine,” she says tightly. “You decide, then.” She picks up her phone and shoves it into the pocket of the hoodie she’s wearing - something with Dingle painted across the back of it.

Charity straightens up, eyes narrowing into thin slits of confusion. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Vanessa ignores her, pulling on the first pair of clean weeklies she finds. “I need to clear my head,” she finally says.

Charity moves in front of her, a wall of fog she can’t get past. “You’re going nowhere.”

“Charity-“

Charity shakes her head sharply and a lamp flickers. “No. The last time you left, you got yourself stabbed.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Right. An’ that was my fault.”

“Well actually babe, it was.” Charity looks away. “Right. Stay right where you are. You want... space, then fine. I’ve got to get back behind the bar anyway.” The door slams behind her and thunder claps in her ears.

The living room door opens just as quickly and the air goes out of the room.

“What’ve you done?” Noah asks, his voice rumbling.

Vanessa feels her shoulders tighten and she takes a measured breath, counting the seconds between the thunder to see how close the storm is. “It’s nothing, Noah.”

1, 2

“Mum is going on like a mad woman.” Noah moves into her line of sight, windswept hair in his eyes.

Vanessa sighs. “Course she is.”

Noah’s feet thus against the carpet and Vanessa keeps counting.

“Sent me back here to make sure you don’t leave.”

The tension knotting in her stomach loosens. “I’m going nowhere.”

“But you want to,” Noah accuses.

“No,” Vanessa says softly. “But sometimes, your mum is-“

“Too much,” Noah challenges. Something grumbles low in the distance. The storm is six steps away now, coming closer. “That’s it, yeah?”

The air feels humid, a threatening stickiness that seeps in through her clothes.

“No,” Vanessa repeats. “She’s not. But she’s not always right, either.”

Lightning flashes as Noah narrows his eyes. “So you think she’s-“

“Noah,” she says sharply. She’s not little and hiding under the bed anymore. She has her own thunder now, her own storm that rages when Charity is standing in someone else’s, trapped. The world spins around her, debris coming closer while Charity shrinks away from it, and Vanessa burns to get to her.

Noah’s forehead wrinkles like an angry sea crashing against the shore. “You can’t-“

“I can. An’ I will,” she adds. “We’re going to be a family and you just... you have to deal with that.”

The tide goes out in his eyes and floods back in again. “You won’t last. They never do.”

“I will.” Vanessa straightens. She’s always been a strong swimmer. She lets her voice soften. “I know you think I won’t and I know why you think it.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

1, 2, 3, and the thunder rumbles again as Noah steps closer.

“I know you’re afraid.” Vanessa stares into the eye of his storm, unblinking. “I know you don’t think there’s space for both of us here, with her.” She breathes in, most building in her eyes. “But there is. There always will be. As long as you want there to be.”

She steps back and the mist thickens to a fog, grey and sweeping across the room. He blinks and there’s a cold winter storm in his sharp breaths.

“Just remember that, yeah?”

Noah says nothing and Vanessa heads for the stairs, rain at her heels and forked lightning cutting through the darkness.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Noah presses against the bar in a fury.

Vanessa hardly jumps now, when he thunders by. She’s always braced, always listening for the next threatening rumble.

“You think you do, but you don’t,” he continues. “You think you’re the first to-“

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Vanessa says aloud, turning to face him. She pauses, his gaze roiling before it settles. “I’m not the first.”

“There’s been loads of blokes before you. And there’ll be loads after you.” He sneers like hail coming down from the sky, stinging her. “There’ve been other people who want me to call them Dad and I won’t call you Mum.”

That’s it, Vanessa knows. He’s got nothing left to give, no space for her to have inside of him. He’s a boat with holes left by other people and the water is rushing in on him all the time. The thunder can keep it at bay, but not for long.

“You don’t have to,” she says gently.

“Good,” he says sharply. “‘Cause I won’t.”

Vanessa eyes him carefully. “If you don’t...” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself with one hand against the bar. “If you don’t have space for me in here?” She taps two fingers to his chest, just above his heart. Her fingertips spark where they land. “Then that’s okay, Noah.”

“I don’t need your permission,” he growls after a minute. He’s retreating like an unfinished storm that’ll swell later and rain for days.

“Course you don’t,” she says to the back of his head as he charges out of the room, a messy squall of swirling sleet.

Noah slips up to her side and Vanessa shifts, trying to move away from his sparks before she catches fire.

“Talked to mum,” he mutters softly.

She curbs the smile building on her face. He’s subdued, his head angled towards her. But Vanessa knows how storms work, how they trick you into feeling safe before they consume you mercilessly.

“She reckons I’m being daft.” He reaches for the orange juice she’s drinking and swallows a mouthful. “Thinking you’ll go.”

“I don’t want to take up any more space,” she tells him. “And if you don’t have it, if you don’t have it, well. That’ll be alright.”

Noah sighs heavily and a warm cloud drifts over her shoulders. “People leave, yeah?” He sighs again. “And sometimes they take... they’re still in there.” He taps two fingers agains this chest. “I’ve not got much left, do I?”

Vanessa scans the ceiling for dark, hovering clouds but there’re none. “Your mum tell you that?” she guesses.

Noah rolls his eyes. “Won’t stop touching my face, either. Says I’m getting my head out of me-“ He stops at the look on her face. “Reckon that’s your doing.”

“Might be,” she admits. “Might be she’s always been that way, though. And now she’s just figuring out how to say it.”

“She loves you.” He says it with surprise, as if he’s just seeing it, just understanding it.

“I love her.” Vanessa touches the stone on the ring she’s wearing. She watches the way his eyes clear.

He smiles like a soft summer rain falling from sunny skies. “Yeah, alright.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa says softly. “Alright.”

#vanity #charity x vanessa #vanessa woodfield #noah dingle #charity dingle #i have murdered the word storm and i apologize

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hauntedduckdefendor · 7 years

Text

Picturing Bam

Rating: T

Word Count:4,233

Warnings: None

Description: When photography student Finley is drug to a gallery by her roommate, she does not expect to fall head over heels for the photographer. FinleyxBam

Heels. They were some women's dream. To me, they were a nightmare. Yes, I wanted to add a few inches to my five foot two stature. But was the pain of blister covered toes really worth it? I mean who knew how long I was going to be at this gallery opening anyway. My best friend Amber was forcing me to go with her. Yes, I was a fan of film photography, I was not, however, a fan of people.

“Come on you're going to love it! Not to mention the artist will be there and he is a total babe” Amber informs me as we climb into the back of the cab. I feel so out of place in my borrowed black dress. I'm more of a jeans and flannel kind of gal. Growing up in North Carolina had somewhat helped me get my bearings when I moved up to Massachusetts for college. Photography had always been a passion of mine, even if my parents hadn't approved of it as a career.

“How do you think you did on the final” Amber asks me as we pull up outside the venue.

“I honestly think I would have had better luck if I would have randomly selected my answers. I'm telling you Professor Foust has had it out for me the entire semester.”

“I'm sure you're just over thinking it. You do have a tendency to do that ya know?”

She was right. I could make a mountain out of a molehill when it came to over thinking things. I couldn't tell you how many nights I stayed up editing photos for hours at a time because I didn't think they were good enough.

Getting out of our cab I quickly regretted not bringing a jacket. Massachusetts in the fall was no joke, especially wearing this scrap of clothing Amber considered a dress. We quickly paid for our cab and walked as fast as our heels would let us into the building.

“Wild, Wonderful Alaska? Seriously, that's the theme of the gallery?” Amber fusses as we make our way into the gallery.

“You didn't know what the gallery was about and you drug me all the way out here?” I questioned my best friend as I looked around the main room.

“All I needed to hear was the photographer is hot, and has a lot of brothers in case him and I don't work out”

“You know for someone who has a 4.2 GPA, you're really not the brightest crayon in the box”.

“No, but I am your favorite color so you can kiss my crack”.

Before I can say another word, Amber is walking away on a mission to find the sexy photographer, and leaving me alone in a sea of people. Great, this is exactly what I wanted. To be surrounded by people I don't know forty-five minutes away from campus. Putting on my big girl panties I brave the throng of people with hopes that I won't have a panic attack.

I slowly make my way around the enlarged photos. The majority of them are black and white landscape shots. Some of them even appear to have been taken from the bow of a boat. I'm marveling the clarity of a shot of a massive dog when I feel someone at my side.

“His name is Mr. Cupcake, and he is not a fan of having his picture taken” a masculine voice comes from my left. I don't even turn toward him, I'm too engrossed in the shot.

“It’s just amazing the clarity and contrast the artist was able to achieve with a film camera. I'm more of a digital girl myself, but I have to give him props, he knows what he's doing that's for sure.”

“Well thank you, It’s nice to know at least one other photographer came to my gallery.”

I look up at the man who is standing beside me then. He is a good eight inches taller than me with long brown and gray hair. He even has a feather braided into it. His eyes are dark and he's giving me a dangerous smile. He extends his hand toward me, and I take it, mesmerized by the calmness that is radiating off of his body.

“The names Joshua, Joshua Bam Brown. What might you're name be?”

“Finley. Finley Reagan McKenzie.”

“McKenzie huh, and if I'm not mistaken a natural redhead too. Guessing you have either Scottish or Irish ancestry” he comments looking me over with those beautiful dark eyes.

“I have both actually. My mother's family originated in Belfast, and my father's in Glasgow.”

“Wow, that's amazing that you have traced that. I don't really know much about my family beyond my parents and siblings.” he confides as he turns back toward the photograph.

“Cuppy was not happy with me that day. I caught him chasing one of my sister's cats. Once I brought that rolled up newspaper out though he knew I meant business.”

I laughed at the image of Joshua chasing a dog around with a newspaper like a disgruntled neighbor.

“Were all these images taken at your home?”

“For the most part yes. Around our property, or out on our boat.”

“That's your family's boat?”

“Well Yeah, how else do you expect us to get back and forth to town?” Josh laughs as I turn toward him.

“How about drive like a normal person” I shoot back at him.

“Kinda hard to do when you live on an island babe”.

I cringe at the use of that nickname. If you want to flatter me, call me love or darling, not babe. I am not a talking pig from the nineties.

“Don't call me babe, secondly, do you seriously live on an island?”

“Sure do, it's my parents, and six siblings, and one sister in law. My youngest brother Noah got married two years ago”.

“Well, congratulations to Noah and his wife. What does you're family do for a living”?

“A little bit of everything honestly. Dad and mom are both professional painters, my oldest brother Matt is a welder, Bear is a carpenter, Gabe makes furniture out of old pallets, Noah is a writer, Bird is training to be a vet tech in Hoonah, and Rhain is really big into fashion. Noah’s wife is in the process of publishing her third novel, and I'm the photographer.”

“Wow, that's a lot to take in at once.”

“Yeah I know we're a lot to take in at once. How did you hear about the gallery of you don't mind me asking.”

My new host has started walking toward the next photo as he awaits my answer.

“My best friend actually, she kind of drug me here, to be honest.”

Joshua smiled as we stopped in front of an image of a massive bear.

“This was taken about sixty yards away from my parents home” he informs me as he places his hands in the pocket of his jeans. I glance down at my black dress and back up toward his casual outfit of jeans, a black t shirt, and boots. I mentally curse Amber as I register what he has just said.

“Wait, this thing was that close to your parent's house!” is one again smiling at me.

“Yes, bears are common on our island. We see about six or seven a day.”

I'm about to respond when I hear my name being called. I quickly turn to see Amber jogging toward me, her heels are already off and in her hand.

“Come on Finely, I can't find the photographer anywhere and my feet are killing me.”

“Well let me introduce you. Joshua this is Amber, Amber this is the photographer.”

I watch as my best friend sizes Joshua up, and I instantly know she's not impressed.

“Well it was nice meeting you Josh, the pictures are lovely, but Finely and I need to get back to campus.”

I'm about to tell Amber off when Joshua beats me to the punchline.

“I believe Finley still has to see the rest of the exhibit. I can keep you company if you'd like.”

I can't help the grin that is plastered to my face for multiple reasons. One, no one has ever told Amber off like that. Secondly, yes I would like for him to keep me company.

“Why yes, Mr. Brown that would be lovely. Amber, I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

Before I know what's happening Joshua has his hand on the small of my back and was directing me toward the net group of images. The were all taken from the families boat.

“Is that a whale?” Finley asked as she got a closer look at the photograph in front of her. The main focus of the shot had been the mountains in the background.

“I’m surprised you actually seen that, most people just see the mountain and move on” Bam laughed as he led her to the next image.

“Photography major remember. I always look for the rule of three.”

The evening seemed to be going by in a flash and before Finley knew it she and Joshua were back where they started with the portrait of Mr. Cupcake.

“Your work is really amazing! I’m really glad I got a chance to view it” Finley commented as she played with the end of her uncomfortable black dress. She had an amazing time just talking with Joshua about his work, she didn't even realize there were only two or three other people still at the exhibit.

“Thank you, Miss McKenzie, it was an honor to be your escorts this evening. Not to mention being able to have an actual intelligent conversation with someone who knows photography.”

His comment made blood rush to Finley's cheeks. What was it about this guy that was making her feel so comfortable.

“I hope I'm not being too forward, but I really enjoyed your company tonight. What would you say if I asked you to dinner tomorrow evening? Nothing so fancy that you would have to endure heels again, just something small so I can get to know more about you?”

“I would say tell me the restaurant and I’ll be there.”

Finley couldn't help the joy that filled her when Joshua smiled at her answer.

“How about I pick you up at six, and we go from there?”

Finley reached into her pocketbook and found a scrap piece of paper. Quickly jotting down her address, she handed the piece of paper over to Joshua, who brushed his hand against hers.

“Until tomorrow night Miss McKenzie.”

----------------------------------------------------------

“So you're really going out on a date with this guy? You just met him, not to mention he was a little rude last night” Amber's voice rang out through my dorm room as I buttoning my favorite pair of jeans.

“Yes I am really going on a date with him, and you were the one being an ass last night” I commented doing up the last button on my flannel shirt.

“What look are you going for exactly? Slutty lumberjack?” Amber snaps at me as I pull my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head.

“I’m going for the I have blisters on my feet from wearing stupid heels so I’m dressing comfortable look. I think I have it pulled off nicely.”

“Whatever, just don't come crying to me when Mr. Photographer guy breaks your heart or knocks you up.” with that comment Amber burys her face in the latest issue of Cosmo, and I hear a knock come from our door. Taking one last quick look in the mirror, I grab the door handle and give it a turn.

He’s laughing the second I open the door. I quickly look down to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important like shoes, or pants. Finding them both there I give him a questioning look.

“What's so funny Joshua”?

“Please call me Bam, and nothing is funny Miss McKenzie, we are going to be twinning for the evening, however.”

I look Bam up and down and for the first time, I realize that we are both wearing dark jeans, a black band shirt, with a red flannel shirt on top. I can't help but giggle at the sight of us.

“We’re going to look like a married hipster couple!” I state through my laughter. At least I like the band whose logo he is sporting on his chest. Bam’s arm comes from behind his back and he hands me a single white rose.

“Thought I would give you something to represent your Scottish ancestry” Bam comments as I take the rose from his hand, and carefully bring it up to my nose.

“Believe it or not, you're the first guy who has ever given me a rose” I inform him as I step back into my dorm room welcoming Bam inside.

“Just let me put this in some water and we can go.” Bam is checking out the various prints I have hanging on the wall, completely ignoring the fact that Amber is ignoring him. Placing my solo cup full of water on my desk, I quickly drop the rose into it and turn to find Bam examining one of the shots I took at a local concert.

“You're really talented when it comes to low light photography. The shot isn't grainy at all.”

“Thanks, it was a show at a local pub one night. You ready to go?”

Bam nods and heads toward the door, he’s holding it open for me as I look back at my disgruntled best friend.

“Don't wait up, I don't know when I’ll be home”.

I'm answered with a thumbs up over her magazine. Rolling my eyes I walk out of my dorm and into the hallway, which is starting to fill up with the usual party goers.

“Sorry about Amber, she s just been in a bad mood the past few days”.

“I couldn't tell at all” Bam lies as we head out of my building and toward a cab.

There's a line wrapped around the restaurant when we arrive.

“Oh man, we are going to be waiting for hours” I comment, already feeling bad for my blistered feet.

“Nonsense, I’ve not only made reservations, but I know the owner”

Bam smiles as we get out of the cab and he takes my hand. Mine feels tiny and minuscule compared to his large callused covered one. My mind automatically goes to how that hand would feel in other places.

Stop thinking like that or you're going to get yourself worked up my subconscious is screaming at me as we make our way to the front of the line. I try my best to ignore the sneers we are receiving from the other customers. Obviously, we didn't dress up enough to be here. The bouncer type guy who is standing in front of the door seems to be having the same thoughts as he looks us up and down before staring at Bam.

“Can I help you sir? ” the guard asks with a look of boredom on his face.

“Ye, Joshua Brown, and Finley McKenzie” Bam’s voice is full dominance as he stares back at the guy, his hand now resting on the small of my back.

The guard rolls his eyes and brings a clipboard in front of his face. Three seconds later his demeanor has changed. He is now standing up straight, and unclipping the belt that blocks the entrance.

“Sorry about your wait Mr. Brown, right this way please.” Bam lets me walk in first and I am completely flabbergasted that we got in just like that, no arguing, name calling, or fighting at all.

The restaurant is beautiful, the majority of the art on the wall is black and white, which with the low light setting gives this place a very intimate feeling. We are quickly escorted to one of the tables that are set on a higher level, there may be three more couples up here, all of them seem to be lost in their own little worlds.

Bam pulls out my seat and quickly sit down, a little embarrassed at the attention he is giving me. No man has ever treated me like this and I honestly don't know how to react to him. The moment we are seated the waiter is at our table, asking what we would like to drink.

“I’ll just have a sweet tea please” I speak up while Bam informs him a water Coke would be perfect.

“So how has your day been” he questions as we get comfortable.

“It was fine, I had class from nine until four. The stress of graduation is starting to kick in and I am trying my best not to pull my hair out.”

“Please don't do that, I love your hair, not to mention I wouldn't be able to pull…”

The waiter returns with our drinks and asks if we are ready to order. I quickly glance at the menu and order the first thing I see. Chicken tenders and fries. Yes, I am an adult but I am a big kid at heart. Bam laughs and orders the same. We both ignore the weird look we are getting from the waiter.

“Mr. Lundquist would like me to inform you he will be out sometime this evening to say hello” the waiter informs Bam as he takes our menu’s and leaves the table.

“Mr. Lundquist?”

“Yes, the friend of mine, and the owner. I did some work for him when he was opening up the place. Took photos for his socials, menus, all of that stuff. Now you were saying graduation stress?”

“Yeah I have a little over a week before finals, and I am stressing so much. I need to make at least a B on my final project in order for me to graduate with honors, and I am worried it’s not going to happen.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Bam questions as he twirls his straw around in his drink, but not breaking eye contact with me,

“Actually, if you wanted to look at the shots I will be presenting that would be awesome. The requirement is they all be black and white and let's face it you have a knack for that.”

“I would love too, what's the project about?

“It’s actually about poverty. We had to document what poverty looked like in our hometowns. So I had to go back to North Carolina for a weekend.”

“You're not from Massachusetts? Bam questions as our waiter returns and places our plates in front of us.

“Nope, I moved up here when I was sixteen, and never turned back to that hell hole.”

I didn't miss the way Bam’s eyebrows furrowed at my last comment.

“What did you have to do while you were back there?” he asks he begins to pour ketchup on his plate.

“Well, I actually lived and volunteered at a homeless shelter for the weekend. I was able to see how the less fortunate lived, and get my project done all without seeing my horrible family.”

I don't miss the fact that Bam drops a piece of chicken at the mention of me staying in a homeless shelter. To be honest it wasn't the first time I’ve done it. That’s how I survived when I moved up north until I could get a job, and into college.

“Do you want to tell me about why you left at such a young age?”

I shook my head and took a bite of my chicken.

“I honestly don't like talking about it. Maybe one day okay?”

Bam nods and quickly changes the subject. I guess he could see how uncomfortable I was. As Bam is about to speak a man with a beard and the most adorable smile comes to our table.

“Bam it’s so nice to see you again! How have you been? I heard about the gallery, wish I could have made it but this place would go into a frenzy without me” the man comments as Bam stands up to pull him into a hug.

“I’ve been doing good, the gallery has a few more days if you get a chance to swing by. This is my lovely date Finley McKenzie, Finley, this is Austin Lundquist”.

Austin takes my hand in his and places a kiss on the back of it.

“The pleasure is all mine ma’am. How is dinner? Is there anything I can get for you”?

“Dinner is wonderful Mr. Lundquist, and I do believe we are all okay here” I smile at this guy who reminds me of a huggable teddy bear.

“Excellent, if you need anything please don't hesitate to ask, Bam it was good seeing you again. I’ll let you know where we're redoing our menu so you can come down okay?”

Bam quickly nods his head and hugs his friend goodbye.

“He’s a hyper fellow isn't he?”

Bam nodded as he once again took his seat and took a drink from his water glass.

“Yeah but he’s a great guy and he’s really passionate about his work. This is his third restaurant I think. I know for sure he has one in Louisiana and Arizona.”

I nod and go back to work on my dinner. I may not look like it but I can pack some food away, and as good as this stuff is I’ll be finished in five minutes.

The rest of dinner goes by in a blur as I sit and get to know Bam more. He tells me about how he got into photography, what his family has been up to while he has been out with his gallery, and then we get on the subject of books. This debate lasts all the way back to my dorm. I honestly haven't laughed this much in so long and it feels so weird to be this happy. Our current debate, ebook vs paper.

“All I’m saying is that with an ebook I can have an entire library in the palm of my hand. Not to mention all the fan fiction that's out there.”

At the mention of fanfiction Bam wrinkles his nose.

“I’m not really a fan of it, to be honest. I mean if the character is fictional I guess I could see it, but when the person is real. It makes it kinda creepy.”

I can't hold back my laughter as the thoughts of all those fanfictions I wrote before college about me running off with various rock stars and actors I had crushes on all come flooding back to me. Yepp, that's going to be a secret I take to the grave. Bam walks me up to my dorm room, stating that he doesn't trust the delinquents who were filling the hallway earlier. I’m standing outside my door, digging for my keys when I feel a hand fall on my waist. I turn to see Bam is al close as he has been all evening. I can smell the Juicy Fruit he has been chewing since we left the restaurant. I can't seem to make my eyes look anywhere but at his lips.

"Finley” he purrs my name, and I am instantly put under his spell.

“Tonight was one of the best nights I’ve had since I left Alaska. There’s just something about you I can't get off my mind.

Breathe woman breathe! I think to myself as Bam steps closer. Our bodies are practically touching. I get the courage to look up and I’m not disappointed by the look in his eyes. Without thinking, I stand on my tip toes and bring my lips up to his. The instant they touch I feel a jolt of desire course through my body, and as cliche, as it sounds I want more of him. His hands quickly come up to cup my face, and the next thing I know I’m being pressed back against the wall, with this feral hunk of man on top of me. My heart feels like it’s racing a thousand miles a minute and I don't want the source of the speed to stop. My hands go to the hem of Bam’s shirt and he quickly pulls back from our kiss.

“Finley, wait.”

I instantly stop what I’m doing as we both catch our breath.

“You don't know how bad I want too. But not like this. I want to cherish every inch of you, and not in a dorm hallway.” he grins as he runs his thumb over my lips.

“I’m leaving for home in a week. Will you come with me?”

I don't know what possessed me but as soon as the question is out of his mouth my arms are going around his neck and I am screaming yes over and over.

“The second my last final is over I am all yours, Mr. Brown.”

Bam grins and leans down for another kiss.

“I love the way you make my name sound” he smiles before our lips meet again.

I don't know what the future holds for me, or where I am going to end up. But I know one thing, Bam Brown is going to be at my side until the end.

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digicomgroup · 7 years

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No Fair Blaming Lewisville Dam Problems on the Bible. It’s You and Me, Babe.

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Corps officials told a small army of reporters that this eroded site on the Lewisville Dam is totally under control.

Jim Schutze

North Texas journalism professor George Getschow’s piece in The Dallas Morning News on dangers in the Lewisville Dam managed to put urban flooding in Texas in what I have always believed is the most useful framework — the Bible.

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, responsible for safety of this 6-mile earthen dam in the midst of vast suburban sprawl, was quick to assemble a press event after the Getschow story broke to assure the public that nothing biblical was about to ensue. I guess that was fair enough for their part, even if their assurances did seem kind of heavily cross-hatched with caveats about our luck holding out and the creek not rising.

But those assurances did nothing to allay the true core impact of the Getschow piece, which was to wake people up to the full dimension of the danger. Even if we trust the Corps to manage that danger, it’s healthy for us to understand the size of the urban flooding risk where we live. That’s where biblical comes in.

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Officials of the Fort Worth District of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers quickly assembled a press event to tamp down fears spawned by a story saying Lewisville Dam was in trouble.

Jim Schutze

We think of bodies of water like Lake Lewisville as reservoirs — huge containers of drinking and lawn-watering water. But the Corps builds them as flood safety measures, to hold the runoff created by suburban sprawl during wet months until that water can be safely released during the dry months. The urban flooding we are beginning to see more frequently, as well as worn-out infrastructure like Lewisville Dam, are indications that our flood control measures are beginning to be overwhelmed.

If the Corps can’t stay ahead of that game — if Lewisville Dam were undermined by invisible seepage and broke loose without warning one night — then we could be talking about the potential for thousands of deaths in Dallas and an amount of property damage almost exceeding our ability to count.

So maybe while we’re on the topic anyway, we might actually devote a little bit of thought to how this risk has been created — how did these enormous risks pile up against us and what might we be able to do about reducing them?

There is a pretty general consensus among people who study 21st-century flooding in the built environment that the number one driver of flooding now is suburban sprawl and the sealing of formerly permeable land — land nature designed to soak up rain — with a stubborn hardscape of concrete and rooftops. The only meaningful way to address that risk is by reforming building codes and land-use policies.

And, in fact, efforts to do just that are underway at the federal level. Congress is considering raising the amount of elevation above a floodplain considered safe for residential development. The proposed change, from a so-called 100-year flood level to a 500-year level (just think higher) matches what major reinsurance companies are calling for in the private sector.

But especially here in Texas, that kind of talk butts up against ferocious opposition from the real estate development interests and the town promoters. Nicholas Pinter, professor and chair of applied geosciences at the University of California-Davis, talked to me about the proposed new standard, still on the drawing board in Washington: “You know what, if that had been implemented last May when all the Central Texas flooding occurred south of Austin, a lot of the damages that happened then would have been avoided.

“Just weeks before that flooding,” he said, “a letter authored and co-signed by a number of (state and federal Texas legislators) was submitted to the president vocally opposing the new flood-risk standards. It’s ironic that the legislators whose own constituents were so heavily damaged, whose own constituents would have been safe had that standard been in place earlier, were among those most vocally arguing against a more robust safety margin in U.S. floodplains.”

In the letter Pinter refers to, Congressman Pete Olson, Republican of suburban Houston, told the president the proposed new standard would “likely dry up economic investment in these areas.”

That’s not a response to stricter flood control that should surprise anybody, at least not in Texas, according to Kevin Simmons. He’s an economics professor at Austin College who studies the economic relationship between damages from natural disasters and efforts to mitigate those damages with regulation.

Simmons says the anti-regulatory climate in Texas needs to be understood in terms of spirited competition for local growth dollars:

“Let’s say you’re a city on the edge of the metroplex. You’re just in northern Collin County or in Denton County, something like that, which probably is going to be a part of the metroplex in the next 10 years.

“You want developers to come and build in your city as opposed to a neighboring city,” Simmons says. “You want to be the next Frisco.”

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“Do you want to give these developers stringent guidelines that would inhibit development in some areas of your city, or do you want to do things that would encourage them to build in your city?”

But the absence of meaningful land-use controls to control flooding — turning developers loose to build what they want, where they want — is exactly what piles up those huge risks and huge potential costs that somebody is going to have to pay some day when some dam or levee breaks in a densely developed area.

Somebody is you. The taxpayer. Pinter at UC-Davis points out that the costs for massive flood damage fell back on the taxpayers even when the taxpayers tried to protect themselves by setting up a national flood insurance program. (And remind us again: Who was it who thought an insurance company run by congressmen was a good idea?)

“The flood insurance program has been overgenerous with the result that we taxpayers are now $24 billion dollars in debt to the U.S. treasury,” Pinter said, “because pervasively across the country we have yielded the floodplains, inch by inch, acre by acre to these pressures to develop them.”

Maybe the most interesting thing to think about in all of this is not the doom and gloom, however. Simmons at Austin College co-authored a study in Moore, Oklahoma, published this year, not about flooding but tornadoes, the more frequent bane of that long-suffering community. Simmons looked at a tougher building code adopted by Moore officials after a tornado in 2013 killed seven children in an elementary school, the third catastrophic tornado to hit Moore in 14 years.

What they found was that if all the homes in Oklahoma had been built to the new Moore standards, the extra cost would have been about $3.3 billion, adding an average of $2,000 to each new house. But the savings in wind damages that Oklahoma could expect in the next 25 years would be about $11 billion. Not a bad trade-off.

I asked Simmons about the cost of running off developers by imposing stricter standards versus the benefit of attracting more people to Oklahoma because they’re less afraid of getting blown away with their little dog, Toto. He said it’s too early to tell. I think what he really meant was, “Only reporters ask things like that,” but he was too nice to say it.

There’s maybe one more strand of this puzzle that I hear from people — a very tangled version of the climate change debate. Some people say to me — and I could swear they’re the same ones who deny climate change at other times — that the increased flooding we are seeing in urban/suburban areas is not the result of development but of changes in rain patterns.

I don’t know what that means in terms of policy. Go ahead and develop where you want, because we’re all doomed anyway? But I did find one person with both academic and official standing to address it, John W. Nielsen-Gammon, a professor in the department of atmospheric sciences at Texas A&M University and the state climatologist of Texas. His studies of weather in Texas over the last half-century have found evidence of robust aggregate increases in the intensityof downpours but not in stream flows.

Nielson-Gammon says the evidence confirms climate change but not enough to make it a primary driver of the increased flooding we are seeing in urban areas.

“It is not obvious and probably I would say unlikely that changes in rainfall are the biggest driver in changes in flooding over the historical period,” Nielsen-Gammon told me. “I think land-use changes are probably the biggest driver of increases of flooding in urban areas.”

Why is that important? Well, going back to Getschow’s piece and the biblical catastrophe we face if that dam ever breaks loose, maybe it’s time to stop blaming it on the Bible. We created this mess. We continue to make it worse every day, when each new acre of permeable land falls beneath a shroud of rooftops, swimming pools, tennis courts and shopping malls.

The fascinating point in the work of Simmons at Austin College is the indication that tougher regulation is not necessarily an economy-killer. There is money to be saved and profit to be gained in common sense measures. Every little hick cow-patch town competing to become the next going-and-blowing big suburb may well be an economy-killer ultimately, not to mention loss of human life.

None of us is surprised when another dude in a heavily starched shirt and cowboy boots runs out on stage to promote his own cow patch as the next great suburban Nirvana. Any one of us might be tempted to do the same thing if the same size bag of gold were sitting on our own table just beyond our own grasping fingertips.

But for a society to be basically sane, some people have to be the grownups. That’s what I like best about the Getschow story. I read it, and I see Noah standing on his boat with his hands on his hips, telling us, “Hey, enough is enough, OK?”

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