Write Now: The Wrecking Ball


March 7, 2013  

The Wrecking Ball | By Corey Morrow

 

The rain sloshed me from every direction. At times it felt like it was raining upwards from the sand below. This is crazy, who does this? I was soaked in spite of my oversized yellow raincoat. My sneakers squished as I trudged behind her.

 

“Cor, can you believe this? This is incredible!”

 

My mom was shouting to me from just a foot away, but the whipping wind turned her screams into a barely audible whisper.

 

“Yeah, Mom! This is so cool!” I tried to sound excited, put on my brave face and smile through the swirling rain. I wasn’t about to point out our irresponsible actions to her and give away my cautious side, and even as the storm loomed closer over the ocean, I kept my feet faithfully following hers when all they wanted to do was run in the opposite direction.

 

My watch said it was just after ten in the morning, but there was no sign of sunlight, or human life at all for that matter. US1, usually bustling in the sunlight, was void of the runners and surfboards that usually lined the dunes.

 

I looked out over the Atlantic Ocean at the latest threat to my security. The gray clouds of hurricane Floyd swirled above us, slowly etching a path closer and closer to shore. The water leapt and crashed in disjointed waves, ignoring the usual ebb and flow pattern. White foam covered the sandy beach and rain fell in constant sheets. Terror and adrenaline coursed through my veins and I struggled to keep the fear out of my eyes. One thing Mom never wanted to see.

 

“Can you see all of this through the camera?” She was shouting again from my left side, pointing at the act of God heading our way.

 

“Uhh, yeah…” I had completely forgotten about the camcorder in my left hand. It was still recording, keeping track of this scene that could very well be the last minutes of our lives. I lifted the camera and peeked through the eyehole at the storm. It was covered in rainwater and I was amazed it was still functioning. I wiped the lens with the end of my soggy sleeve. Effective plan, Cor.

 

I was used to finding myself in slightly dangerous situations with my mother, and I usually did my best to keep my fears to myself. Seeing my reserved side would remind her of my dad, and he was the last person she ever wanted me to be like. Today she was really pushing the limits. Standing on Juno beach and watching the category 4 hurricane that had just demolished the Bahamas roll in is terrifying, exhilarating, and adrenaline producing. All of Mom’s favorite things.

 

When she suggested it this morning, I was sure she was joking. But as I sleepily pulled myself out of bed and into the kitchen for breakfast, the evidence of our upcoming adventure was already laid out on the couch: Two raincoats, a camcorder, and Mom’s metal detector.

 

“Mom, you are not bringing the metal detector! We’ll hardly be able to stand, let alone dig for treasure.”

 

I kept my voice sarcastic, so I had the option to claim I was joking if she goaded me about my lack of adventurous spirit. I looked out the bay window at the leaning palm trees and fat rain drops staining the white driveway. The storm was closer than I thought.

 

“Corey, this could be the day! We could find a coin today!”

 

She was so elated that there was no reasoning with her. I hid my concerns about the close proximity of the storm and its threat to our safety. If the metal detector was already out, our fates had already been decided: we were going.

 

The rain stung my eyes as the wind picked up around us. Not even the Channel 25 news van hung around, which was not a good sign. If they quit braving the storm to report on the weather, it must be getting really close. Hurricane Floyd lingered hours, maybe minutes from breaking onto the South Florida coast, and I just might be here on the beach to greet it.

 

“Storm chaser” was only one of Mom’s aspirations in life. The list is long and ridiculous and includes most professions named by preschool students when asked what they want to be when they grow up. Astronaut, bull fighter, ballet dancer, fire breather, pirate or movie star; all sensible options. I tagged along, her secretly unwilling accomplice.

 

Danger never concerned Mom when an adventure sparked her interest, and things like taking toddlers horseback riding or swimming in a lagoon full of stingrays became ordinary activities. Everyone does those things. Right. When Dad learned of my “adventure” on the back of Mom’s horse at the age of two, he was less than pleased. “Blew a gasket,” is how Mom tells the story now in the mocking tone she reserves for stories about how uptight my dad is. The stingray episode happened in open waters off of the Caymen Islands the summer of 2008, and Mom assured me it would be totally safe.

 

“Like Seaworld,” she said, only closer. Seaworld, only closer, if anyone was wondering, means treading water until pure exhaustion while trying to avoid going out like the great Steve Irwin.

 

“If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space!” Mom shouted to me whenever she sensed a slip in my fearlessness. This phrase – which later would find a home as the name of her boat, wrapping the length of the twenty-two footer and permanently fixing itself into my memory as one of the funniest things I will ever see – often followed one of her infectious laughs and a cry of exuberance. I half smiled and always took my cue to “man up and have fun” in whatever situation she managed to land us. As a child “fun” and “mortal peril” were interchangeable, and I kept our many forays into danger hidden from my clearly more responsible father. My parents were at odds enough without him knowing about our stint as local fire truck chasers, for example, or the time we jumped the fence at the fancy Hilton hotel down the street so we could use their pool.

 

I let Mom and Dad have what they wanted and a different Corey with each parent meant that everyone was happy. They got the daughter they believed reflected their personality, and I received love from both parents which made me happy. It wasn’t until high school, that day in Mr. Feyk’s English class under the painfully bright overhead lights that I really began to see just how abnormal my life had become. Who was I? Did other people play roles like this in real life? Was I even a real person? The more I contemplated my polarized roles, the more I realized that my sense of identity, such as it was, had been split into two.

 

About Corey Morrow
Corey Morrow is a writer and a pug lover. She lives in sunny South Florida with her husband and their smoochable pug, June. Corey recently completed her MA in Writing. (The Wrecking Ball is an excerpt from her creative thesis, a memoir, titled I Am the Tornado.) She spends her free time writing and creating for her blog, better with june. If she isn’t writing, she is undoubtedly burning herself with her glue gun or getting paint/glitter/washi-tape on everything in her house. Corey believes in ghosts, colors outside the lines, and feels that a good cupcake can solve any problem. Follow her (sometimes) witty comments on Twitter (@lovemyjune), see pictures of June on Instagram (betterwithjune), keep up with the pretty things she likes (and makes) on Pinterest (pinterest.com/coreyjenna), and send funny jokes and stories about dinosaurs to cmorrow310@gmail.com.

 

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2 Comments on “Write Now: The Wrecking Ball”

  1. 1 corey said at 7:03 am on March 7th, 2013:

    Wow, Wendy! Thank you so so much! I am honored to be a part of the project! xo Corey

    [Reply]

    Wendy Townley Reply:

    You are welcome, Corey. Many thanks for your Write Now submission. Keep writing!

    [Reply]


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