The breeze was picking up. Lightly at first, small gusts lift the napkins on the picnic table. It had been a long hot day giving way to the late afternoon shift in the weather. The oppressive heat like a convection oven with the mounting gusts. Napkins now tumbled away. Grace watched, not interested in chasing in this heat as a plate found its side and rolled like a wheel toward the lake. Thunderheads stacked in the sky like ominous whipped cream over the cool smooth lake. The waves lapping more insistently on the shore. The rhythm more beats per minute. The sun forgotten in the cloudy sky her heat present even if she wasn't. Grace felt the pressure building around her. A sudden gust exploded the neat arrangement on the table. Plastic cups and paper plates flew in the air along with the plastic knives and forks weaponized by the air. They rained down around her. She kept still. The picnic was ruined by the air, simply the air enveloping her. Swallowing her up. The Kool-aid ran down the side of her leg. Suddenly mother’s voice punched through her silent world.
“Look at what you did. Can't you just be nice for once? Why does it always have to end up in a fight! God damn you! You've ruined it!”
Uncle Jake fell over the table as he swung at his sister screeching at him. He lunged and she leapt back. Their childhood reflexes returned. Grace sat transfixed. The plates and cups and forks flew around her like confetti at a wedding. The plastic tablecloth twisted in Uncle Jake’s hand and trailed him to the ground like a red checked sinkhole. He laid on his back laughing, covered in Kool-aid, cake and picnic debris. Jake laughed as he laid there looking at Grace. Grace stared out at the sky over the lake. The thunderheads had disappeared, the storm blew over. It was replaced with the calm again. The heat remained. None of the respite after a real storm. The oppression remained. Her 9th birthday ruined. No one seemed to notice. Uncle Jake licked icing off his bony fingers before he passed out.