The Rain of Fame 

There are days that sweep me off my feet. The kind of days that make me feel like I am not a person, but a commodity. I am something to be bought, something to be shown off to the masses. The tour is over, but instead of feeling relief, I am just exhausted. We did almost 110 shows across the United States and Canada. Everyone warned me that doing a tour this big would be too hard on my mind and my body, but I knew what the fans wanted. What’s the point of releasing music if you aren’t going to look your listener in the eye? I wanted to see them. I wanted to hear them. Not so I could hear my lyrics yelled back at me, but because the words God gave me were also meant for them. Don’t get me wrong, touring is grueling. I feel it everywhere. My body hurts, I’m exhausted, but I’ve never felt more connected to the world. 

But now it’s over. Now, I am just a regular man who wants to go out for a pleasant afternoon. Brian, my head of security, reminds me that I am not just a regular man. He says that I’m bigger than I think. I never wanted to be. I just wanted to make something real for people. Needless to say, Brian will be with me in my shopping endeavors. I’ve always loved New York City for its shopping. I find small places run by one older woman or a family. It’s a crisp early morning, the kind that’s really good for a walk around town. Brian said we should go in the morning to avoid the crowds. The car parks and Brian holds out his hand, stopping me from immediately getting out. I’m a grown man who can’t get out of a car without security. 

“All clear.” Brian’s deep rumble sounds through the window. The door opens and I am ushered out, always behind Brian’s larger stature. 

“Come on, I can walk Brian.” I scold him, my voice gentle. Brian means well, but can’t I just exist? 

We start walking down the street and I can feel it. Eyes. Staring. My ears perk up. Whispers and hushed voices. Is that Nathan Crown? Did you hear about his sold out tour? He really looks like Nathan Crown. That IS Nathan Crown!! 

I can’t even get Brian’s name out before a group of young women run up. They have their notebooks or purses held out to me. “Can we get an autograph? Oh my gosh I can’t believe it’s Nathan Crown! We love you so much!!” 

Brian steps forward, but I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay” I smile because it really is okay. I can see their eyes. I can see the excitement and the glimmer. One of them hands me a pen and I begin to sign. I ask them their names and what they want me to write. I don’t hear Brian’s warning voice. I don’t see the people beginning to crowd. Not until one of the girls lets out a squeak. It sounds like fear. My eyes lift up and I feel my bones begin to shake. 

The storm came quicker than expected. Not rain, not thunder. People. They run up like linebackers on the field. I can’t see where they end and where they begin. All of them screaming my name, holding out pens and paper. They thrust themselves forward, pushing and shoving the people around them. I look behind me to find Brian. 

Where is Brian?! All around me are faces unknown. There is no stage to separate us, no safety guard. I hear the rhythm of my heart in my ears. My skin clams up. The overwhelming feeling of being buried alive fills my blood. They are descending on me, pelting me like rain against pavement. Hands reach out, fingers grabbing at my jacket. 

“Stop grabbing him!” I hear the voice of a woman. My eyes lock on her. She’s one of the ones who approached me. Her eyes are deep wells swimming with regret. She grabs my hand and begins to move. I’m powerless to stop her. She pushes through the crowd. Hands pull my hair, voices assault my ears. They are begging for even a scrap of me. Today is one of those days. Where I am not a man. I am Nathan Crown, a best selling musician. I am a piece to be collected, a prize to be admired. 

“Out of the way!!” The only familiar voice I know booms across the crowd. Two large hands grab me in my middle. I’m hoisted off the ground and moved. I can’t find the woman who helped me. But I hope she knows…

She was my sunshine in the storm.

The Storm Inside

The humid Indonesian night closed in around me. Ibu had always told me to never go out after Maghrib, but when Kirana told me about the meeting in the village, I couldn’t resist going.

I ran along the wooded path towards my village, eventually the forest broke onto a wide plain with a dark village nestled snugly against a small river. A glowing tent sat right in the center.

I took off down the rocky trail and was soon weaving through the little village huts towards the tent.

”Dewi!” My friend’s voice rang familiarly from behind me, I smiled mischievously and turned to face her.

”Kirana,” I stretched out my arms and we hugged, “Do you see how big the tent is? How many people are inside?”

”Hundreds!” Kirana’s white teeth showed from under her lips as they curled into a big grin, “they came from all over, every village even remotely near here!”

“Well, come on, let’s go in!” I pulled Kirana through the tent flap and down the center aisle to a row near the front.

We settled onto the seats and listened intently to the foreign speaker, “There is a Great Spirit who has declared His rule over all other spirits and His love for His people…” the teacher went on and on into the night.

Kirana leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Isn’t this amazing, Dewi?”

I smiled faintly and shrugged my shoulders, I turned my eyes back towards the preacher. Who is this Spirit?

After hours and hours of singing, prayer, and more teaching, the man asked if anyone wanted to follow Jesus. Many of the people raised their hands, Kirana and I looked at each other. She smiled eagerly, and nodded at me.

”No,” I gasped, “we can’t, what would our Ibu’s say? We would have to run away, remember Arif, your brother, he followed this Spirit and our fathers tried to kill him. Don’t you understand, Kirana? This is Christianity!” The thought sent shivers down my spine. I looked pleadingly at my best friend. 

“Dewi?” She cried, “Come on, don’t you see that all our lives we’ve been lied to! We have been following the Great Spirit’s enemies! We must turn from that or we will become His enemies too. God is a spirit, he could do anything to us. Either a spirit kills us, or our family does. Which one is better?”

I tried to swallow the large lump of pure terror in my throat but it wouldn’t go down. 

“The only thing I can see in this world is my family and friends,” I argued, “I can’t give up on them for this spirit world. What if it’s not real either?”

Kirana squeezed my hand, then let go to raise it with the rest.

All the wonderful things the teacher had talked about seemed to echo in my spinning mind. The urge to raise my hand grew stronger, yet something seemed to hold me back.

But eventually along with all the others, I lifted my hand in the air and changed my life forever. Kirana’s and my eyes met again, she smiled at me. I smiled weakly back.

The teacher met with each one who gave their life to Jesus that night. When I sat down on the chair across from him in the emptying tent, his eyes seemed so kind as they looked into mine. I attempted a grin, strange tears threatened to fall from my eyes. Something felt so different inside me. I didn’t feel as much fear as I thought I would when I thought about going back to Mami.

The preacher leaned closer to me and took my small, brown hands, in his huge, white ones. “You are now following the Good Spirit, in a world which the evil ones try to rule. Are you ready to do that?”

I nodded without hesitation.

”I can tell you are an amazing young woman, but a storm will come. A battle between good and evil will rage inside you and all around you, the enemy will try to take you down, but if you endure till the end the good will win.”

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, “I promise I will endure.”

I stood outside my hut taking in deep breaths that didn’t seem to calm any nerves, the fear had come back. It wrapped up my soul like a tight, suffocating blanket. The air around me seemed to have suddenly grown colder, I wrapped my arms around my shivering body. The door grew closer, as the path crunched beneath my feet. I stepped inside, silently.

A lamp sat on the table illuminating some small wooden idols beside it. My mother sat with her head down, she was sleeping.

”Mami,” I whispered. Her head jerked upwards, eyes wide.

Ibu glared at me, ”I had a dream, you have brought other spirits into my home!” I trembled even more, Jesus, help me, I prayed.

I stood taller, defying the evil spirits, “Ibu, I am a new person now, the Great Spirit has saved me. He loves me, it is so wonderful! You can be saved too, you don’t have to be afraid of evil anymore.” I spoke softly, urgently.

”You have angered the spirits, all of them!” Ibu stood up, and shook her fist at me, “Get out, Dewi, you do not belong here anymore!”

I felt a war rage inside me, just like the teacher had said. I had to choose, Mami or Jesus. I ran to my mother’s quaking body and held it close to me for just a moment, then fled out the door as she screamed angrily after me.

I was hoping she would understand and see the change in me, but the storm came quicker than expected, and I couldn’t help but think it came from the wrong direction.

The Pineapple Farmer - Jess R. Plowman

     The year Hawaii joined the Union, I spent all summer detasseling corn, 9 hours a day for 80¢ an hour. After work, I would cool off at the Oskaloosa Public Library, because we were a long way from having air conditioning at home.
     Boredom led me to learn more about what would soon be our 50th state. National Geographic is responsible for the fascination that would come to devastate my mother. I learned Hawaii was not just a tourist paradise, it was an agricultural paradise: rich volcanic soil, warm temps, and constant misty rain.
     More importantly, I learned farm hands made up to $2 an hour. Room and board provided.

     “Of course you can’t move to Hawaii, Eli! What will become of us?”
     Mama’s response wiped the smile right off my face.
     “It would be better for us,” I stammered, “Did you hear what I said? Two dollars an hour.”
     She turned back toward the stovetop like she was about to sob.
     I looked around the table for help, but Sandy stared into her mashed potatoes like she was reading them.
     When she turned back, her eyes were slightly red. “What about the disasters?” she asked.
     “Disasters?”
     “Hurricanes!” she pressed, “Volcanoes! Tsunamis!”
     I shrugged. “We have twisters here.”
     “Pearl Harbor!”
     That was too much for Sandy, who snorted. Mama turned on her. “Do you find war funny, young lady?”
     Sandy ignored the question. “I think it would be neat if Eli went to Hawaii. Maybe we could visit him someday.”
     “Of course we couldn’t visit,” Mama exclaimed. “Where would we get the money? And what if the plane crashed?”
     Sandy pursed her lips. “The plane wouldn’t crash. Tell her, Eli.”
     “Eat your potatoes,” I said. And I tried to let it go.

     But I couldn’t. By the time Eisenhower had the statehood proclamation on his desk, gossipy librarians ensured all Oskaloosa knew I was obsessed. When school started back up, classmates asked if I was serious about moving to Hawaii. I always played it down; but when they asked what I’d do instead, I had no answer.

     A stranger finally provided one. Or, he was a stranger to me. I wasn’t to him.
     I was shopping for Sandy’s Christmas present when he tapped me on the shoulder.
     “You must be Cliff Hudson’s kid, you’re his spitting image.”
     “Yes, sir.” I shook his hand. He said his name was McCandless and he worked with my father before the accident. He’d heard of my interest in Hawaii and had something to give me if I stopped by his house that evening, which I did. He and his wife had just spent Thanksgiving in Kauai and he brought back a newspaper. He’d bookmarked a section for me: the classifieds. Page after page of ranches looking for help, and addresses to contact them by.

     Three months later, I came home from school to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table with a letter and several used tissues.
     “They want you, Eli. Congratulations.”
     I pulled the seat next to her close so I could hold her hand.
     “It’ll be good for us, I promise. I’m not gonna need hardly anything for myself. You can get Sandy and yourself out of this shack and back into town. It’s a money decision.”
     “Just promise if you hear any hurricanes coming, you’ll leave.”

     After graduation, she drove me to Des Moines herself. I took a train to Los Angeles and a steam ship to Honolulu and a ferry to Kauai and a bus to Paina Mala Plantation on the far side of the mountain. There, the rainforest gave way to grasslands and red canyons, seaside huts of cinder block and corrugated steel, Japanese pickups and mule-drawn carts and men in cowboy hats on every color horse, driving through pineapple fields and stands of sugar cane. On my first day, we didn’t go 30 minutes without a rainbow.

     There were five other men starting the same day I did. They were older than me and lived on the island already. No one had come from the mainland. They put us on horses, which I’d never ridden before, but it turns out if you keep them in a group they do most of the steering for you.
     We had a barbecue in the evening and I met my roommate, Hane. He showed me that night how to swing a machete and handle a pineapple without catching the prickly bits.

     Mama’s storm came sooner than expected. It came that very night. Loud sirens jolted me out of bed in the pitch dark. I thought it might be routine reveille. Hane said no. We had to catch a truck, and if we didn’t, we’d be swept out to sea.
     It was the scariest ride of my life, clinging to a rickety, rusty tailgate with ten other men and about 15 women and kids we picked up along the way. We hugged what must’ve been barely a trail. What I could catch of the incline in the moonlight made me grateful for the dark.
     By the time we turned around to look over the ocean, the tsunami was already receding and taking our fields with it.
     In the morning the foreman gathered us and dismissed us to the last man. They had no work anymore.
     I raced after him.
     “No work! Surely you need help fixing all this mess.”
     He was an old Marine, older up close than I’d guessed from a distance.
     “You are correct, son. Plenty of work. What there isn’t is pay. No pineapples, no payroll.”
     “I’ll do it free.” The words came out of my mouth before I could think about them. And kept coming. “You said 18 months to the next harvest, right? Give me a bunk and food till then. I’ll help replant. When you’re back in business, I want $2.20.”
     He looked me over and held out his hand. “Deal.”

     Mama, I’m sorry. I guess it wasn’t about the money.

When the Sky Broke Open

Britta sat by the hospital window, her hands resting on the curve of her stomach, fingers trembling just enough to betray what she refused to say out loud.
“I’m still here,” she whispered. “And so are you.”

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain, though the sky outside was only beginning to gather clouds. She had learned not to trust calm skies anymore. Not since everything in her life had shifted without warning.

“You don’t have to pretend to be brave all the time,” came a voice from the doorway.

Britta turned her head. “I’m not pretending, Doctor Ryland. I’m practicing.”

He stepped in with a small smile, clipboard tucked under his arm. “That might be even harder.”

She gave a quiet laugh, then winced, her hand tightening over her belly. “He’s been moving more today.”

“That’s good,” Ryland said gently. “It means he’s fighting.”

“He has to,” Britta replied. “I’ve been praying every night.”

Ryland hesitated. “Britta… we need to talk about the delivery.”

Her breath caught. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Soon,” he said carefully. “Your body is getting weaker, and Oskar… he’s developing complications. His head—”

“I know,” she cut in softly. “Hydrocephalus.”

“I’ll explain it ten more times if that’s what you need.”

She shook her head. “No. I just need him to live.”

Ryland pulled a chair closer. “A C-section is the safest option now.”

Britta stared at the window again. The clouds were darker now.

“Then do it,” she said. “Whatever it takes.”

The surgery happened sooner than expected.

Britta barely remembered being wheeled into the operating room. The lights were too bright, the voices too quick.

“Stay with me, Britta,” Ryland said from somewhere above her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured.

And then everything faded.

When she woke, the silence was wrong.

“Where is he?” she asked.

A nurse stepped forward—Payden. “Your son is alive.”

“Alive,” Britta repeated, tears forming instantly. “Can I see him?”

Payden hesitated. “He’s in surgery.”

Britta’s heart dropped. “Already?”

“Yes. He needed immediate intervention.”

Britta closed her eyes. “God… just let him live.”

Oskar’s first surgery came when he was only twelve hours old.

Ryland stood over the tiny body, his hands steady.

“He’s strong,” Payden said quietly.

“He’ll need to be,” Ryland replied.

The procedure was delicate. When it was done, Ryland exhaled slowly. “That’s one step.”

“Many more to go,” Payden said.

Two weeks later, Oskar was back in the operating room.

Britta had grown weaker, but her spirit hadn’t wavered.

“I want to see him before they take him,” she insisted.

Ryland nodded and brought Oskar to her.

His head was still too large for his tiny frame, but his eyes were open.

“Hi, Oskar,” Britta whispered. “You keep fighting, okay?”

Ryland watched quietly. “You named him well.”

“It means ‘God’s spear,’” she replied.

Outside, the sky darkened.

A storm was brewing outside but didn’t look like much to worry about.

Inside, routines continued. Machines beeped steadily.

But within hours, the air shifted.

“It’s getting bad out there,” Payden said.

Ryland frowned. “We’ll keep going unless told otherwise.”

Soon, an announcement came.

“All non-life threatening surgeries are canceled.”

Payden looked at him. “What about Oskar?”

Ryland didn’t hesitate. “This is now or never.”

The surgery began as the wind started to howl.

Rain pelted the roof.

Ryland focused. “Scalpel.”

“You’re steady,” Payden said.

“I have to be.”

Minutes passed.

Then—

The Storm came quicker than expected. 

A deafening crack split the air as a tree branch tore through part of the roof.

The room shook.

“What was that?!” someone shouted.

Glass shattered. Debris fell.

Ryland staggered slightly, his hand slipping.

“Doctor!” Payden snapped.

She lunged, grabbing the surgical tray.

“Stay with it!” she said sharply. “You’re not losing him.”

Ryland blinked, regaining focus. “You’re right.”

He steadied his hands.

“Let’s finish this.”

Some storms pass.                       

Some storms change everything.  

This one would decide who survived it.

The storm raged above them—but inside that operating room, something else held firm.

Determination.
Faith.
And a tiny life worth fighting for.

The surgery ended without a hitch.

Ryland stepped back, exhausted. 

“He made it.”

Payden set the tray down slowly. “So did you.”

Oskar stayed in the hospital another week.

Britta regained strength and sat beside him.

Every time he’d get fuzzy she would sing to him.  What calmed him fastest was Jesus loves you,

“He’s beautiful,” she said one evening.

Ryland stood beside her. “He’s a fighter.”

She smiled faintly. “He gets that from me.”

There was a pause.

“You’ve been here every day,” she said.

“So have you.”

“That’s different. I’m his mom.”

“And I’m… someone who cares.”

She looked at him. “You do, don’t you?”

“I do.”

They started small.

Coffee in the hospital cafeteria. Conversations that stretched longer.

“I didn’t expect this,” Britta admitted.

“Neither did I,” Ryland said. “But I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

Payden watched from a distance.

“You’re getting close to her,” she said to Ryland one day.

“I am.”

Payden forced a smile. “Just don’t forget your priorities.”

“I haven’t.”

But as she walked away, her expression hardened.

She had been there through everything.

And now Britta had taken something she hadn’t realized she wanted.

One evening, as Britta held Oskar, she whispered,

“We made it, didn’t we?”

Ryland leaned against the doorway. “You did more than that.”

She smiled, tears in her eyes. “No. We did.”

Outside, the sky was clear again.

But none of them would forget the day it broke open—
and what, against all odds, refused to be taken.

Note: This story and its characters are fictional but inspired by true events. My grandson was born with hydrocephalus. His  surgeries was 12 hours,  and  two weeks. “The storm” was actually Mt. St. Helens blowing her top, which shook the hospital, 75.9 miles away. Babies with hydrocephalus have a life expectancy of  three months. By God’s grace, our big boy stayed with us for 20 years.

In the late 21st century, the population centers of the US had expanded past their breaking points, and more and more people began eyeing the vast, underutilized spaces of Oklahoma. But unlike the Sooners and Dust Bowl survivors who’d broached those areas in the past, the Tornado Surfers, as they came to be known, didn’t treat this as a new outpost in an unknown land. They looked to the people who’d always been there, the Plains Indians, and were inspired by their nomadic lifestyle. Because if you can’t pick up and run away with all you own, whatever gets left behind is liable to get blown away in the aftermath.

Much like the digital nomads of the 2020s, the Surfers kept a small footprint. All they owned and loved could fit in a large RV. But unlike the hyperindividualistic digital nomads, who typically travelled in groups no bigger than what could fit in a single vehicle, the Neo-Oklahomans began forming little communities and groups of travelers. At first they numbered no more than a dozen people strong, then in the tens, and eventually in the hundreds. Splits and ruptures happened, of course, and there were never any contracts signed keeping any given person in any given community. All it took to leave was fueling up and going another direction, away from the caravan. 

Delilah grew up in one such caravan. The White Bison Crew, as they typically called themselves, spent periods anywhere between a week and a month in any given place. Most often, outriders on motorcycles would scout for locations large enough to hold the 36-strong caravan, pay deposits to the landowners to secure the location, and then signal to the group that a new place was ready. Next, the vanguard would set up basic utilities, such as water, plumbing, and internet connections. They’d mark out plots in chalk, and designate certain areas for communal activities. The homeowners were disturbed as little as possible, to ensure that hosts would benefit from the windfall of cash and have their property left as clean as it was when the White Bison arrived.

Delilah traveled with the bulk of the Crew. In transit, RVs used the buddy system. A pair of vehicles could stop for gas or a rest stop without slowing down the forward motion of the Crew itself, and they had multiple lines of communication set up to ensure no one was ever stranded alone. Delilah and her brother, Kevin, always used to play “I Spy” with the kids in their partner car. Whichever group was in front would spy things along the road, and call out to the trailing car what to look for. The delay in finding things would keep the parents apprised of how far behind the other car was.

Once they arrived, Delilah’s father, Miguel Thorpe, got busy with remote work, taking care of accounting for a small overseas firm. Reina Thorpe, his wife, was the caravan’s homeschool teacher. Having been a former elementary school teacher, before she fell in love with Miguel and ran away with his caravan, she loved educating the future generations. And there were numerous adults with diverse skills that the children could learn from. Bill Smithers played guitar and keyboard at communal dinners, and taught Delilah the harmonica. Meredith Ginnie kept a collection of books that she called the “local library.” Occasionally the landowners might give away their old books and unwanted clothes to the caravan. Simone Loews handled the laundry, and taught Delilah to mend her own clothes, and her younger brother’s, too. Picaldo Zemlenaya was working on his masters in mathematics, and was happy to teach the caravan kids between classes. Although usually Reina helped him keep the lessons age appropriate, since graph theory and proofs were a little beyond most of the children’s grade levels.

Delilah was most fascinated, however, with Jeraldine Quartz’s van. Jeraldine, or Jerry, as most people called her, was the internet connection for the White Bison Crew. She used a mobile satellite connection to keep all the remotely employed people, like Delilah’s father, connected to the rest of the world. She had previously done the same thing for cruise ships in the Caribbean, but the job left her little time to enjoy the cruise life as she’d initially hoped. So at one docking station in Florida, she grabbed her passport, walked off, and never looked back. She counted herself lucky that she never had a fixed address, and that no one here was particularly inclined to report her to immigration authorities. Jerry tried teaching basic Python to the kids in Reina’s class, but only Delilah kept up.

Jerry’s girlfriend, Mariah Denwood, was an amateur storm chaser. She kept her van full of equipment to monitor the weather. In addition to what she had on site, she also kept a close watch on the reports from local weather stations. It was often her call whether to hunker down and weather any given storm, or to mobilize and scramble to avoid a potential twister.

One afternoon in April, when Delilah was on the edge of turning 14, Mariah sounded the alarm that they needed to scramble. With no interior rooms or underground basements, the RVs would not survive the brunt of a storm with winds as high as what Mariah saw approaching from the southwest. Although the caravan much preferred not leaving a site before a proper cleanup, the White Bison Crew could not afford casualties. Their very name was based on a legend that the one-in-a-million chance of a white bison would bring good luck. But Miguel preferred to instill a can-do spirit in his kids. He wanted them to make their own luck.

The storm came quicker than expected. The only concrete direction of where to go was “southeast.” They had to ride perpendicular to the twister’s path to avoid collision.

Miguel and Reina kept the music off, but Delilah and Kevin still played “I Spy.” 

“I spy…” said Kevin. “The tornado.”