Joan Leotta performs folklore and personal stories featuring women from history on stage. Her original story THUNDERBOLT received Honorable Mention in the Editor's Choice Award in Wordsmith Journal Magazine. Joan loves to express her imagination in writing and on stage. To learn more about Joan see her website https://joanleotta.wordpress.c
Weather science is not involved. In my world, a THUNDERBOLT is an explosion of inner sound that reverberates throughout one’s very being. I've always suspected that THUNDERBOLT would be how I would recognize my true love my love. I would be hooked by one glance, accompanied by the deafening roar of instant love.
My first THUNDERBOLT experience was about two years ago in the parking lot of a local mall. THUNDER roared when a Nordic god tapped my shoulder.
I could barely hear his silky tenor asking: “Miss, miss, did you drop this?” over my heart’s pounding. I shook myself back to reality and saw that the newfound object of my affection was holding my car key in his perfect, strong hand! (Sigh!)
Barely able to move my lips, I mumbled, “Yes, it…it’s mine.” and thrust out my right hand, palm upturned to receive it. My own plain brown eyes remained locked onto his perfect blue orbs. I am not sure what the rest of my body was up to. Face slack? Legs wobbly?
He pressed the key down onto my palm. I closed my fingers quickly so that the tips of my fingers lightly brushed his for one shining moment. Ecstasy!
When I arrived home, I dropped the key he had touched, now the key to my heart, into my keepsake box. The long unused duplicate became the utilitarian key. But I had forgotten to ask his name. THUNDERBOLT for him too? I would never know.
On Valentine’s Day, a few months after that, I followed a medium height well-chiseled stranger out of the grocery. Love was in the air but ice was on the ground. Despite my sturdy boots, as I sauntered toward him, I slipped. My legs splayed out and I landed, (splat!) on my back. Fortunately my knit ski cap protected my head.
He reached out to grab my arm to help me up. A gallant gesture. Off balance from trying to aid me, he fell as well. His hat-less head of blond curls was cushioned from the cement by one of my knees.
After untwining from each other, he managed to pull himself upright and help me up. I gazed into his manly steel gray eyes and the THUNDERBOLT struck. I managed to mumble thanks and invite the guy to a nearby café. We sipped hot chocolate and chatted. Chad and I exchanged phone numbers.
Over the next year and a half, THUNDERBOLTS raged about me.
Gary called a few weeks later to thank me for breaking up. “Because of our breakup I discovered that your best friend Barbie is my soul mate! No hard feelings, right?”
I scratched Barbie’s name out of my address book. No hard feelings? Right!
Not long after Barbie’s perfidy, I ran into her brother, Vergil. He was the slightly nerdy older brother who had ignored us “kids”. He encouraged me to make up with Barbie. “She wants you to be her Maid of honor.”
I plunged into the whole wedding planning thing with Barbie. Vergil often tagged along.
Vergil and I laughed a lot. At the same things. He listened when I talked and I liked listening to him. Since no THUNDERBOLT was pounding, I could actually hear what he was saying. When my very ill and very beloved grandmother took a turn for the worse, Vergil took off from work to drive me to Pittsburgh to be with her.
Were we falling into a cliché? Yep.
Barbie, proving herself a true friend after all, encouraged us to use her September wedding day for a joint ceremony.
As I write this, I am on my honeymoon. THUNDERBOLT? Not for me. I know now that TRUE LOVE does not boom and pound; true love whispers and listens.
Joan is one of the six featured tellers at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival Nov 3 and 4, 2017. To buy tickets click here.
Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.
THUNDERBOLT
Weather science is not involved. In my world, a THUNDERBOLT is an explosion of inner sound that reverberates throughout one’s very being. I've always suspected that THUNDERBOLT would be how I would recognize my true love my love. I would be hooked by one glance, accompanied by the deafening roar of instant love.
My first THUNDERBOLT experience was about two years ago in the parking lot of a local mall. THUNDER roared when a Nordic god tapped my shoulder.
I could barely hear his silky tenor asking: “Miss, miss, did you drop this?” over my heart’s pounding. I shook myself back to reality and saw that the newfound object of my affection was holding my car key in his perfect, strong hand! (Sigh!)
Barely able to move my lips, I mumbled, “Yes, it…it’s mine.” and thrust out my right hand, palm upturned to receive it. My own plain brown eyes remained locked onto his perfect blue orbs. I am not sure what the rest of my body was up to. Face slack? Legs wobbly?
He pressed the key down onto my palm. I closed my fingers quickly so that the tips of my fingers lightly brushed his for one shining moment. Ecstasy!
When I arrived home, I dropped the key he had touched, now the key to my heart, into my keepsake box. The long unused duplicate became the utilitarian key. But I had forgotten to ask his name. THUNDERBOLT for him too? I would never know.
On Valentine’s Day, a few months after that, I followed a medium height well-chiseled stranger out of the grocery. Love was in the air but ice was on the ground. Despite my sturdy boots, as I sauntered toward him, I slipped. My legs splayed out and I landed, (splat!) on my back. Fortunately my knit ski cap protected my head.
He reached out to grab my arm to help me up. A gallant gesture. Off balance from trying to aid me, he fell as well. His hat-less head of blond curls was cushioned from the cement by one of my knees.
After untwining from each other, he managed to pull himself upright and help me up. I gazed into his manly steel gray eyes and the THUNDERBOLT struck. I managed to mumble thanks and invite the guy to a nearby café. We sipped hot chocolate and chatted. Chad and I exchanged phone numbers.
A week later, my telephone remained silent. I called him. Two more weeks slid by. No return call.
Perhaps my THUNDERBOLT was just an ear pop?
A ticket stub from the all-day Lord of the Rings marathon found its way into my keepsake box when I was sure that the ticket taker was the ONE. My grocer, Gary gave me a rose and a THUNDERBOT. He called me daily for three weeks. . I broke off that one. Quick parting, just friends—all that.
Vergil and I laughed a lot. At the same things. He listened when I talked and I liked listening to him. Since no THUNDERBOLT was pounding, I could actually hear what he was saying. When my very ill and very beloved grandmother took a turn for the worse, Vergil took off from work to drive me to Pittsburgh to be with her.
Were we falling into a cliché? Yep.
Barbie, proving herself a true friend after all, encouraged us to use her September wedding day for a joint ceremony.
As I write this, I am on my honeymoon. THUNDERBOLT? Not for me. I know now that TRUE LOVE does not boom and pound; true love whispers and listens.
Joan is one of the six featured tellers at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival Nov 3 and 4, 2017. To buy tickets click here.
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