The Great Storm
© 2012 - William C. Highsmith

Morgan watched as the storm clouds gathered. He had lived through many storms in his time - both weather related as well as personal.

Morgan Cruz was third-generation Mexican-American but considered himself as simply an American. His grandfather immigrated to the United States - crossing the international border near El Paso, Texas. He worked as an itinerant farm worker all over the southwest and the southern part of the United States. Finally, most of the family settled in south Florida where Morgan's father met the daughter of one of the farmers and married. When Morgan came into the world, his parents gave him the surname of his mother as his first name. He grew up on his mother's family farm.

After graduating from high school, the young man joined the United States Marine Corps and subsequently was sent to Vietnam in early 1964. After two tours of duty, he returned home - grateful he was not counted as one of the 58,220 US soldiers who died in that hell on earth.

Upon leaving the Marine Corps, the young soldier just wanted time to be alone before he settled down. He needed time to forget the terrors that tormented him day and night. He remembered talking to one of his buddies who hailed from North Carolina. He often talked of the Appalachian Trail extending between Springer Mountain in Georgia and Mount Katahdin in Maine. This solitude seemed just what he needed. However, he wasn't alone very long. He met Carla in Georgia and promptly decided he didn't need the isolation after all. He took her home to south Florida where they settled down and started a family. He hoped to grow old in the loving arms of his clan. It was not to be.

As the hands of time moved on, Carla gave him three children. The farm was producing a decent living, and all seemed well with his soul. Since they lived in the country, Carla made it a practice of driving the children to school every day. One morning, Morgan was working on the books for the farming enterprise when the phone rang. It was the Sheriff's office. There had been an accident, and he was needed at the local hospital immediately. He rushed out to his truck and drove like a madman. However, he was too late - his whole family was dead. The Sheriff said they didn't have a chance. It seemed a tire blew out, and the car rolled over three times before coming to rest in the water of a creek.

As he gazed at the clouds and reflected on the memories of twenty years ago, he reached down to pet his faithful dog and said, "Rex - tormentas vienen en muchas formas"

It translated as 'Rex - storms come in many forms.'

By William C. Highsmith - March 8, 2012




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