By Amber Woods
“I assure you, Mrs. Marcel, this drought is going to break.” Al Bee Bee Watcher smiled at his landlady. The apartment lobby’s 1920’s décor surrounded him, clashing spectacularly with the modern computer on her desk.
“And I’m telling you, there’s no chance.” Mrs. Marcel shook her head. “Put away your raincoat, Mr. Watcher; the weatherman said we’re dry these next three days.”
“But, I’ve foreseen it.” Al tapped his temple. He knew Mrs. Marcel wouldn’t believe him, just as he knew rain wasn’t the only thing coming this afternoon.
“Ah, yes. I forgot about your precognitive abilities.” Mrs. Marcel rolled her eyes and smiled. “Honestly, Mr. Watcher, if you would just even out a bit, you could find a nice young lady to settle down with. Instead, you act like a crazy old man borrowing a young man’s body.”
“My dear lady, if I were to settle down, I’d need a lady who was as uneven as I am. And here is Mr. Kellen, asking for another extension on the rent.”
Mrs. Marcel raised an eyebrow as the man in question walked through the lobby doors.
Mr. Kellen was indeed asking for an extension.
“Yes, I can wait until next week.” She sighed as Mr. Kellen left. “Well, Mr. Watcher, I hope your weather predictions are as accurate as your knowledge of your neighbor’s finances. My car could use a good sprinkle after this autumn heat.”
“I suggest you grab an umbrella for your afternoon shopping trip. I’m never wrong.”
“Uh-huh. You predicted a hurricane during the Superbowl.”
“Let bygones be bygones, my good lady. Also, please be advised, I have nothing of value in my living room and kitchen.” With a wink and a tip of his hat, Al departed the lobby, leaving Mrs. Marcel shaking her head.
Al took five minutes longer than normal to get to work, which was much better than the twenty it would have been had he not foreseen a traffic jam on the highway. Once parked, he made his way through the dry lot. There still wasn’t a cloud in the sky. In the lobby, he stepped around the booby traps that Greyson, an assistant editor for the Farmer’s Almanac, had set up for him. “To make sure your precognition is still in check,” he’d claimed.
Al hopped the last tripwire and nodded to the trap’s mastermind, who was standing by the copy machine.
“It’s going to rain today?” Greyson glanced at the coat in Al’s hands.
“Yes. I suggest you grab your umbrella soon.” Al tipped his hat and went to his office.
On his walls hung star charts, tidal patterns, and complex mathematical formulas. The nameplate on his desk read “Caleb Weatherbee: Forecaster,” his pseudonym as the Almanac’s weatherman. Al fired up his computer and stretched, back popping.
Half an hour later, a knock sounded at his door. Al opened it. “Thanks, but I’m not a huge fan of pumpkin spice. Amy would like some though.”
Greyson grinned, lowering the coffee tray. “Does your life ever get boring? With knowing what’s going to happen next and all?”
Al smiled. “My friend, you have no idea. Life holds no surprises for me. Lately, watching grass grow is my biggest excitement.”
The rest of the morning proceeded peacefully, and a rainless noon found Al checking his December weather precognitions. Al liked to cross reference his weather predictions with a mathematical equation that used star charts and tidal patterns.
Except, his weather predictions and the equations didn’t match.
It was normal for an occasional discrepancy to appear, despite the heavens’ renowned forecasting accuracy. December, however, was not a normal discrepancy. Al sat back and rubbed his face, feeling a headache coming. He’d never seen anything like this. It was almost as if the stars weren’t predicting the weather at all, but cautioning… No. This afternoon was messing with his head.
Time for a second opinion.
“Hey, Greyson,” Al called. “Have you got a moment?”
“Yeah.” Greyson’s head appeared in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Could you check my math for next December?”
“Sure.” Greyson gathered the necessary papers, took them into his cubicle, and returned ten minutes later. “Everything looks good to me.”
Al sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I have a mild winter for the entire month.”
Greyson furrowed his eyebrows. “But the stars—”
“Say frigid zeros.” Al sighed.
“Don’t worry, Weatherbee.” Greyson clapped Al on the shoulder. “I know you’ve got this.”
Late afternoon found Al hunched over his equations and predictions, furiously reworking his calculations, with several different star and tide charts, and personal precognitions. Finally, he leaned back in his chair with a huff. He got the same answers every time. He glanced at the clock: 4:30. He gathered his coat and scattered brain, trying to shake off his headache. It was time to go.
“Hey, Weatherbee. Going home early?” Greyson asked by the door.
“Yes. It’s better if I do.” With a smile, Al put on his raincoat and stepped into the driving storm.
Back at the apartment, blue and red lights flashed on wet gold and orange leaves. Al nodded and passed three police cars parked before his building. Mrs. Marcel no doubt gaped when Al, smiling calmly, walked toward his apartment and tried to enter.
“I’m sorry, sir.” One of the officers stepped in front of Al. “We can’t let anyone in here.”
“Why ever not?” asked Al. “Isn’t the suspect in custody?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid he got away.”
“You don’t say?” Al’s mouth dropped.
Suddenly, the star charts from work entered his mind, and he understood. The charts weren’t predicting weather, they were trying to warn him about the burglar’s escape.
What else could he do? Al laughed and shook the officer’s hand. “If you find this man, give him my warmest thanks for the surprise.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This was SO fun! I love the idea of someone with second sight who gets bored with life but is still chill about it.
This was so creative! The idea of a weatherman with foresight is hysterical, and you weave the story together so well.
“Uh-huh. You predicted a hurricane during the Superbowl.”
THIS WAS SUCH A FUN READ. Humorous and masterfully written, this story is definitely one of my favorites! I absolutely love Al’s voice!