Spring Logan was there from the beginning. She was the first everything and I thought she was all there was. She was beauty. She was sunlight cascading through her hair. She was the smell of flowers and the energy of youth.
But being with her wasn’t always easy, because knowing her meant putting up with Storm.
Storm Logan wasn’t a 24/7 issue. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, she was out of our way and I could enjoy my time with Spring, unabated. But when she did show up, there were thunderclaps right in my ear, and for no apparent reason.
“What did I do?” I asked Spring.
But Spring just shrugged. “She’s just like that, is all. It’s not you, it’s just a natural thing.”
I kept wondering how it could be that Spring and Storm could coexist like they did and yet be so different in their temperaments.
“It’s just who we are,” said Spring.
But any time Storm would come over, she’d bring havoc and leave devastation in her wake. I started to fear every day every night she might come, the things she would say, the fires she might light. “I can’t take this anymore,” I told Spring. “I can’t take her being here.”
Spring was sad, but she nodded and she smiled, and for several weeks, we didn’t see or hear from her sister. She stayed away, wrought her mayhem elsewhere, and I was safe. But I saw Spring lose her lustre. I saw the color drain out of her face. I would try to coax her out, but after a while, she barely even spoke. She didn’t even cry.
“What can I do for you?” I asked her.
She didn’t even have to answer. That was when I knew that Spring wouldn’t spring without Storm, that all the devastation was like putty in her hands she used to shape her sweetness. Without Storm, Spring was dry and barren, withdrawn. She was not herself.
So I called up Storm and stood and waited for thunder.
It’s been quite some time since I last saw Spring, but she left me with a bang and not a whimper and while I do not miss her Storm-dependency, I wish her well and acknowledge that she is better off with her than she was with just me.