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Short Story Fiction
Jars of Wind
Scott A. Gese

He was a budding entrepreneur with a plan. His brother thought he was a little crazy.

Ian Mackenzie/Wikimedia Commons

Some people thought Andrew P. Jackson was a strange kid. He looked at the world differently than most of his peers. As a young boy of fifteen living in Palm Beach, Florida, you’d think he would be interested in hanging out on white sand beaches, baking himself in the sun, surfing and chasing after bikini clad girls. Andrew wasn’t like most kids. Not that he didn’t enjoy doing those things. He really did. They just didn’t consume him.

He liked the sun but was more interested in a good old fashioned wind storm whenever they came his way. Hurricane chasers intrigued him.

His friends thought he was a little crazy.

It was mid-August in 1992. Prime hurricane season. Andrew was keeping a close eye on a tropical storm developing out in the Atlantic. He had a plan to earn a few extra dollars to buy a new surf board he had been eyeing. What he needed was this tropical storm to develop into a full blown hurricane and he needed it to hit Miami. He had told his friends this but he didn’t tell them why.

His friends thought he was a little crazy.

Andrew was in luck. The tropical storm he was watching did indeed gain in strength. It was now a hurricane. Not only that. It had been named Andrew. He took it as an omen.

On August 22nd the weather service was warning Florida citizens to evacuate. This storm would be a big one. Many of Andrews neighbors were boarding up their homes. Andrews parents never ran from a storm. They boarded up the windows of their hurricane resistant home. As usual, they planned to ride this one out.

Andrew went to the local hardware store. While most people were buying screws or plywood, Andrew went in and used what money he had to buy several dozen pint size canning jars. His family couldn’t figure out what the hell he was up to.

His brother thought he was a little crazy.

On August 24th, hurricane Andrew came ashore giving Florida a direct hit. Andrews family hunkered down in an interior room. Andrew himself had other ideas. He went to the back door with his jars.

The back door had a small pet door cut into it for their cat to use. Andrew took a jar and lid from the box, He propped open the small door, reached through with a jar in one hand and a lid in the other. He screwed the lid down tight to the jar. He did this with a second, then a third, etc.

As he was finishing the last of six dozen jars, Andrews brother came up on him. “What the hell are you doing, Andrew?”

“I’m collecting wind from the hurricane,” he replied.

His brother laughed at him without even bothering to ask why.

He thought Andrew was a little crazy.

After the hurricane, Andrew got on his computer and began making fancy labels for his jars. Once he had them all labeled he posted them for sale online.

His brother came up behind him, Andrew handed him a jar.

He read the label…

~~~~~

Wind From Hurricane Andrew August 24, 1992

You are holding a jar of wind from Hurricane Andrew. The wind was blowing at 174 miles per hour.

DANGER, DO NOT OPEN

If you do, I’m not responsible for your possible death or injury.

~~~~~

“I’m going to sell these for $25 each,” Andrew stated.

Andrews brother laughed. He thought Andrew was a little crazy.

~~~~

The following weekend Andrew came home with a brand new surfboard. His brother was taken aback. “Where did you get the money to buy that?” He questioned.

“Those jars of wind I put up for sale. I sold every one of them.”

Andrews brother laughed. He thought Andrew was a fucking genius.