Barbie Perkins-Cooper, Author

Living Life in the Country As A Writer, Photographer

Dearest Readers:

Yes, I know. I haven’t written or posted anything in months. I plan to share that story later — perhaps titled ‘MOVING — A COMEDY OF ERRORS!’

I promise. That story will be shared; however, today, I have a strange piece of humor to share. You might laugh until you ache!

Last night – in the early morning hours just before dawn, I awaken hearing a boom, crashing sound by the new house. I sit up curious as to what was going on outside.

I rush to the ladies room, deciding to go outside to see what happened. Still half asleep, I open the back door. I do not check to see if it is still locked. After all, I left the door open! Gusting winds are creating a graceful ballet of swaying trees dancing all around me. Tall pine trees. Oaks. Magnolias. Sycamore. All are dancing such a beautiful ballet.

From the porch I admire this beautiful dance of nature. Suddenly, I hear SLAM! The back door closed. Uh. Oh!

I’m locked out of my house and it is still dark outside. What? Do? I? Do?

I jiggle the door handle. LOCKED!

Deciding to knock on the door, I realize Phil is sound asleep. He will not awaken.

I make fists of my hands, knocking on the door. Of course, no one responds, and so I decide to knock with a rhythmic method of percussion.

Bang Bang. Knock Knock. Bang de Bang. Bang de Bang.Bang de Bang. Bang de Bang.

Stopping because my fingers ache, I glance outside. The motion lights are on and it is still so dark. What do I do now?

Of course, my cell phone is inside the house, charging. I continue banging.

The only thing I know to do now, is either continue banging, hoping Phil just might hear something, or I can go outside into the gusting winds and rain and get on the front porch and ring the doorbell. HUMPH! I doubt he’ll hear the doorbell, so I continue my rhythmic drumming until my fingers are throbbing.

Stepping onto the porch steps, I shake my hands so they’ll stop hurting from the drumming.

Something tells me not to step into the dark of night. Again, I drum the sound of percussion from my fingertips and hands.

Maybe I should pray!

I flex my fingertips. Dear God, please let Phil hear me. Maybe he’ll come check on me to see if I’m ok. He knows I sleep on the sofa now since I can’t get comfortable in bed due to this aching back. My back brace is inside. My back will start hurting if I continue standing here. Please, dear God, let him hear me.

I’m still standing on the porch, dressed in leggings and shorty PJ’s and socks. If I step outside to walk around to the front of the house I’ll be soaked. Just what do I do now? My back hurts.

Please dear God, awaken Phil.

As I turn away to step outside, I drum on the glass once more. The hall light comes on! God is helping me!

I see Phil standing by the sofa. I knock on the glass again, beating a rhythm of HELP! help. HELP!

Phil opens the back door. I practically jump into his arms. Thank you! Thank you. You heard me!

He yawns. “What are you doing out here?”

I heard a noise so I wanted to check. The gusting winds shut the back door, locking me out.

I walked to the sofa, rubbing my aching back. Phil tucks me in. It is 5:15 am. Still so dark!

Phil decides since he is awake, he might as well go to work, provided I’m OK. He touches me. I moan, anxious to fall back to sleep.

I kissed him, touching his face. Thank you for rescuing me, again!

6 thoughts on “Beating Percussion Sounds With My Hands

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