summer storm

a summer thunder storm. a front porch, the kind with a door that's enclosed in a screen, where he sat and counted the seconds between the claps of thunder and the flash of lightening. he walked in to the street, barefoot in pajamas, where he could feel the warmth of the raindrops and better see the way the lightening turned the gray sky an electric sort of blue for just a brief second.

it was dusk and there was no one out. blinds were drawn shut and people were keeping dry. there was a pulling in his bones and he looked in to the sky and rain landed on his eyelids and he knew the weather was making him crazy. it had started raining harder now, only 2 mississippi's between thunder and lightening this time, but he had stopped counting. he got on his bike and rode down the street; if it had been a big enough street to have two yellow lines separating traffic, he would have been just between them. the water was heavy against his face. he closed his eyes because he couldn't see anyway, rode diligently, recklessly, north. he didn't want to die but he wanted to wake up in a hospital bed, everyone he loved with eyes only for him, saying I Love You, pleading Please Stay With Us.

many tragedies had filled the corners of his life, but they were tragedies of human error, of negligence. he wanted a tragedy he could blame on god, on the weather.