Thunderstorms

This story begins with me peacefully dreaming about a Quidditch match (Don't judge me -- Harry Potter readings before bed have become part of our religion) and snuggling up next to my oh-so-comfortable manny man.

Then it happened. The angriest, loudest BANG I have ever heard echoed across the ocean, bounced off the mountains, and hammered its way into my house and on through my horrified brain. I jumped nearly two feet from my [broomstick and] snuggle position and saw the wide-eyed face of my manny man doing the same. I remember being certain, for at least two seconds, that I was about to become a not-so-honored guest at the end of the world entrance party.

The lightning came simultaneously and threw haunting shadows across our small studio apartment, turning our frightened faces into scenes from a film noir. I clung to my Kendon with all of my strength, my body quivering as another BANG pierced the air. I was sure, in my panicked, just-awakened state, that if the lightning didn't penetrate the walls and kill us, that a flash flood from the deafening rainfall outside would drown us before anyone knew we were missing. The thunder shot out again. One cannot breathe when a sound is that loud. One cannot think.

Except for one thing, which pierced my brain even deeper than that first, startling blast: I'm so glad I have him.

By him, of course, I mean Kendon. I realized in those panicked moments that no disaster is too horrifying as long as I have him by my side, petting my tousled hair and assuring me that everything will be OK. I could handle a flash flood if he were there to cling to. I could witness the end of the world if he were holding my hand. I could die... if he just kissed me and assured me with his half-smile and big, brown eyes.

These are the things I realized in those terrifying moments last night. My whole life didn't flash before me like they say happens when you think the end is near. Instead, this recurring sense of what my Kendon means to me kept me awake long after the rain died down and the bursts and booms became less frequent.

Thank God for thunderstorms.