Thursday, June 11, 2009

Sired in Storms

My sister came over last evening with a twelve pack. I'm leaving Texas again in a week. A vague sense of urgency comes over me when I'm about to leave family. I have to keep reminding myself to stay present instead of going over all the things I feel I must do before getting on the plane or the train West.

It was well before dusk when the sky began to darken as we talked over Tecate and through drags of Bugler and Bali Shag. Old fears, old shames, old regrets began to unknot themselves slowly as we spoke. Little whips of wind started up. Lightning flashed in the distance, an odd golden light came from somewhere beyond the clouds. Each flash of lightning left a quick and true smile on my sister's face.

My mother drove up and parked just as we were speaking of the tribulations by fire in which our family was forged. She walked up, sat down. Gramma walked out with the poodle in her arms. Thunder rumbled. We spoke of our blood bond that was smelted in such a furnace that siblings of other families remarked on our powerful alliance with each other. This bond would grow more powerful as we continue to open to one another, as we continue learning to use the hammers and blades we were smithed into for creation rather than destruction or rather than carrying ourselves without use, as if our vigorous inception was a only a burden.

Lightning cracked and the thunderclap came fast behind it. The wind began to rise and out of trees arose the ascending wail of the storm siren. "What does that mean?" my sister vocalized. I said something about a tornado warning. Mom told me to check the weather radar before shutting down the computer. We dashed indoors and there was no tornado, but a wall of high winds and lightning that had already knocked out power, tree limbs and traffic signals. An oil well had been struck by lightning.

We battened down anything that could be blown away, scattering here and there. The rain came down in torrential sheets and the trees began to bow before the wind. I raised my arms to the sky, beamed and yelled out loud, "Now this is rain!" Laughing as the downpour drenched us to the skin, Shannon and I ran around to the back of the house to see the gutter spout cascade an absurd amount of waterfall into the back porch, which was already a few inches deep in water. We came inside sopping wet, slapping drops on the brick floor. We toweled and changed.

The front passed us quickly. We ordered pizza and ran for another twelve pack. Mom announced leaving for her boyfriend's house. She kissed Gramma on the forehead and Gramma mumbled disapprovingly, "Now hurry back." When Mom was driving away, Gramma muttered, "Boyfriends. You can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em." Shannon and I laughed.

We ate and drank and smoked, listening to tremors of thunder, watching the storm die down and the sun set. Gramma went to bed. My sister looked into my eyes and in her smile was her heart. The beauty overwhelmed me and I spilled over in gentle tears.

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