The first time I remember begin afraid was during a thunderstorm. I couldn't have been more than seven or so. Also, I remember being a great kid. A few tantrums, but I was the kid the neighbors liked to babysit. I was as mellow as the day is long.
My parents left me and my middle brother for the night for a 70's all-night-discoteque. That night a storm rolled in. Some days I think it never left me. My brother, my keeper, reading a comic book.
The thunder sounded like it would roll right through the roof of our house. The first clap of thunder brought my brother to the window, and me to the floor. I could only shake and cry in place, as he peered out the window, I think, looking for lightning. How would I know, my eyes were closed?
As I cried, I demanded that mom and dad come home. I worried into my brother, I could see his resolve weakening, though I didn't know what resolve was then. At the last minute he stiffened and told the truth. There was nothing mom and dad could do about the storm.
On cue thunder struck a palm tree across the street and I knew we were next. I leapt up from my prone position on floor, broke eye contact with Harold, gripped my teddy bear and made a dash for the door.
I knew outside was better than in. Once out the door, the smell of a dust storm, with no dust hit my the face. Embers from a palm tree danced past my eyes. I felt terror.
And now I must tell the truth... I can't remember what happened, or when.
I can only tell you that there was a thunder clap and then a block of nothing I can recall. Then I remember my brother sitting with me on the hood of my dad's car in the driveway. I had to be outside. I eventually made a pillow of the windshield and I think I slept there till my parents came home.
When the storm comes I need to move.
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