Donnerstag, 28. Juli 2016
Storm Story.
quadrotriticale, 17:34h
I'm not being mean when I say I never understood her. It's just the truth. Like now with the thunderstorm. But I liked listening to her, and I think she liked that.
So now we sat in my car, rain pouring down and drumming against the roof, and she was terrified because there was a bit of lighting on the horizon. She said she knew it was childish, but she was afraid. Like hell. I said that a car was like the safest place you could possibly be during a thunderstorm, and so we remained where we were. We counted the seconds between lightning and thunder in order to see how far it was, but either we kept missing the thunder or we did something wrong. The motor cooled down and so did the car. We saw some motion some distance away, and I don't think it was a person out in the rain, but I knew she'd convince herself that it was some mass murderer, so I locked the car. She looked relieved and grateful and cold. Our jackets lay on the backseat, so I reached for them and we wrestled our way in. The storm got closer and more worthy of her fear.
I actually like thunderstorms, as long as I'm inside, but by then I could kind of see. We scrambled to the backseat to have some more space, and she leaned back against my chest so that we both could stretch our legs. Also, maybe she was still cold. Don't get ideas. I knew she didn't think of me that way. I didn't think of her that way. She was just too spaced-out. And I too down-to-earth. But it was still nice, holding her.
“Do you ever get homesick?” she asked.
“I am home.”
“Yeah, but when you're not home. Do you get homesick?”
I knew she did. And I knew I couldn't possibly understand, which was why I didn't try. “I guess,” I said.
In that moment thunder rumbled, quite loudly, and she flinched. I didn't tease her. I've never liked teasing people.
“Maybe it's the other way round,” I said. “Maybe you have to count after the thunder, until the next lightning.”
“I don't think so,” she said, and right on cure the next bolt flashed and lit up the entire sky. It was awesome.
We counted, but no thunder came.
“We're safe, right?”
See. I never understood her. I'd told her we were safe, and I'm pretty sure she knew this herself as well. The thing with the earthing of the tyres or whatever. Why did she need me to say it again? I had to smile. I actually needed to speak up because the rain was so heavy by now. “The storm can't get us here.
Lightning flashed again and the sky seemed yellow for an endless second. Then the thunder followed almost instantly, incredibly loud. I got my arm around her for real and she seemed grateful, considering that she nudged herself a bit closer still. It was kind of nice, this. Sitting out the storm of the year with my best friend.
“You know, actually it wouldn't be so bad to die now.”
“Sometimes I don't get you, you know that?”
“I know,” she said. “But that's okay.”
Liv
So now we sat in my car, rain pouring down and drumming against the roof, and she was terrified because there was a bit of lighting on the horizon. She said she knew it was childish, but she was afraid. Like hell. I said that a car was like the safest place you could possibly be during a thunderstorm, and so we remained where we were. We counted the seconds between lightning and thunder in order to see how far it was, but either we kept missing the thunder or we did something wrong. The motor cooled down and so did the car. We saw some motion some distance away, and I don't think it was a person out in the rain, but I knew she'd convince herself that it was some mass murderer, so I locked the car. She looked relieved and grateful and cold. Our jackets lay on the backseat, so I reached for them and we wrestled our way in. The storm got closer and more worthy of her fear.
I actually like thunderstorms, as long as I'm inside, but by then I could kind of see. We scrambled to the backseat to have some more space, and she leaned back against my chest so that we both could stretch our legs. Also, maybe she was still cold. Don't get ideas. I knew she didn't think of me that way. I didn't think of her that way. She was just too spaced-out. And I too down-to-earth. But it was still nice, holding her.
“Do you ever get homesick?” she asked.
“I am home.”
“Yeah, but when you're not home. Do you get homesick?”
I knew she did. And I knew I couldn't possibly understand, which was why I didn't try. “I guess,” I said.
In that moment thunder rumbled, quite loudly, and she flinched. I didn't tease her. I've never liked teasing people.
“Maybe it's the other way round,” I said. “Maybe you have to count after the thunder, until the next lightning.”
“I don't think so,” she said, and right on cure the next bolt flashed and lit up the entire sky. It was awesome.
We counted, but no thunder came.
“We're safe, right?”
See. I never understood her. I'd told her we were safe, and I'm pretty sure she knew this herself as well. The thing with the earthing of the tyres or whatever. Why did she need me to say it again? I had to smile. I actually needed to speak up because the rain was so heavy by now. “The storm can't get us here.
Lightning flashed again and the sky seemed yellow for an endless second. Then the thunder followed almost instantly, incredibly loud. I got my arm around her for real and she seemed grateful, considering that she nudged herself a bit closer still. It was kind of nice, this. Sitting out the storm of the year with my best friend.
“You know, actually it wouldn't be so bad to die now.”
“Sometimes I don't get you, you know that?”
“I know,” she said. “But that's okay.”
Liv
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