Storms

Storms take all shapes and sizes. My beginning was a storm of failed gender and Mom giving up on her life. This storm blew out as they always do and right on its heals the next storm blew in. This storm was young too, had fire red hair and an even redder temper. This storm blew across my nose in the form of her fist because I had forgotten to brush my teeth before preschool. Something a wise four year old should have remembered to do. Her storm raged even redder as she saw the blood mixed with tears running rivers down my tiny face. How dare I make her feel guilty for making her unleash her storms ferocious power on me to correct my erroneous ways. The enraged red headed storm finally blew out when the sun’s rays found a crack in the storm shining light into my darkness. The sun came to me in the form of a nosy neighbor, Laura, who spoke the light of truth in the face of the red headed storm making the red headed storm flee. Yet, just like every other storm she left destruction I her path. Her winds magically carried away every possession within the house, but the house remained only an empty shell. Her winds managed to pick up my tiny clothes, tiny toy trucks, and my tiny little girl furniture. Tornado Dad took off after the red headed storm like a mad storm chaser he finally catches up with her. Only to be given one more wallops as all storms do, in the form of a hard ceramic coffee mug meeting Tornado dad’s cranium.