Devonne Brown

“You know every storm runs out of rain,” Junior felt very philosophical that morning when he looked out the window at the morning glories and foxgloves growing near the fence. The morning glories still hadn’t bloomed, and Janet was disappointed. It was late fall. The blue morning glories were her favorite, she only planted the foxglove because it reseeded itself and came back bigger and stronger every year. She didn’t have the same hope for the morning glories. It wasn’t the right plant for the right place like she’d hoped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It was obvious she hadn’t had one sip of the coffee in the cup in her hand. There were sideways sheets of rain, hail the size of baseballs, thunder, lighting, water bucketed down on the flowers, her car, and the roof of the house. All they needed were broken windows and dents in the car. “It doesn’t look good for the home team,” she said. 

The backyard was piling up with ice baseballs and freezing over into a six inch skating rink. Neither Junior nor Janet had skates. 

No umbrella in the world offered protection from this storm. A crack of thunder, too close to the house, hit a tree not ten feet away. It ignited and fell onto the bedrooms in the back. Between the wooden attic, the roof, and the electric wires, flames shot out off the top of the house. 

A bonafide disaster, they had to run to the car with the cats and risk the pummeling. Norris ran straight to Janet; Madam hid under the boxes in the laundry room. She was invisible and wasn’t about to be caught. Her nickname wasn’t “Barncat” for nothing. She’d have to save herself. 

Janet and Junior made it to the car just in time for the power lines to come down around them. They were live, sparking and jumping. At least Janet had the presence of mind to grab her phone to call 911 and explain their predicament before the whole house exploded.

“Every storm runs out of rain,” repeated Junior. “Maya Angelo had been in similar situations before, maybe worse. Probably not a storm like this, but metaphorical storms that took her dignity and left her crying for help, just like us now.” 

“We won’t die. I don’t hear the baseballs hitting the car anymore. We’re far enough away from the house not to burn up. As long as we stay in the car, we’re safe,” said Janet. She was trying to convince herself more than Junior. 

Remember, every storm runs out of rain.”