Lightning Storms

My brother Zach and his wife Jamie are visiting us for the week, dropping off their (formerly my) cat for us to catsit for the next few months while they go on an RV adventure along the West Coast of the US. They'll have a blast on their trip, but I think cat is less enthusiastic about what this means for him. He's been skiddish for the last 2 days, and he takes to hiding quite often, currently favoring the dark and quiet of my bed's underside.
It's been fun having Z and J visit, and yesterday Z and I had a short moment of reminiscing about some of the fun times we had together, back in the day when we were both living at home in Mequon, WI. I always enjoy remembering our outings, and I thought I needed to make a record of it this time - it's probably one of my favorite memories with Z.
So here is a completely rough, first draft of my memory with Zach. It's not neat and clean, or deep and thoughtful, or really much yet. But it's a start, and I need a start in order to improve, right? So here goes:

The Midwest has great Spring storms. I was always impressed with the power of the thunder, awed by the terrible crack of the lightning, entranced by the vibrant colors of the sky. You knew a storm was coming when the sky started turning green, and everywhere you looked seemed tinted, like you were looking through green-tinted sunglasses. The breeze would pick up, rushing warmth through your hair and sending chills down your spine. Mom and I would sometimes sit in our garage for a few minutes, watching the storm roll in. Then we’d seek the comfortable shelter of our living room when the downpour started.
Spring and Summer thunderstorms were my favorite things. I loved the way the house shook slightly when the thunder broke right above us. I loved the way the sky lit up like a Christmas tree when lightning bolts flashed in unison. I loved the way the world seemed so clear after a storm rolled through, taking the fog and polluted air with it out of town.
Then there was the phenomenon of a pure lightning storm. Forget the rain, the thunder, the ominous clouds. Lightning storms could almost sneak up on you. And I welcomed the surprise.
The lightning storms were dangerous but beautiful. One summer, a softball game I was playing in was delayed so we girls and our families could find shelter from the sporadic bolts lighting up the sky. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to get struck by a rogue bolt. That’s my first recollection of a lightning storm, and the first time I really understood the power lightning carried.
I saw its destructive ability a little while later, when I woke up one morning to a tree in my front yard split cleanly in two, straight from the top of the tree to the bottom. Sleeping like a rock, I hadn’t even known of the storm that passed through the night. The only evidence the next sunny morning was that tree, hunched over its roots, as though it just didn’t wake up with the sun. We got a new tree after that, but it was never quite the same.
We lived near Lake Michigan, about a mile from the bluffs eroded by the waves. A college was located next to the bluffs, and the grounds were perfect for falcon and hawk watching, as these powerful birds of prey came to hunt and nest. They also made a perfect place to watch the incoming storms.
My parents left for a week-long trip the summer after I turned 12, leaving me to be watched by my brother Zach, who was home for the three months between spring and fall semester at college. We didn’t make many plans for crazy adventures, but we had fun anyway. I was happy just watching my older siblings do fun things, so my amusement wasn’t ever much of a worry. But the night my parents came home, we decided we needed to do something fun, so we decided to go see a movie. Zach wanted to see the Truman Show and, of course, I decided I really wanted to see it, too. We made plans to see the 7:30pm showing, and then went to the store to collect the necessary movie snacks, before going to the movie theater. Chills of excitement ran down my spine as I walked through the parking lot to start my fun night, the warmth of the rising June wind enhancing the goosebumps that playing with my brother brought to my arms.
Though I was only 12 and the movie was more complex and deep than my young mind could fully comprehend, I was determined to enjoy it. One scene in the Truman Show found Truman on a beach, staring out at sea with wonder and fear. Rain began to fall on him, while the sounds of thunder grew louder. This was something I could understand. Lightning blazed through the sky and I was entranced.
The movie ended, Zach expressed his enjoyment of it, and I nodded in agreement - though my opinion had been formed only after knowing his. I was pretty sure I liked the movie, but I could only be positive after I heard my trusted brother’s view of it. We walked out of the movie theater into strong summer winds – very similar winds, I thought, to those Truman felt at the beach before the storm. A flash flew across the sky; our heads unconsciously lifted to the sky.
Zach suggested the best way to really appreciate this magical phenomenon was with an open sky – the perfect grand stage for the lightning to perform on. I quickly agreed, more excited than my nodding head could express.
The college was deserted when we pulled up in the parking lot. I had been nervous the whole drive, concerned the storm would be over by the time we got there. My worries were unnecessary, though, as the storm was still working toward its climax. We went over to the bluffs, our way lit by the flashlight Zach had in his car, brightened by the sporadic lightning bolts. My mind raced back to Truman, and I wondered who might be watching my life, manipulating my every move. But I didn’t really care – I liked where I was, so I didn’t mind how I got there.
We stood in silence for a bit, admiring the elegance of each flash of light, shaking slightly at the power slicing the sky open. I looked around to find a few other people had come to the bluffs with the same intent as us. We acknowledged each other with unnoticeable smiles and imperceptible nods of our heads, waves of our hands. But then we all went back to our sky gazing, entranced by the last flash of light, captivated with the hope for the next one. I couldn’t look away; there was something going on in my mind and heart that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t want to break the connection and lose that new feeling.
Finally, the flashes became weaker, with longer spaces between. Zach decided it was probably a good time to return home, and I reluctantly followed him back to the car. Light droplets of rain fell on our windshield as we drove home, the rain pushing the lightning past us. At home, I spent a few minutes longer standing in our driveway, craning my neck for one last glimpse of light, then another last glimpse of light. The power of the storm was fading. My mind not knowing what thought or feeling to settle on, I thought again of the movie I had just seen. The breeze sent a chill through my skin as I grew suddenly nervous at the darkness around me and the openness enclosing me. I turned and ran inside, the rain finally breaking the cloud barriers and pouring to the ground.