I've been revising "She Thinks She Remembers" and part of that revision is adding some things I felt were left out. Here's one of the new parts I did.
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She thinks she remembers.
Amy?s favorite thing to do during the summers she was eleven and twelve was to sneak out on the back porch late at night during a thunderstorm.
Summers in Houston are notorious for the unexpected storms that pop up with no warning and drench parts of the city, before disappearing as quickly as they appeared. Most storms broke out in late afternoon or early evening, the heat of the day the biggest contributor to their formation. On occasion, though, storms would continue throughout the night, washing the city as it slept.
These were Amy?s favorites. With no school to wake up for, she could stay awake later at night and sleep in. This meant that when Mom and Dad sent her off to bed, she didn?t have as long to wait until she could hear them climb the creaky stairs and close their bedroom door.
Amy would lie in her bed and wait until she heard Mom snoring. That was her cue.
Carefully stepping out of her bedroom, Amy would sneak downstairs to the back door, barefoot and in her favorite cotton pajamas (both years, they were a pale blue with red and yellow squiggly lines all over). The back door, which was in the kitchen, had four panes of glass filling its middle. And a loud deadbolt. It was hard to turn and made a loud snap whenever it finally surrendered. After years of complaints from Mom, Dad finally replaced the deadbolt with a new one. By that time, at the age of sixteen, Amy wasn?t sneaking out to watch thunderstorms anymore.
Once the deadbolt was turned, Amy would open the back door slowly, to avoid its usual squeaks, and step out onto the porch.
The back porch was made of oak and had an overhang that kept most of it dry during the storms. It had been built when Amy was five. Dad had been meaning to screen it in, to give them a safe haven from the swarms of mosquitoes that invaded every spring and summer, but still hadn?t done so those two summers. He finally hired someone to do it when Amy was in her senior year at UT.
Once on the porch, Amy would lean against the driest railing or sit in one of the white plastic chairs that sat under the kitchen windows. In her chosen spot, Amy would watch the rain pound the ground, turning the backyard into a temporary pool. The rumbling thunder would shake the porch slightly, and the flashes of lightning would give Amy glimpses of the cowering night. Wind gusts usually sent sprays of rain splattering across the porch. Much of the splattering rain would catch Amy, no matter where she stood or sat, giving her a cool shower, relieving her of the heat that permeated into Houston summer nights. Once the storm had spent itself, she?d sneak back in the house and to her bedroom, falling asleep easily and happily.
All those times she?d snuck out, Amy assumed she?d never been seen. One night, during the summer she was twelve, Amy followed her routine and stepped onto the porch. She closed the door quietly and turned around. Dad was standing there.
He was leaning against the railing, next to the steps that led into the yard. He was smiling at Amy. Amy stood with her mouth agape.
?Great storm, isn?t it?? he said.
Amy closed her mouth, not sure what to say back. Dad didn?t sound angry, like she expected. ?Uh, yeah, great storm,? finally made its way out of her mouth.
Dad smiled more. ?Yes, I know you like to sneak out here to watch the storms. One night, I guess a month ago, I saw you out here. I?d come into the kitchen to get myself a drink of water and saw you through the window. The next time there was a storm, I waited for your mom to fall asleep and then snuck downstairs. Sure enough, you were standing on the porch. I figured it was a habit.? Amy walked to the railing and stood beside Dad. They both looked out into the yard just as a flash of lightning lit the yard long enough for them to see the branches of the two young magnolia trees bending to the wind?s demand.
?I have a secret to tell you,? Dad said.
Amy looked at him. Dads had secrets?
?I used to sneak out and watch thunderstorms when I was a kid, too. I think I was only seven or eight, though.? Dad said. Amy scrunched her brow, trying to imagine her Dad as a little boy. She couldn?t picture it. ?My bedroom was near the front door, so I?d sneak out that way and watch the storms while sitting in the swing.? Amy pictured the swing. It was an old wood one, hanging by two chains from the ceiling of Grandma and Pa?s front porch. Amy loved going to their house just to sit on that swing. It?s boards were soft and smooth, worn from its many years of service. Originally white, so much of the paint had chipped off over the years that it was now back to its pine beginnings with random white spots marking its painted past.
?I?d sit on that swing forever, just watching the rain come down. If the wind was strong enough, it?d push the bench sideways. I kind felt like I was on an amusement ride.? Dad was smiling, looking out into the yard.
?Did you ever get caught?? Amy asked.
Dad laughed. ?Yeah. Your grandma caught me the third time I snuck out. I left the front door open and she noticed. I think I snuck out before she?d fallen asleep. She scared the living tar out of me, yelling my full name. I fell off the swing in shock, thinking God was yelling at me for a moment.? Dad chuckled.
?Did Grandma punish you?? Amy asked.
?No, just gave me a talking to. She told me how dangerous it was to sit outside at night, how I was going to catch a cold sitting out there, the usual lecture.? Dad smiled at Amy. ?Don?t worry. I?m not punishing you or giving you any lectures. At least you?re on the back porch.?
Amy sighed relief. She turned and looked back into the yard. The wind gusted and a light spray of rain showered their faces.
?Why do you like it out here?? Dad asked.
Amy thought hard. ?My favorite part is when the lightning lights up the whole yard. It?s like scary and cool at the same time.?
?My favorite part is the rain hitting my face,? Dad said. More thunder rumbled and lightning streaked, giving them another glimpse of the soaking yard. Amy and her dad stood silent for awhile, Amy unconsciously leaning against Dad every time lightning flashed. Finally, Amy worked up the courage to ask the other question on her mind.
?Are you going to tell Mom??
Dad looked at her, his eyes seemed to soften. ?No, I?m not. Grandma never told Pa, so I figure it?s the least I can do. Besides, your mom worries enough about you. This can be our little secret.?
Amy sighed relief again. Dad laughed and hugged her.
?Well, I think I?m going to go in. Don?t stay up too late,? Dad said, winking at her as he walked back in the house. Amy stood outside awhile longer, smiling into the puddles that continued to collect on the lawn and sidewalk. It was the best thunderstorm ever.
<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ June 13, 2002 05:54 PM: Message edited by: Branflakes ]</font>
