Electric Wind

Mark felt like a **zombie** these days—walking through his divorce at forty-three, hollowed out by lawyers and asset division. He sat in section 214 of the stadium, surrounded by fathers and sons, while his own twelve-year-old sat three seats away, headphones on, scrolling through some game on his **iPhone**.

"You got something in your teeth," Leo said suddenly, not looking up from his screen.

Mark excused himself to the concession stand restroom, where he discovered a wedge of **spinach** from his hurried lunch. He scraped it away with his fingernail, staring at his reflection—exhausted eyes, graying temples, a man who'd forgotten how to talk to his own child.

On the jumbotron above, the **baseball** game dragged on. Mark had played in college. He'd imagined teaching Leo to throw a curveball one day. Instead, he'd missed a decade of Sundays building his practice, while his wife handled the parenting, the birthday parties, the quiet moments that actually mattered.

Back in his seat, the air grew heavy. Storm clouds gathered, purple and bruised against the sky. The crowd murmured as the first bolt of **lightning** cracked open the horizon—a brilliant fracture that made everything below it suddenly small.

"That was awesome," Leo said, lowering his headphones. For the first time all afternoon, he looked at his father.

"Yeah," Mark said. "Yeah, it was."

The game paused. Players scattered toward dugouts. Rain began to fall, slow at first, then sudden and hard. Fans shrieked and laughed, grabbing their belongings, running for cover. But Mark and Leo stayed in their seats.

"Your mom said you're closing the firm," Leo said over the rain.

"I am."

"Why?"

Mark wiped water from his face. "Because I'd rather be poor than miss another ten years."

Leo considered this. Then: "You still throw that curveball?"

Mark smiled. "Better now than when I was twenty."

"Good." Leo pulled his hood up. "Then let's get out of here before we drown."

They ran together through the rain,父子 both soaked through, heading for the car, talking about nothing and everything, while the sky kept breaking above them.