Storms We Remember

The afternoon sun warmed Arthur's porch as eight-year-old Teddy bounced beside him, that restless energy only the young possess. The boy clutched his mitt like it was made of gold. 'Grandpa, you really played baseball?' Arthur nodded, his knuckles tracing the scar on his thumb—earned in 1958, sliding into home plate during the championship game. 'Your great-grandfather taught me. Stubborn as a bull, that man. Practiced with me until sunset every single summer evening.'

A distant rumble drew Arthur's eyes westward. Purple clouds bruised the horizon. 'Storm's coming,' he said, testing the air. 'Just like the day your grandmother won me that goldfish at the county fair.' He laughed softly. 'That fish outlived three presidents. I changed its water faithfully every Saturday, even when your mother was born. Strange what we remember.

Teddy was distracted, making groaning noises and shuffling across the porch boards. 'I'm a zombie! Brains!' He waved his arms dramatically. Arthur smiled. Halloween always brought out the theatrical in children. 'Your father used to do that exact same thing,' he said. 'At your age, he and his sister would parade through the house in torn sheets, chanting for brains while I pretended to be terrified.'

The first flash of lightning stitched the sky—bright, jagged, beautiful. It had been years since Arthur felt that old electric charge in his blood, the urge to run headfirst into the rain. Some storms you chase, he thought. Others, you watch from the safety of home.

'You know, Teddy,' Arthur said, setting his tea aside, 'someday you'll be sitting on a porch just like this one. You'll look at your hands and wonder where the years went. But you'll remember.' He squeezed the boy's shoulder. 'You'll remember the people who loved you. That's the only thing worth keeping.'

Another flash, closer this time. Thunder rolled like an old friend clearing his throat. 'Come on,' Arthur said, standing slowly. 'Let's go inside. Your grandmother's making apple crisp.'

Teddy jumped up, mitt in hand. 'Can we play catch tomorrow?'

'If the rain holds off,' Arthur said. 'If the rain holds off.'