Storms We Weather

The thunder rattled the windowpane before I heard it—a low, sickening roll that vibrated in my teeth. I'd been nursing this whiskey for twenty minutes, watching the condensation pool on the coaster like I was waiting for divine intervention. Instead, Mark sat down across from me, smelling of rain and old tobacco.

"You look like shit," he said, not unkindly.

"Ran cable all day in this development out past the highway. Attic work. You ever notice how attics smell like regret and mouse droppings?" I signaled the bartender for another round. "What's your excuse?"

Mark laughed, but his eyes stayed flat. "Sarah left me."

The words hung there between us, heavier than the humidity. Outside, lightning cracked—white-veined fingers across a sky the color of a fresh bruise. I thought about the baseball card collection I'd sold to pay for Sarah's engagement ring. I thought about the way she'd looked at me when she walked out the door with that cardboard box of her belongings, like I was a stranger who'd borrowed her keys.

"Remember that pickup game we played last summer?" Mark asked. "You threw your arm out trying to impress that redhead from accounting."

"She was married," I said. "But yeah. Haven't pitched worth a damn since. Which is fine, considering I'm thirty-two and my idea of exercise is carrying ladders into crawlspaces."

The bartender set down fresh drinks. Water beaded on the glasses like sweat on a summer afternoon. I thought about how we'd stood in each other's weddings, promising forever to women who'd eventually decided forever was negotiable. I thought about how we used to talk about dreams like they were something you could grab with both hands.

"You're still my friend," Mark said, like he was reading my mind. "That's something."

"Is it?" I watched the lightning flash again, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air above us. "Seems like everything else got stripped away. Careers, marriages. What's left when you're down to the people who won't leave?"

"The truth," he said. "Whatever that's worth."

Outside, the rain finally broke—a sudden downpour that turned the parking lot into shimmering black water. I thought about cable lines buried underground, carrying connections to people who'd never meet. I thought about baseball games played in empty stadiums. Mostly I thought about how we keep showing up for each other, even when showing up is the only thing we have left.

"To the truth," I said, raising my glass.

"To storms we weather," Mark replied, and we drank while the sky tore itself apart above us.