I watch my mother pace back and forth as she stares up at the ever darkening sky. Her face is drawn back in a fearful frown, and her eyes water up at the sight. The wind is blowing the trees one way, the clouds another. Her work-worn feet scratch across the concrete of our porch, and my eyes are drawn to them at the sound. I watch them for a moment - my eyelids a little heavy with my indifference - until she stops abruptly. The wind picks up significantly, blowing my hair aside. The air grows stale and tasteless in my mouth as I raise my head to study my surroundings. The sparse grass covering our desolate yard suddenly fades in the presence of the storm that is approaching. It becomes almost yellow. I stand at my mother's side - holding a book in my hand loosely - as I watch her work herself into a frenzy. Her fear seems so senseless to me. There is no longer anything to fear. I close my eyes and hug the book close to my chest. I smile as the world's anger washes over me, blowing my hair behind me in a billowing stream. Tornadoes had never scared me; they terrified my mother. Perhaps both of these reactions were caused by a single night when I was only a small child.
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I remember the smell of alcohol. It permeates this memory like a rag soaked in gasoline. The sound of the wind whipping the sides of our flimsy trailer frightened me, but that smell choked back any sound of fear I may have attempted to emit. My father lay sleeping on the couch. He was gone from this world for the night, a beer bottle clutched loosely in his fist; the same fist that battered my mother on a daily basis. At least if the storm got us, he wouldn't. My mother and I sat huddled in a corner of the dimly lit room. I still remember the way she shook with her arms around me. I know now that it wasn't the storm that caused her to shake so. I cried then. The idea that she might be afraid made me fear the storm as well.
"Sssh," my mother soothed, rocking me softly. "It's just the wind. Just the wind."
Her fingers curled in my shirt as she held onto me. It was as though she were afraid the storm would swoop in and steal me away. The tempest outside was shaking the trailer violently. The walls convulsed and shivered under the wind's force. The snores of my father mixed with the sound of wobbling steel. It was as if the trailer were living, breathing in and out. I felt like I was in the belly of a beast. The power went out suddenly accompanied by a crack of thunder. I screamed as the darkness enveloped me. My voice was joined by another, angrier one. My eyes swept the shadowy room, and in a flash of lightning I saw my father stand.
"Shut that damn kid up!" he spat, throwing his bottle at us.
It smashed against the wall far from our heads, but it was enough to send me into a frightened hush for the moment. However, as the darkness closed in once again, and I lost sight of him, I began to cry. My mother gathered me close to her chest and pleaded for me to remain silent. I tried but smothered sobs were falling from my lips alongside the tears dripping from my chin. I was more afraid of my father than the storm. I didn't understand the storm's threat, but I knew all too well what he could do to me.
"Shut up!" he screamed again.
"She's just a kid," my mother shouted back. "She's afraid!"
"I'll give her something to be afraid of!" he retorted.
I couldn't see him approaching us, but it was as if I could feel him growing closer. Not being able to see him only magnified my fear. He loomed over me in the darkness. I knew he was only inches away with his fist held over his head like a scorpion ready to strike. My heart sped up, and my throat went dry. I wanted to scream but couldn't. I tried to bury myself further into the safety of my mother's embrace but felt myself shoved aside. I fell to the ground with a cry of surprise. I could not see in the darkness, but I didn't need to in order to understand what was happening. I could hear my mother's screams as he descended on her. The winds drowned out her cries of pain for the moment but not for long. Soon it became quiet. The sound of those crashing blows erupting in the silence made me flinch. The storm was in my father's fist now. His eyes were like lightning, his voice thunder. His anger was like a cyclone. It swirled around him, destroying everything in its path. My father was nothing but a turbulent storm of hatred inside. And that storm rained down on my mother mercilessly.
Somewhere in the house a window broke. The storm had regained its strength and the sound of shattering glass echoed in my ears. A gust of angry wind filled the trailer. The horrible noise of the storm and screaming voices came together in a cacophony that sent me scrambling across the room in search of anything that would give me comfort. From the other side of the room there came a frantic rattling. The door was shaking as though some one were trying to force their way inside. Suddenly, there was a crash, and the door flew outward. My head hit the coffee table as I jumped, and something fell into my lap. It was hard and flat. My fingers trailed over the slightly upraised letters: a book. I held it close to my chest as I sobbed and waited for the silence to set in again. When it was silent it meant he was sleeping. It meant my mother was safe.
I fell asleep cradling the heavy novel in my arms, tears streaming down my cheeks. The next morning I woke to find the sun shining in through our front door. I blinked as I peered out into the afternoon sunshine - so cheery as it stared down on the storm's destruction. The door itself laid in the yard. My mother was sobbing in the kitchen as she cooked, but my father was gone. A few days later the police showed up looking for him. My mother had not seen him since that night. It wasn't so uncommon for him to disappear for a few days. I watched as the police got back into their cars. Their sirens were ear-shattering as they sped down our dirt road, tires spitting rocks. After that it was silent. After that it was always silent.
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My arms loosen on the book I hold before me now, and my eyes wander over to my mother's apprehensive face. I sigh as I place an arm around her shoulders. She tries to smile at me. She doesn't want me to worry. I give the dark sky one last glance as I lead her back inside. I pull down the shade so she can't see the condition of the sky and turn off the television. She doesn't argue but looks just as worried, eyes trailing the lacy trim of the curtains distractedly. I hand her my book and hope that reading will take her mind off the storm as it always had mine. She touches the frayed ends of the spine absently but does not open it.
"It's just the wind," I whisper, calmly, looking away. "It'll pass us by. It always does."
