In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

Where is My Mind?

Jordan

Thunderstorms were always the best, I'd sit on Mom's lap in the dark, listening to the thunder boom outside. "My always said it's God bowling," she said to me as I jumped in her lap after each boom. I must have been around five and she looked like a normal mom for once, her plain dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. No make-up, no dyed hair or leather skirts or fish net stockings. She was in her pajamas, like me, since it was after nine o'clock at night. Art wasn't home; in Alaska again.

"Thunderstorms are always best with the lights off," she said.

At only five, I still believed monsters lived in my closet since that's what Tim told me and I believed him. I believed whatever Tim told me. I was also gullible and naive enough to believe that God was actually up there bowling. I wondered what else He was doing up there.

Holding me in my arms, Mom sang the Beatles,

"If the rain comes
They run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
If the rain comes
If the rain comes..."

While Mom was more of a punk rock fiend, every now and again she surprised us with other types of music and songs. She always knew how to calm me down.

Tim sat across the room. He knew the song, too, and joined her in singing. I always liked the way he sang.

Ever since Mom showed me how to appreciate thunderstorms, they were always my favorite.

After Mom went away, I'd either drag Tim outside or, if the storm was in the evening, I'd make him turn off all the lights in the house and we'd watch the lightning flash in the sky.

***

Ever since Mom showed me how to appreciate thunder storms, they were always my favorite. After Mom went away, I'd either drag Tim outside or, if the storm was in the evening, I'd make him turn off all the lights in the house and we'd watch the lightening flash in the sky.

Thunder boomed outside, followed by flashes of light. With all the intense heat and humidity, a thunderstorm was no doubt inevitable. To get a peek, I ran to the window, almost as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. Rain pounded the window, coming down in buckets. I returned to Jamie who slept soundly in bed. I liked sleeping in his bed that wasn't actually his bed. This was my parents' bed where I often slept as a kid because I was prone to nightmares and was overly attached to my mother. Even I knew that.

"Jamie, wake up!" I shouted, shaking him awake. "Come on. Let's go."

"Go where?" he yawned.

"Outside," I said.

"But it's raining," he said. "It's pouring out."

"Thunder storms are the best," I said. "Come on. Let's go. Jamie, come on. Get up."

"I should kill you," he said as I pulled him along by his wrist. "You're touching me," he teased. I had more or less grown accustomed to his teasing. As we made our way outside, I let go of his wrist and ran down the porch and out into the woods to go to my favorite spot. We were both in our bare feet and boxers, drenched to the skin within seconds.