December 2004
A storm is crawling over the horizon, filling the air with electricity.
He remembers how Mary hated those. She'd grow anxious and edgy, and he'd put on an album and max the volume. Then they'd sing along, laughing like idiots.
He remembers how she looked, dancing wildly around the living room and shouting the words to some random Seger song, while leaden clouds heaved and tumbled outside.
John jumps, as the first explosion rattles the windows and makes small, amber ripples in his glass.
Even knowing what he does now, he can't bring himself to hate thunderstorms.