Weather the storm

Stormy nights shouldn't be spent alone.

We were sitting in my room, watching the clouds gather. The air thickened quickly. She didn't bother much, but I was glued to the window. I loved the rage of the storm, ripping the greenery, and throwing branches around the neighborhood.
'It's so majestic', I told her.
'You should see the ones in the Americas. This is nothing compared to those.'- she shrugged with some gentle despise in her voice.
I poured another glass of wine and turned off the lights.
'Storms around my lake aren't grandiose. They are different in nature. They are unique.'- I paused for a second, letting my words sink in. She knew there was more to tell so she pulled herself closer, one hand playing with my forearm, other holding the glass. I went on.
'When I was a child, I was afraid of the storm. My father would hold into his arms and whisper a short story about God and his angels. He'd tell the tale of God, being a moody jerk and demanding to move his place often; his angels had no choice but to obey, and all we sensed here was a great storm. The rumbling of the thunder was the sound of furniture being scratched at the top of the clouds, he oft said.'- She smiled while staring out the window.
'God and his angels were promoted to the ranks of Santa Claus, baby Jesus, Easter bunny and all these imaginary creatures who make life better during our childhood. But unlike those, my belief in God has evolved and never disappeared. The old, peevish fella morphed into an invisible friend. I set some rules, though. Eventually you can't talk to your best, ethereal friend anytime you wish. The rule for talking with him was bind to the presence of a storm. I'd just open a window, get soaked in the rain, or get any kind of connection with the elements, and then I knew we could talk.'
Her eyes were wandering the dark clouds. I wanted her to be hypnotized: to see what I talk about. Real or not, she appeared to be searching for my old friend in the grim shapes of the sky.
'As every story, mine also has a turning point. At 18 I was through the initial maturing process: love, philosophy, literature and alcohol rocked my world. My friend was still there, but his existence was highly endangered. And then that night came. I would never forget.'
'What happened? Please continue!'- she grabbed my forearm with some excitement.
'I got drunk at a house party. Dizzy with thoughts and wine I exited the dancefloor and found a quiet corner in the garage. The door was wide open: I could see there was a storm coming. With some anger, I decided to challenge my old friend. Eventually, I never saw him, he never replied so you might say it was time for some action in our friendship.'
'You, and your pride. The status quo never satisfies you.'
'It does not, indeed. But that's another story. So as I smoked there, sitting on the cold floor, my back at the wall, I shouted 'where are you now, God?' out, loud as I could. Naturally, only the growing wind roared back at me. The relative silence encouraged me to repeat my statement and adding 'you don't even exist' to it.'
'And?'
'And no one replied, of course. So I've decided to yell the most blasphemous, surreal thing I could ever think of. 'Show me yourself, or you don't exist', it was.'
'What a taunt.'
'Don't mock me. By then, it was almost scary to say it out loud.'
'So did he reply?'
'At first, nothing happened. But suddenly a huge lightning bolt struck into the tree across the street. It didn't catch fire though. As I stared with astonishment, the cigarette did something even eerier. I was holding it upwards with ember, yet the shiny little ball, confuting all the laws of physics, slowly rolled up and out of the filter, and fell on the floor.'
'Your friend isn't a talkative one.'
'A man of actions, I'd say. So as I was sitting there, my friend appeared in the doorframe, asking whether I was afraid of the storm.'
'Let me guess: you said yes.'
'Wrong. I said: 'God has a great sense of humor, you know'. He didn't really get what I meant, but handed over a beer and asked me to return to the party. So I did; and ever since I never dare to challenge my friend.'
'Mexican storms are still bigger than this.'
I looked at her. She was mocking me all the time.
'I bet you haven't dared to have sex during the storm.'
'I bet I'd like to try.'
So we did. My friend above finished moving his furniture by dawn; and with the first lights of the new day, we both forgot the significant beauty of a storm during summer.