hen it was rain, we knew it by its smell, like we knew the sound of Daddy's car, the rat-tat-tat of its muffler backfiring, or like mama's rage, and the crackling hiss of electricity, splitting the charged air when she was angry at Daddy.

I was sixteen then, my brother two years younger than me. We were standing on the porch as a large mass of gray clouds rolled in. One moment the sky was bright, trees sparkling in the sunlight, and then out of nowhere we could smell it coming before the clouds had a chance to say anything. We knew by the gusts of wind, its cold wash on our faces, and the way it forced the trees to make voices of the leaves that we were in for a big one.

"A big blow is coming, Marty" I said to my brother.

"I can smell the rain," he squeaked. "We should go inside." He always said things like that, as if he was an old man stuck inside a fourteen year old. He watched out for me too, like he was my guarding angel.

"Come on, " I said, pulling his arm, tempting him. "It'll be a while before it gets here."

In an instant the sky was slate and seemed a lot closer to the ground.

The lightning came first, streaking the sky with hot, bright, pink veins.

I pulled him off the porch so we could get a better view.

"Let me go," he cried.

"Don't be scared," I said. I tried to drag him down the steps, but his hands gripped tight the railing.

Another flash of lightning.

"See, its beautiful!" I shouted. He hid his face in his arms. He wouldn't let go of the railing.

A thunderclap cracked and fell in large chunks of sound around us.

"It's a big one, Marty," I shouted, above the roar of wind and anticipation..

Then the rain fell hard as rocks. I let go of his arm. He rushed up the stairs, stumbled, and fell to his hands. He got up slowly.

Another flash of lightning, and for an instant I thought I saw my father's face in his eyes, staring down at me, like I was some fallen angel.

"Timmy, please come inside," my brother cried through the pouring rain.

I took my shirt off and the thunder fell and rolled, booming down the road, and I wished with all my might that it would take me up in its wake. Then I saw the lights of my father's car as it turned into the driveway. My brother ran down the steps and stood in front of me, spreading his arms wide like wings to protect me.

Lightning struck above the metallic sheen of my father's silver-grey Chevy. I saw him step out of the car in all the wonder of his six foot frame, his long black mass of hair whipped by the wind, and his malevolent eyes. It was at that moment that I was sure I knew what Lucifer must have felt when God looked at him.

[END]

© Joseph M. Faria 2002