Thunder

A small moments reels itself through my head these last few days. The moment goes like this:

Standing in the kitchen in slippers, holding Remy with both arms around his small belly, raining outside, lightning and then loud thunder like our house is a drum hit with a heavy fist, my nephew screamed, the beta fish that refuses to die flicks his faded tail wildly and moves toward the window in his tall glass bowl. I don't know why the last detail moved itself so permanently into my mind. I think it must have been the way that red and blue fish sat at the bottom of the bowl on the marbles my dad put there for him, the way the water was murky. When the fish, a prize from one of Carl's biology classes, swam toward the window as the thunder thundered the neighborhood, his tail swacked and swashed wildly in the water. I think it was the way this fish seemed so intent, his tail moving aside the murk settled between the marbles until for a split second, everything seemed clear, for all of us. My nephew who screamed, the world with the rain and clap of thunder, me with my arms around Remy. I remembered, 'oh yeah, I'm here, and so much is unpredictable.' and that happiness is something I would like to teach my son.