Light flashes,
illuminating the chilled face
of the young girl
sitting next to me.

Although the harsh storm
was roaring and rising,
she continued to doze off.
She looked like a bobber
on a fishing pole.

It was
sixty degrees,
a cool spring night.

The street was filled
with pebbles,
and the houses that lined the streets
were darker than
the depths of an ocean.

She awoke,
a confused look upon her face.
She thought I had
two heads.
We arrived at home, and
we watched the storms
through the windshield,
water washing away her worries.

Lightning suddenly striped the sky,
and we waited,
counting:
one, two, three.

Thunder shook
the entirety of the car.
We were small mice
in a room full of cats.
Although we ran quickly,
water still dripped from our clothes;
we were still drenched.

We laughed--
we were still trembling--
and I clutched her wrist,
shocked by the next
light flash.