you are someone i would remember [mylee]

I am not afraid of the storms that roll over the horizon, in fact, they are my friends. They bring a newfound feeling of energy to a world that is all but alive. As the first drops of rain begin to hit the roof, I fly to the window, pressing my face to the chilled glass. The frost that comes from my breath matches that that I see in the panes, bringing a chill that matches unfiltered excitement to the tee. I don’t even bother to ask either my mother or my father before I dart out the door, for they’ve learned there is no point in trying to stop me. I think secretly they like to see my break for the world outside our door, as I have been sheltered behind these walls for my entire life. I had crept along the baseboards night after night, listening to the way the thunder cracked and the way the rain pelted. It had seemed magical and unreal, and it wasn’t until I had cracked open the door until I understood the way adrenaline felt. I had nudged the door open ever so slightly, making sure not to catch the creaking hinge. My mother hadn’t caught me until almost half an hour later, and when she flung the door open, I was more than surprised to see the frantic look in her eyes. I had thought nothing of it, for I was only going to look at the way the rain fell or the way the lightning struck.

She wasted no time in pulling me back into the warm house and wrapping me in a blanket. My hair dripped water onto the floor, but she didn’t mind. She sat behind me, watching with a worried glance. An occasional sigh escaped her, and it was only then that I would turn around and ask her why she seemed so concerned. She paused for a moment, only to let a smile fall upon her face as she pulled my hair back and ran her fingers through it. “I was just worried about where you had gone, that’s all.” I smiled back and giggled a little bit before giving her possibly the most innocent answer to ever leave my lips.

“I just wanted to see the rain right in front of me, not through the window. It’s just not the same.” She nodded her head in understanding and then led me back to the door. She handed me a light jacket and slipped her own over her arms and then proceeded to unlock the door we had just moments ago fled into.

“Next time, why don’t you ask me first? Then, we can go watch the rain fall together.” That had seemed like the best thing ever to be suggested, and I jumped at the mention of going back out into the storm. We sat out there together for what seemed like ages, and only when did I wake up in my bed did I realize I had fallen asleep against her as the storm raged on just inches from where I had sat.

I woke up the same way now, flinging off the covers and running for the door. The only thing that had changed between now and then was the fact that my parents didn’t even ask anymore. They knew where I was going and they knew that’s where I would stay. I would come home drenched and cold, and my mother would once again wrap me in that same old blanket and sit me in front of the fire. But that would be hours from now, and it now was not the time to think of it. Instead, I was thinking of the sand that was only feet away or the sea that stood beyond my fingertips. The dark clouds that encircled my head seem just as lovely as the clear sky that most consider beautiful. This is a different kind of beauty, a kind of unrefined power that is one of the most majestic things in the world. That’s what I find beautiful. So it is not surprising that the wonders of the dark sky distract me from the boy just down the shore who seems to be admiring the same things as I. I won’t approach him, not now, as I’m sure he’s absorbed in the swirling sky and the falling rain and the violent ocean. I watch my thoughts get pulled into the black water, but I do not try to stop them. They will drown there, my ideas and goals and aspirations will go swirling down the drain. They’ll go down and down and down, to a place where I can never find them again. Because I don’t need to. I don’t need to hold to the things that will only act as a chain around my feet, holding me to the ever shifting ground beneath my feet.

I don’t catch anything but a glimpse of dark hair before I continue on my way down the shore. If he was still there when the storm has gone on its way and passed, I would do my best to introduce myself and talk about the things we had just seen, but I doubted his persistence. I had every reason to, for every single person I had made the plan to go talk to once the rain had passed had always been gone before I had the chance to utter out even a hello. My mother always said that it was my fault-- that I should have gone up right away in the midst of the storm, but didn’t she realize that that was not the time for speaking? Human voices drowned out in the bellows of thunder and yells of lightning, and that was the time that they were meant to be silent. We, as people, speak almost all the time, in the rain, in the snow, and in the sun. The storm, however, has a voice that demands to be heard, and I for one, am more than willing to listen to all that it has to say.

Now, as I sat here, I began to have my normal conversations with the storm at hand. Well, really it was a one-sided conversation, for I never said much; I only listened. The storm had plenty to say today, complaining about the way the sun had been taking up all the time in the sky and how much of a sore winner she was, with her rumors and gossip of how the storm cheated in turn of taking over the sky for the time being. I never really got tired of listening to the storm, for he was gentle in nature; his words were calming to my ears. They were not the shouts of hate that I am used to hearing in everyday life, no, they were smooth and soft.

The dark haired boy was still standing a ways away, for he didn’t seem too interested in my actions or I in his. I assume he’s here for the same reason that I am; he wants to listen to the storm too. He wanted to escape the noises that were heard from day to day— from the meaningless chatter of people to the buzz of machinery and boats and animals. The world just never stopped talking. Even if people took a minute and went silent, you would still hear the whir of a motor or the song of a bird. There is never truly any silence.

I turned my attention back to the storm at hand, with its dark clouds and clashes of thunder tumbling over the horizon. It doesn’t seem to be letting up at the moment or looking like it had any plans of lessening soon, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I was dreading the moment when the sun would peek through the clouds, erasing all last thoughts of peace from my mind. I would have to say goodbye to the storm then, bidding it farewell until the next time we would meet again. I dread that moment, the one where I have to step back from the fantasy I’ve been living in and force my way back to the haunting reality of chattering voices.

I tend to lose focus quickly, and within moments of thinking about the boy down the beach, I had forgotten about him. My parents had never complimented me by calling me attentive, and now I knew why. Details and even the tasks at hand seem to slip my mind with ease, and especially now, it was embarrassing. I hated having to ask questions over or double check specifics, but I didn’t want to be wrong. It was really a choice of which I would rather do, but the problem was that both solutions were undesirable.

There I go again, losing focus of the task at hand. I forced myself to my feet before I could lose my train of thought and walked down the shore, one foot in front of the other. I didn’t really think about what his reaction would be when I walked up and sat down beside him without any introduction. So that’s exactly what I did. I marched up to him and sat down in the sand right next to him, the rain still biting at our skin. I didn’t really have much to say, so I kept quiet and hoped that he would be content to listen to the storm ramble on while we sat in silence.

The storm around us tends to rage on with a fury that is unrelenting and unmatched by nothing else I have ever found. There is no difference between those storms and the one at hand, for just like people, storms all have something in common. People tend to have a common characteristic of the struggle of finding what is wrong, what is right, and what they believe in. Storms aren’t that complex, but they all do have the same cycles of rain, lightning, and thunder (though some have side effects of the more dangerous level). I’m used to its usual patterns, and the storm at hand is no different, really. The rain trickles in slowly at first, gradually building to a constant downfall. The lightning follows, with fellow comrade thunder at its side.

This boy and I, we’re sitting in the middle of it all as if there is nothing out of the ordinary going on. We’re soaking up the rain as if it’s sunshine, and people, if they were out and about, would have thought we were crazy. But I wouldn’t mind, and I didn’t get the feeling he would either.

The rain was steady now, past its first stages and heaviest points. It was consistent and light, with a rhythm to the falling drops. The thunder is background noise now, nothing but fading. The lightning still illuminates the sky at a further distance than just a few minutes before, and the way it lights up the dark, tumultuous water is fascinating. I turn my gaze to the boy for just a moment, only to check if he was as fascinated as I was in every small detail the storm was throwing our way. He was, just in case you were wondering. He was as lost in the storm as I had been only a moment ago, and between the few moments that passed, I became lost in him. His fascination in what surrounded us fascinated me, and I surveyed what I could of his features.

His eyes were darker than mine, a brown that was so deep it seemed never ending. Everything about him seemed defined against the drops of rain that had settled on his face, and it was then that I realized we were here for the same reason. I hadn’t just wandered over here to sit beside this boy in silence, regardless of what the storm had to say about the matter. I think about my words for a minutes (which honestly, is a shocker) and I shut my mouth once again right before the words begin to fall out. I feel as if I’m about to mess something up, as if the peace that is surrounding us will be broken by the words I’d like to speak. So I stop myself again, waiting longer until the moment seems right to break the human silence.

This was an area I used to come down to with my friend a lot, and for days on end we would play and pretend that the sea was our home, and even more that there were no problems that laid beyond the shore in our homes. It was simpler back then, I suppose, for problems were too much schoolwork and friends talking behind our backs. Now, it was different, for she had drifted away from me and all I was left with was the memories we had. I guess now would be the time for me to pull myself together and go find her, but truly, I didn’t want to. The memories were enough for me, and I didn’t need to waste the energy chasing after someone who didn’t care anymore. So then why was I willing to invest myself in a boy whose name I didn’t even know?

The time was right now, for the words that I hadn’t been willing to speak a minute ago. The storm hadn’t calmed much, but the timing seemed right. There was a silence within myself that wasn’t there a moment ago, and that was my cue. “Tempi.” That was it. Nothing more than simple, nothing less than ordinary. My name, that’s all it is. But it holds a part of me I’m willing to give away, and now’s the first time to try. And so there I sat, holding out my name in the palm of my hand to a boy who I didn’t know at all.