It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
I don’t remember what I wrote about back then, but I’m sure I didn’t write about the weather.
A writer friend of mind, with whom I share my journal entries, said that I write about the weather a lot. That never occurred to me, until she pointed it out. It seems that when I have nothing to write about, writing about the weather is my default. When I was in the fourth grade I remember a creative writing assignment where we had to write a story that began with, “It was a dark and stormy night.” I don’t remember what I wrote about back then, but I’m sure I didn’t write about the weather.
It was a dark and stormy night. Curfew was minutes away, and my sister hadn’t come to pick up her daughter. Where was Sana? Why wasn’t she wasn’t answering her phone? I didn’t tell Isabella. Instead, I told her that I spoke to her mom, and that she said it was okay for her to sleep over. Naima and Isabella jumped up and screamed, “slumber party.”
The curfew siren went off. We were all stuck inside like rabbits in a den, cats in a cradle, peas in a pod. I hoped Sana was okay. I hoped that she was safe inside, out of sight. What would I tell Isabella if something had happened to her mom? It was best not to think about that, better for me and for everyone to be thinking positive.
The girls played Risk, laughing and shouting while conquering each other’s territory: Japan, Congo, the Middle East and the Western United States. The night was silent except for the rhythm of thunder and shots ringing out in the distance: boom, tack, boom, tack. It had been two years since the occupation began, and my nerves still couldn’t handle the nightly raids. I prayed that Sana was okay.
I tried to transfer all my nervous energy into my pen, but it wasn’t working. Writing was slow because of fear. My stress would hit the paper and bounce back at me. I sat at my writing table for an hour and had written less than 500 words.
Then the phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. It could be anyone. I answered it. It was my sister. She was held up by fallen trees blocking the road and was forced to turn back home. It was a relief to know that all of us were safe inside. I slept soundly that night. I didn’t wake up to the gunfire in the middle of the night as I usually do. The night wrapped around me and lulled me to sleep.
