Waking up in the black of night to harsh rumbling and streaks of light across the room is a beautiful experience. I want to feel the thunder rush through me, listen calmly to the rain drops against the window glass, first dripping, increasing tempo to a pounding state.
My off-and-on ex-boyfriend (of two and a half years) and myself used to stay awake through the storms. In the beginning, we were not used to sleeping beside one another, a new experience THAT was, and so I tossed in his bed until we both got up and sat on his mother's couch downstairs. We watched the new grandfather clock with a shocking calm: the shiny clock face, long hand ticking steadily, the smooth wooden top, which curved down like parted bangs around the face. The long gold-colored pendulum swinging from side to side, glinting in the slight light from the neighbor's porch.
Our position went from sitting, to leaning, to lying. The rain started on the windows in the roof, sliding down. The thunder rushed through us. We glanced at each other startlingly--I saw something like love reflected in his eyes. And together we ran out into the night, to dance in the rain, and prance down the street, spinning and touching and loving together. I swear that was when I lost my virginity. Right there in the rain, dancing with this strange boy in his long boxers and random t-shirt, probably still in socks: a love in silent enthusiasm.