Page 68 of Praying for Thunder

On our knees, I looked up to Jesus on that cross and confessed, “Is he who used to whisper to me?”

She inhaled as if I had said something incredible. “You hear him?”

Shaking my head, I shrugged. “I-I-I don’t know. Voices, sometimes becoming one.”

“Wooooow,” she whispered. “I knew you were special.”

Again, my heart soared. “My Aunt Moola would like you. She said the same thing. Said I could walk on water.”

Now Rya was blown away. She pointed up. “Him, too!” rang out that accent. Then she sighed. “I’d sink to the bottom like a cooked potatuh.”

I chuckled. “You think a cooked potato weighs more than a raw one?”

She got up and brushed off her knees. “Sure do.” Tapping her bare toes on the dusty floor, her bottom lip helped blow air to her bangs. “Have you weighed ‘em?”

“Noooo.” I tried not to smile since Rya was annoyed, but I was so happy to think of Ani, tapping her toes at Dio. I thought about how he might’ve handled Ani at this moment… “But… I promise to be your best friend forever.”

Her toe stopped. Her mouth fell open. Then… she smiled.

That is when I realized Dio and Ani may have been together in many ways, but they were first, and foremost, best friends.

⚡⚡⚡

By the age of fourteen, I overheard Grandma on the phone in the living room. “Yes, I have a blonde… No, she is ten thousand.”

I figured it was plausible that foster kids cost money, but picking one by hair color felt dishonest. Not something Ani or Dio would ever have judged or rated a child for.

After hanging up the phone, Grandma turned around and jumped. Then she scorned, “You missed lunch.”

I didn’t care about eating. She never regularly fed me anyways. But I did care to know if this woman was mistreating children in need. “Do foster children cost money?”

The twitch in her eye was telling me something. I suspected it was a lie when she said, “Of course! They need to eat and have a roof over their head.”

Ten thousand dollars for one week? “Does Dad know about all the good you’re doing for these kids?”

Blowing me off, she headed toward the kitchen. “Your father is far too busy helping others, elsewhere. Want a sandwich?”

I thought I missed lunch? “What a shame he doesn’t know how good you are.”

At the stove, pulling out a pan, she asked, “Grilled cheese with ham?”

Offering my favorite sandwich was her nail in the coffin. I was sure to remember such a mistake. “No, thank you.” I walked toward the phone by the couch. “I have a call to make.”

A pan hitting me on the back of the head was the last thing I remembered until waking in the living room… that was now on fire.

So many forces… trying to set me ablaze.

TWELVE

GLIMPSES OF HUMANITY

I wish I could say I was bold, daring the fire to try and hold me back from my destiny, but the way this fire moved captured my full attention, like a werewolf to the moon. Unlike when the fire was chasing Moola, I wasn’t afraid. It’s sad, and most tragic, but I think I was giving up. I let the muse in the flames entrance me. The promises they whispered were so enticing I didn’t have the urge to move from their path. As they crawled closer, there was no searing of my skin, only warmth to my spirit that now lacked the will to fight on. I wasn’t experiencing romantic notions willing me to live for another, for Rya. I was only getting impressions of what it would be like for all the anguish and torture to end.

Finality. The lure of that premise was intoxicating.

Only a faint rumble of a motorcycle was able to break the seduction of the flames…

Dio…