Lathered in sweat, he rolls and attempts to kick his way free of the sheet that has tangled in his restlessness. Eyes closed in the dark, he is oppressed by the stifling summer heat and the stench of stale electricity. The whirr of worn bearings in a slowing turning ceiling fan does little to calm him.
Opening his mouth to release a frustrated groan, his lament is cut short by a flicker of light. Louder is a deep-throated rumble. Doors and windows rattle. And then there are indistinguishable voices. Fear steals over him.
Has someone broken in? Is there more than one voice? Wide-eyed, he stares at the open doorway. Unaccustomed to the night, he sees only shadows pass the framework. They pause briefly to peer in the darkness at him. He dares not move.
Bright lights flash outside the window. Loud rumbling. Is that the sound of furniture moving? More voices. What is going on? Terror consumes him. Crashing.
No, this is my home. How dare they! The indignant thinking of the desperate. I will prevail. He throws off the last of his covers. Panting in the humidity, he catches his breath and squints away his fear.
He runs around the wooden foot of his bed and into the corridor. Turning, he spies a silhouette and sprints toward it. He leaps from the three steps that separate bedrooms and living area. The shadow turns in surprise.
It catches him mid-flight and wrestles him easily into a bear hug. The shadow smells familiar. Confusion. “What’s up, little man?” the stranger softly asks. More lights. Thundering. He whimpers. “Sshh! It’s just a storm, son. It will be over soon.” He snuggles further into the broad shoulder of his captor, suddenly relieved of his panic. And then he hears the slowly increasing tempo of rain against tin.
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