The Pay Off
THE PAY OFF
I move through the aftermath of the storm. Every second unleashes a new light show. I am surrounded by miracles. I breathe. I move my blood. My feet fly. I'm flying. I'm glowing. I'm disintegrating. Empty flag poles stretch to thunderheads. Lightning rods. A declaration of war. Let the thunder gods reign. And they do. Nature in all its glory and justified grudges. Large black bellies burst and unleash rivers of frogs. Tarantulas and black cats run for cover. I run with them. Wash my day away. Like the five minutes when I stopped at QuikTrip on 1st. Rain drenched and desperate when the man with a face mapped in tattoos and arms etched in tracks offered to sell me a dime bag and I almost took him up even though I didn't know what my ten bucks would buy me. But then I looked into the pinpoint pupils of his eyes, the storm swimming over his glazed surface, and I saw my face. My future. I sped home through muddy rivers. Often driving blind. And I ran headfirst into the storm. Turning my head to the clouds, I begged the gods for a miracle. Please show me the light at the end, the beginning, or just the light right now. And the thunder gods took mercy and showered me with gifts that saved my life. Brilliant wonders that reminded me that I never know what miracles can happen even in the span of 30 minutes on a monsoon Monday when I said no and yes at the same time and it paid off with life.
