Ode to Natalie

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am large; I contain multitudes.” – Walt Whitman

The steady torrent couldn’t wash the heat off the air. Even protected by the screened-in porch from the direct path of the rain, its essence still flooded her, drenching her skin with its sluggish, wet heat. The plants and trees twitched and shuddered from a million locales as the water relentlessly beat upon them. She rose from her chair, opened the screen door, and walked under the rain. It was almost like being in a huge, warm shower. Xhibit could blow up her ride and Ashton Kutcher could grind her family into chili, and the room raiders could steal her shit and leave and she wouldn’t care.

She needed no shelter from the storm. Nothing could harm her.

So she walked off into the yard. Later that night they looked for her, the search went on for weeks, far after the rain had ceased. But she was gone. She had achieved her goal.

She was the storm.