Ballerina Angels

Last night the lightening show began. No noise at first. Just like fireworks without color, in the distance. We were sitting on the porch in the glider. We as in, Zach and I.  And Zach began to count the seconds in between. One one thousand, two, one thousand. His daddy taught him how to tell how many miles away the storm is by the seconds in  between. The small rolls of thunder began. And still, nothing more but the sky lighting up every now and again. Like a kid, playing with the light switch. Flickering. On and off. On and off. Over and over again.

We continued to swing. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. He telling me about his day. His Winter Sports Banquet. The one I knew about at 7:20am on Friday morning. When he came through the living room with his dress pants on. The one I didn't ask off work for in advance. The one he said didn't matter because it was "only JV Basketball". The one I missed the Coach saying a few words about Zach I would have liked to have heard first hand. Poignant words like "a leader in disguise".  I think those words describe Zachary well. I would have loved to have heard them spoken.

He described to me his encounter with Kay's Mother, Mrs. Denise. His ex-girlfriends Mother. She was of course, very nice, called out to Zach, took the time to speak. And told him she was sorry, and he could come see her/visit her anytime. It was nice to know, she seemed as disappointed as I, and as Zach, that it didn't work out. And that she wasn't quite sure what happened or why. And I think she made Zach feel a little better. Which is what mattered the most to me. He is better, but he has hurt a lot for the past week.

And Kay is always welcome here as well. She sent me a text message on Mother's Day. Telling me she was sorry but hoped that we could remain friends and that we could still talk. And wished me a wonderful Mother's Day. I told her of course we could.  She was welcome to come see me or call me anytime. And so it goes.

You know, I have to say this...when all of that went down..Zach's break-up..he was so very mature about it. So very kind.  And as I tried to question him as to why, what in the world had happened, he was matter of fact and still, kind. He said he didn't know why the break-up occurred. He didn't want it to, but that it just had. He said, he knew when they started dating, that Kay was just like him, but in a girls body. And that someone was bound to get bored. She just happened to get bored with him first. And that since most of his life, he had always been the one to break up with people from being bored, he figured, he was just his turn. His due. This time. He said he told her he still liked her, and cared about her, and if she ever needed his help, he would be there. And they agreed to stay friends. I was so very proud of him. For not only knowing the right way to handle it, but for knowing and acknowledging his own shortcomings.

As these two conversations came to an end, the storm had moved yet even closer. The thunder became sharper and the lightening more crisp. Zach was counting the miles again, and it appeared to be all but right on top of us. I could smell the rain. I knew it was very close. And suddenly, the heavens opened up and the rain was crashing down. It didn't start with a dribble or sprinkles. It was literally like the bucket was full and someone turned it over. It exploded out of the sky. I can't remember the last time we saw rain, so it was more than welcome. My flowers and grass so desperately needed it.

I can remember as a young girl, sitting on our front porch swing at the house I grew up in. In Albany Georgia.  Swinging, talking and watching the rain. On especially hard raining days my mother used to tell my little sister and I, that if you looked at the road, and the rain drops, it would appear as if tiny, ballerina angels were dancing. She would say that, it seemed, every single time it rained hard and we had the occasion to be sitting together on that porch. She said her Mother, my Sara MaMa, used to tell her that when she was a little girl.

We had a front porch swing on our first house here, on Hwy 65. Me and my boys would sit in that swing together and watch the rain pour from the heavens. And I would tell them the same story my mother used to tell me. The same story her mother used to tell her. I thought of that again last night. It was too dark to see the road, but I thought about it.

Front porch swings and hard rains were made for talking. For a purging of the heart and soul. For family's to be able to sit together. Spend time together. And talk. To slow down. Because now you have time. An excuse. To stop for a little while and just relax. And watch the tiny, ballerina angels, put on their beautiful dancing show.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims