October 2001

I was in my apartment, and a storm snarled outside. The thunder was unusually sharp, like cannons fired somewhere within the gray mist. I went into the other room on a whim and found the carpet damp under my feet. The ceiling was leaking badly, unable to withstand the torrent. I gathered some pots. Back in the kitchen I stared out the window at the flashes of light just outside. This was truly as violent a storm as I'd ever witnessed, and I was both excited and a little nervous. Suddenly a series of explosions sounded, like machine gun fire, only with the force of thunder. It was like nothing I'd heard before, and it seemed to be happening from somewhere in the apartment. I peered around the kitchen doorway into the main room, but couldn't see anything out of place, though there was certainly an air of eventfulness. Then my neighbor Melissa was in my apartment, visiting from upstairs. She was wet with rain, and distracted. She said to me that the thunder had actually happened in her apartment, in the room directly above mine. It had happened in a room that she had recently decorated with a thousand old family photos, and the thunder's force had blown them from the walls. I could see in my mind's eye their thick black frames lying in a scatter on the floor. Melissa told me that the landlord would definitely be hearing about this.

My brother and I considered several boxes of staples laid before us. My father had found our secret stash, and was even now telling us in cool tones that he would see to it that we were sent to jail for our transgressions. He knew, he said, that we had stolen these items from the office, and it occurred to me that he was right. But why would I have risked such a thing? I opened one of the red and white cardboard boxes and saw the untouched staple bands within. I had forgotten that I even had them. And now Dad was taking my brother to the courthouse, and the reality of things found me scared. I wished my brother well, and told him that I'd see him when he got out. I wondered at my own sentence.