February 16, 2016

I was young, still in elementary school, still knowing little of the world and how it worked. There was an evening—not yet dark enough to drown out the light coming in through the window—that the sight outside my mom’s apartment window scared me, and it wasn’t because of fights or drug-users.

The sky was grey, a dark-almost-black-dishwatery-but-still-somewhat-green-grey, and it was moving. Swirling, the same pattern as a chocolatier makes as he stirs.

“Mom?” I ask nervously. “Doesn’t a green sky mean there’s a tornado?”

She hurries over to the window. It takes her a moment to process before she replies.

“No… we’re only in for strong winds tonight. Really strong winds.”

I didn’t believe her.

According to the weather reports, I was right.