Thunder in
the Morning
By John Hedges
It was one of those summer Iowa mornings in August, hot, humid, still.
Had you driven into the farmyard that morning. You would have seen a brown and white house, two magnificent pines, a couple of spreading maple trees, a windmill, a red corn crib, and a red barn with two teenagers sitting close together high in the haymow door looking at the hot humid morning. They were silent with the weight of the air and laziness. Feet hanging out the door. Silently communing. The bees buzzing in the hollyhocks. The birds quiet in the humidity.
She was blond with brilliant blue eyes. Young shapely. He was tanned well-muscled from working out of doors. Long hair combed back, contemplative brown eyes.
He was feeling, but he was not sure what. He was thinking that he had to go to work that afternoon to help a neighbor put up hay. He did not want to leave. We do not know what she was thinking but she had to leave the next day and drive 600 miles with her parents and siblings back home to the city. Her face said that she did not want to leave but wanted to stay there with him.
They and their siblings had been together two weeks most every summer since they were born. She had 2 sisters and a brother he had three brothers.
Those two weeks were the highlight of their summers or perhaps even their years. For those two weeks they were together every day at his parents’ farm or as today at their grandparents’ farm. Eating pie, fresh fruit, sweet corn. Drinking lemonade. Cranking the ice cream under the trees, or at the front steps. Riding the tractors. Climbing in the barns and corn cribs. Watching lightning bugs. Listening to the cicadas. Making dolls from the hollyhocks. Even one year riding the young steer he and his brothers had trained to ride.
The air became heavier and heavier. There was no wind. The world seemed to stand still. All sound ceased. An almost inaudible low bass rumble in the west broke the silence. He smiled. He would not have to go to work if it rained. The rumble grew louder and louder. Then there were distinct rumbles.
A splat of water. Big drops sprinkling down, kicking up the dust on the ground, cooling the air. A lightning flash. A lightening crack. A roar of thunder. Torrents of water from the sky. Rivulets across the yard. Rain pounding on the roof.
The rain stopped. The rumble grew quieter as it moved to the east. The air cooled and lightened. The world was reborn. The birds began to sing. Smiles lit their faces, he did not have to go to work, they could spend her last afternoon together.
They sat in quiet communion. Each deep in thought not expressing the feelings that were just below the surface. They did not know what those feelings were or how to express them. They just knew that they did not want the day’s feeling to end.
