This is just a little something that came to me the other day and wouldn’t go away until it was written. I have no idea what it’s really meant to be, or if it just is.
It was a dark and stormy night. Inside the house, the family was busy about their evening tasks, completely unaware of the impact the night would have on one of their own.
A little girl stood at the window, the bottom of the curtains pulled back slightly so she could see outside. Her effort, however, was in vain. All she saw was herself – long dark hair pulled back in two low ponytails, big brown eyes wide as the wind howled around the eves of the 2-story house. She let the curtains fall shut again.
Lightening flashed across the sky and far in the distance she could hear the thunder rumble. The little girl shuddered, quickly peering through the window again. This time she caught the reflection of her mother carrying a load of freshly folded laundry on her way upstairs.
The mother set the laundry basket down before walking to her daughter’s side. "It’s only the angels bowling, my dear. There’s absolutely nothing be afraid of." She hugged her daughter tightly and encouraged her to go back to her playthings.
The little girl tried to do what her mother said although her mind was never far from the noises of the storm still raging outside. Becoming absorbed in a new story she had created for the family that lived in her dollhouse, she slowly forgot about the storm.
There was a sudden crackle of static energy as the room lit up brighter than anything she had seen before. The thunder was so loud it hurt her ears. Screaming loudly, her mother rushed from the other room and pulled her away from the window. They sat together in the rocking chair, the mother rubbing small circles on the little girl’s back as she made soothing shushing sounds to calm the child.
The wracking sobs slowly gave way to sniffles as the little girl fought to catch her breath. "What did I tell you about the thunder, sweetheart?" the mother asked quietly.
"That it’s only the angels bowling and there’s nothing to be afraid of. But Momma, that was too loud to be angels bowling!" The little girl was still frightened. Even though the worst had passed, she could still hear the loud cracks of thunder and the howl of the wind.
The mother hugged the little girl closer. "That was the angels, honey. That was your grandpa bowling a strike."
The little girl hiccuped twice and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her nightgown. She didn’t respond, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Her mother would continue insisting it was only angels but the little girl knew better. She didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t angels.
Many years into the future, that particular memory would be called forth as she sat beside a very different window during a very different storm. She smiled, shaking her head as she thought to herself, If Momma only knew…