At first, I think it’s a truck slowly rolling down the hill past my house, a container or trailer rattling on the back. I get out of bed and peek between the blinds and right then, there’s a blinding flash. I imagine two guys on roller skates in work overalls. They’re flying past my house, shaking a wide ribbon of sheet metal between them. The noise repeats, sometimes it’s closer, sometimes it’s further away. Again, there’s a blinding flash of blue-white light. I look at the time. It’s just after 4am.
The thunderstorm seems to be just one house down, at the intersection. As I’m walking in to the kitchen, there’s another blinding flash over the neighbor’s house. There is no count between the flash and the noise. When I open the back door, the smell of rain comes rushing in. Tiny drops of rain are hitting the metal awning over my head. As the light flashes again, I move my hand away from the metal of the door jamb, of the lock plate. The sky tears open and rain avalanches from the sky in sheets.
The noise identified, I go back to sleep.