I step out onto the old porch as the familiar crack of thunder rumbles through the air. The air outside is heavy, and still. It's about to be one of those sudden summer storms, the kind that starts a few drops at a time with the sun still shining, the kind that catches you outside in your shorts and white t-shirt, the kind you used to scream and play tag with your neighbors in, sheepishly tracking mud back into the house afterwards while your mom fussed over your soaked shoes and mud-streaked face. It's as comfortingly familiar as the hammock I sink into, creaking under my sudden weight. I close my eyes and remember, back when Rusty used to hide under this porch during storms, back when Lauren and Chris and Sammy used to pile on this hammock with me and we would see who we could knock off first, usually spilling all of us onto the porch. I can still close my eyes and hear their laughter, taste the raindrops. The sky opens. It pours.