I could smell the thunderstorm. Every time I smell them up until now, I shook uncontrollably.
Not quite a tap, but nowhere near as hard as the loud ‘pop’ made it seem. Now, the sound itself? That was horrible. You could hear the cracking of the bone, and the last thing I ever saw was trees across the road. I was walking to my car when it happened, you see. He hit me from behind with a bat and took my wallet. It hit me on the side of the head. It was so hard that, when I woke up, I couldn’t see. Something about my retina, the doctors said.
But that was three years ago. Before the surgeries, and before I met her. No, I never really developed any kind of super hearing or anything, but now, I won’t need it. Not since the surgeries. I left the hospital today, and we’re standing here, in her back yard, my eyes still bandaged. We’re standing here, and the smell of the approaching thunderstorm is unbearable. She asks if I’m ready to see her. I’m shaking uncontrollably, and I’m enjoying this smell.