after the storm

As a teenager in Los Angeles, I loved the rain.

A friend said recently that she loves storms because it feels like inner turmoil, only it’s happening around you instead of inside you. And yes, that is why I felt such an affinity for storms as a teenager. For a little while, the world around me seemed to reflect the world inside me, which brought me a strange kind of peace.

And because I loved storms and because it felt to me as if they were an outward manifestation of inner life and because I lived in Los Angeles, I loved the climax of L.A. Story, in which the intensity of weatherman…sorry, meteorologist Harris’ feelings seems to conjure a storm that prevents Sara’s plane from taking off. 

Now, I watch the scene and cringe at it. His hand and her hand going to the windows. It’s too much for me. But I used to love it. I still love the way the Freeway Condition sign sparks and shorts, the city of Los Angeles, in its own way, straining to bring about the storm.

As Kate Bush sings on “Running Up That Hill,” “There is thunder in our hearts.”