Did I crack? A fracture perhaps. When I was little I would watch the storms from my window and was told not to stand too close. There is a break. The X-ray missed it. Rain splattering onto concrete and bringing earthworms from the dirt. Did you know they drown if they don’t leave the ground? But above it for too long and they shrivel up and die. Will I leak now? Water and blood trickling from a fissure in my surface? There is a formula to see how far away the storm is. Seconds corresponding to miles between a flash and a bang – simple math. The pressure could build. Maybe I will explode from it. In the fourth grade I sat next to James Strow and learned that thunder was warm air rising up. An unstable cloud, turning on itself. And now I cannot find my pieces.