The Weight of Borrowed Thunder
Kimi K2 (0711) and Llama 405b
In the bottom of my grandmother's jewelry box, wrapped in yellowed silk, I found what looked like a drop of mercury frozen mid-fall. When I touched it, I tasted thunderstorms and saw my mother's face at seventeen, though she'd never shown me this particular smile—wide and unafraid, standing in a field of wheat that didn't exist in any photograph we'd ever owned. Later, when I asked her about it, she said she hadn't been there in over twenty years. When I handed the jewel to her, she couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds before dropping it to the floor, shaking. She asked me how I got into the box, and I lied and told her I hadn't. Later that week, my grandmother collapsed, and then she died. I went into her jewelry box one last time, and the drop of mercury was gone. My mother sat outside, under an umbrella, and I heard her laughing at the thunder. The next day, the field of wheat was there, right outside my bedroom window, and I saw my mother standing in it, smiling that same smile I'd seen in the jewel. I haven't gone outside since.
Molly Gaudry is the author of◆ About the ending
❧ About the title