Alarm clock stirs. Before I even open my eyes, I reach for the noise, using my fingers to search the plastic top for silence.

Wish granted.

I open my eyes to the four walls of my childhood. My hand finds the wall hugging my bed; the bond stronger than my parents’ marriage. The smooth pale blue wall wraps me in a heavy comfort, begging me not to leave its side. My joints begin to scream as I move the blankets off and toward the wall, taping off my safe space. With the jagged movements of a man eight times my age, I begin to dress my personal statue. My own alien. My blood and bones. That’s when it stops.

If you’ve watched a supercell produce a tornado, this explanation will be easy to follow.

It’s raining; sometimes a lot, sometimes not much. It’s very windy, with large gusts of wind like deep breaths in the sky spacing themselves a rhythmic distance from each other. The sky can be any color, most of the time I see a grayscale, swallowing the swaying tree tops. The wind is loud, but the rain is louder, popping as it— oh wait, that’s hail! It always catches me off guard. A surprise I enjoy more than most birthdays. The white of the hail feels pointy against my pupils contrasting hard against the dull pallet of the scene. That’s when the wind slows. The hail slows. The sky begins to brighten up. No, not brighten, just change color. Why is the sky yellow? Not sun yellow, why is the sky baby poop green-yellow? That’s when it stops. The whole world stops. Everything goes silent. I can’t hear the weatherman on tv. I can’t hear my dad shouting emergency directions in the background. My peripheral vision has closed and I am glued to the perpetual lack of motion outside of my living room window. The trees aren’t breathing. I’m not breathing. My heart is throbbing inside of my chest, inside of my neck, and inside of my ears. This moment is true and perfect peace. The hairs on my arms and neck stand on end. An electric sensation starts in my tailbone and races to the back of my brain blissfully numbing everything connected in between.

And that’s when you feel it. The roar. The sound mimics a tsunami mixed with a humorously large runaway freight train mixed with a prehistoric lion. The pressure builds while the sound gets louder while your body releases all the adrenaline it can to keep you moving.

I can finally hear my dad’s voice.

Only this time, I’m the one moving my mouth.