When Daryl was seven all of the electricity in Cincinnati want out for thirteen hours because of a thunderstorm. The storm started in the early evening and lasted until dawn. Veins of lightning turned the ghost colored sky purple in flashes. The air convulsed like boiling water between spears of rain. Daryl's head was too big for his body. He stood outside and tilted it back and watched the sky flash and churn. He didn't squint. The water pounded on his eyes and filled up the corners of his face. He felt pure joy. Usually he felt trapped under the sky like he was still caught inside his mother's belly. But under the steel colored, incandescent sky where thunder was banging water out of clouds, he felt freedom fill up his skin. He felt like he was outside the belly and watching restless children trying to kick through.