The coming of the storm had been broadcast with as much fervor as doomsday prognosticators announcing the Second Coming of Christ.
And when you had given up all hope of its arrival, from out of the black sky suddenly flashed the lightning and the thunder crashed.
You had been waiting for the storm like a husband awaits the arrival of a plane carrying his wife who has been away too long.
You hoped your wife would come down with the rain.
Admittedly she would be drenched but it was like when you lived in Miami Beach and she was taking the bus home from work (where was the car? in the shop perhaps) and suddenly the sky opened and the rain came down and she took shelter in a bar near the bus stop and phoned you to say she would be late for cocktail hour because she was going to wait in the bar for the storm to end and you grabbed an umbrella and walked to the bar in the rain and sat down next to her and you had several cocktails and waited for the storm to pass.
And on this night, thirty years later as you listen to the rain on the roof and the wind blow, you wait for the phone to ring so you can grab an umbrella and walk to the bar and be with your wife until the storm passes, but the phone doesn’t ring and you sit there and listen to the rain. And you wait.
What are you waiting for?