Wilson is learning to be brave

In the past, even before the rain hit, he would take cover beneath the brown corduroy couch and re-emerge hours after the thunder had passed.


This time, as lightning illuminates the living room walls, he stands between my knees and the backs of my thighs where I sit on the rug—tense, ready to run the two feet to the couch, yet trusting for that second or series of seconds or a minute maybe that everything, as I promise him over and over, will be okay.