“She was born dead center in the middle of a burst of thunder, the kind that shakes the floor and rolls on for a while,” the girl’s mother used to tell people, pretending she didn’t know she was just around the corner listening in. “She’s been shaking things up ever since.”
Her mother thought it was important to let her hear stories being told about her to others, stories she could carry deep within her as protection against all the stories others would try to write on her and over her as a means of crossing her out.
She was a child of thunder, a mover of clouds, an earth shaker. Whenever anyone would try to take from her, she knew she could open up the sky and make it rain.