It’s still dark, he said. Pitch black. What time is it?

Not sure, she told him. Probably around 5:00 a.m.

He pulls the curtains back and observes some more. There are headlights coming down the road.  The sound of rain hitting aluminum siding. Lightning begins to spark just a bit. Thunder rumbles.

Coffee drips in the pot. He makes her a place at the kitchen table: a fork, knife, and spoon with a Fiesta plate painted aqua green.

Have a seat, he said. Go on. Have a seat. They both smile. She sits in her chair as he ties a blindfold around her head, covering the eyes.

What’re you doing?

Just be quiet and enjoy nature’s music. The thunder gets louder. It’s God’s gift to you, he opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a Key Lime pie. He cuts her a piece and puts a candle in it, then places it in front of her. Lights it with a Zippo.

What’re you doing?

Shhhh.

He begins singing Happy Birthday to her as he unties the blindfold. Lightning streaks fill the sky, and the electricity goes out. The only light is the candle. She does not blow it out yet. They look at each other and smile. Shadows on the walls.

Make a wish, he tells her.

She blows out the candle, making it pitch black again. He holds her. She wraps her arms in his.

The clock flickers with numbers in red. The coffee begins to drip again.

I liked it better when it was dark, she states. Stay. Don’t move. He holds her tighter. They sway to the thunder.

Happy birthday,  Love.