Love. Hate. Fear. Guilt. Jealousy.
        Sheyene's new job is harder than mine.
        He's not my son, you know, and he hates me. I'm kind and sweet to him, and he treats me like shit every single day. I love him, and I know he's trying. I know he's confused. But did you HEAR what he said to me? Did you SEE what he did?
        When cold air and warm air collide, the sky rumbles.
        Why, Dad? Why do you love her instead of Mom? . . . I do love her, Dad. I DO. But it's just so hard sometimes, you know? . . . Mom doesn't love her. If Mom doesn't love her, I don't have to love her . . . I don't have to do what she says, Dad. I don't have to. I don't even have to listen to her. No, I don't . . . Yes, I WANT to be nice. And I DO love her. It's just . . . Why can't Mom love her too?
        Sometimes the rumble is really an echo of another storm front.
        She's too young for you, Dad. You're having a mid-life crisis.
        Sometimes, because of the distance it must travel, the echo is garbled.
        She shouldn't have been your student, Dad. It would have been OK if you were her student. You should be Sheyene's student; then everybody will like you again.
        How does one answer a boiling sky?
        When you and Mom used to fight, did you fight about Sheyene?
        Only at the end, son.
        What else did you used to fight about?
        The usual things . . . Work. Time. You kids. Love.
        You used to fight with Mom about love?
        Everybody fights about love, Daniel.
        What happens when you win?
        . . . You lose.
        What? . . . What?
        In the years that loom before us, the me-that-will-be will have to be clearer, wiser, stronger.

        “So what happened to the Elephant guys?” Sheyene asks Phil. “Did they go to prison or what?”

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