It rained today. I think. It was a weird day. This morning I walked outside and the sidewalks seemed damp. Not really wet, though I guess that’s one definition, but like it had rained several hours ago and was mostly dried up. “That’s cool,” I thought to myself. “Maybe it will get sunny today, it’s supposed to be fairly warm.” But it never got sunny.
I was running errands, so I was in and out all day long. In the office, out to the store. In the apartment, back to another store. Head inside for lunch and then back to the office. Several times I heard rain, tap, tap, tapping on the window like Poe’s raven. But I would go back outside and nothing. No rain. Just damp pavement. I had to use my wipers several times as I drove, but only to clear dried up spots from my windshield. I didn’t see a single drop of water on my car.
After lunch I said to my companion, “It’s getting dark, right?” He agreed. I thought, “Surely, now, we will get some rain.” Into a store we went to get a few things. We weren’t long, 30 minutes, maybe 45. When we walked out I heard the tell-tale shushing sound of tires passing over wet ground. But there were no puddles to be found, and not a drop from the sky. I got back into my car, disappointed. I used my wipers again and drove off.
All this left me bewildered and … unsatisfied. You see, I love the rain. I love thunderstorms. I grew up in the mid-west where we have magnificent thunderstorms. The kind of thunder that shakes the building. Downpours that rip leaves off tress and flatten plants to the ground. Wind that drives the rain sideways, into the cracks of old windows, water puddling up on the inside sill. And as you’re cowering in whatever shelter you’ve found you think, “Will it hold together?” You start to worry if, this time, the might of the storm will rip the roof off like a giant opening a can of sardines. It actually happened to a building I was living in. One night an incredible storm came tearing through. The wind clawed at the windows, the rain raked at the roof. And I … I went to bed. It was late. I was tired. And, in my ignorance, I slept peacefully.
The building I lived in was in a U-shape, with a courtyard in between the two sides of the U, one of which I lived on. When I woke up the storm had passed. It was peaceful, and sunny. I looked at my neighbor’s place, across the courtyard, and realized I could see the sun in their living room. But I shouldn’t have been able to, not at that time of day. That’s when I looked at the ground and saw my neighbor’s roof, laying over the sidewalk and bushes of the courtyard like the corpse of some giant animal. That was the moment when I started to truly respect the strength and glory of storms. Not fearing, but surely respecting the shit outta them.
So, here I am now. Unsatisfied. Disappointed. It was as though all day long I was playing with a lover, tantalizing, teasing, in a dance of expectation. It has been a day without release. Without satisfaction. But now the day is over and as I prepare for sleep I hear, yet again, the soft tapping against my windows. My lover, once again, calling me to play.
