Rainy Day

The rain always makes me feel validated. The cool drops break on my skin leavig my sense heightened and refreshed. Everything that was happening to me, everthing that was once my life is washed away in the white noise of the wind and the soft falling of the raindrops on the leaves above my head. Somehow, life is more real, the world is more apparent and tangible to me as mother nature refreshes herself.

When it rains, I leave school. There is a road right outside the grouds that grows narrower, dustier, and more secluded the farther you walk. I walk this road with the wind in teh trees above me, and the sprinkling in the mud on either side. No cars find me, ever. But if they did I woudl stand in the middle and watch as their headlights grow, and stand in place as they blast their horn and swerve into the brush to avoid me. This, too, would make me believe in the reality of myself.

My mother doesn't know I cut school, thought it's not like she would care. I think of her as I remove my jacket and spread my arms, moving through the steam created by a cool quenching of the dry, thirsty earth. I wonder what she's doing right now as I lean over to watch the tadpoles swimming in an impromptu stream in the middle of a field. They will be stranded when the sun return tomorrow.

I also think of my dad, and how he would have cared about my skipping. But also, how me would have understood, and possibly even joined me a few times. It would have been our secret, never spoken about, but understood that it was to be kept a secret, a refuge for both of us from the woman at home. A woman in a fast downward spiral.

This time I walk a long ways, much farther than I ever have before. I find an old shed, painted white and gray, the latter the color mother nature imposed upon it. The window was broken, with bits of glass still clinging to the frame, waiting for someone to come along and fix it. Inside there is nothign but parts for an old tractor, a few hay bales, and the rustling indicating the presence of an animal taking refuge from the rain somewhere in the depths of the musty, thick darkness.

Right above the hay, the room leaks. I position myself spread out under it so I can fall asleep.

The rain drips steadily on my chest, the spot right above my heart, all night long saturating my shirt. I close my eyes and lean back, allowing the comforting sensation to take me away. It is a validating drip.