The lamp in my room is dim - barely a flicker above candlelight. A much anticipated evening rain quietly taps on the glass, and thumps gingerly on the roof above me. This town has been thirsty for so long that you'd think I lived in the desert. For once my neighbor's chatter is being drowned out by the cars on the street outside, gliding through the water, breaking it, smashing it, pushing it aside as though it were worthless.
I close my eyes for a moment as I listen to the swishing sounds. I imagine that I am at the ocean, on the shore, with my toes buried in the sand. The sun is seeping into my skin, tingling it as it browns. The fan blowing in the window is instead a breeze that each wave whips up as the air shimmies across the tide. And the smell of the rain and the dirty concrete is suddenly infused with scents of warm salt and buttery, coconut suntan lotion. My eyes open and once again I witness the lamp, thinking to myself how its luster is nowhere near that of the sun.
Between the crashes of waves, well, the pauses between one passing car to the next, I hear children again, and muffled television sets. My umbrella is only steps away in the closet, and I toy with the idea of walking out to the yard with it, barefoot, into the sopping, wet grass. I imagine that while the grass is green and soft on my feet, I will not get lost in it as I would if I were in the sea. There would be no need for beacons to warn me of sharp rocks ahead, nor any muscled, oily lifeguards in red trunks to save me should I go under.
I close my eyes again and think to myself. If I wanted to, right now, I could go down the steps, out of the house, and into this beautiful rain. I could tempt the gods by standing under the massive tree with my umbrella in hand - its black nylon dome resembling arched, rubbery bat wings fluttering overhead, with a silvery talon on one end and a prosthetic claw on the other. Strike me gods, if you must! I am not afraid of you!
The tree and its canopy of brown arms and emerald fingers offer shelter, too, not unlike the umbrella itself. Half of me drenched ankle deep, and the other half safe and dry. I could stand there, in the soaking darkness, listening to the machines beating relentlessly against the glistening asphalt, my eyes faraway in another time and place. Nuzzling my body deep into the crevices of the tree trunk, trusting it and allowing it to embrace me.
I must put down the umbrella, for half of this is not good enough. I want to feel the cool water dripping down my face. I need to let my hair slick down my forehead and into my eyes, and have my now translucent dress cling desperately to my body. I want to admire the little boats of leaves which are swimming downstream in the gutters, twisting and racing with each other to the finish, where ultimately they will wash into the city's underground labyrinth of tunnels and tubes till they end up where I so desperately am trying to be - in the ocean, but not lost... rather, found, where they, and I, were always meant to be...
My eyes are open again.
