display | more...
Here are my best rains.

at 17 years old,
I was a ninja on the ultimate frisbee field. We played barefoot always, full of defiance and passion. The storms came one day and turned us into mud-covered creatures with bright crazy eyes. Screaming across the field, I learned how to fly for a moment.

at 19 years old,
This was not rain but the moment before and still my favorite. On a blind date in the park and felt it coming on, the electricity and pressure and tension swirling like liquid lust. Leaning in for a kiss, and he asks to go inside, I don't really like storms, he says. With a punctuated thunderclap I was running across the grass laughing maniacally dancing removing my clothes and shouting at the sky. Just you and me, rain. Bring it on. He never called back.

at 6 years old,
Wandering from my mother's distracted feet through the screen door (slam) into the churning of an oncoming hurricane, watching the sky in childlike wonder. God's great grey fury and raindrops the size of your hand falling onto the driveway like dead birds. Her pulling me back, hysterical.
This was my first.

at 14 years old,
My first wet dream and I wake in a sweat to see water in rivulets down my windowpanes. Climbing out onto the roof is worth a grounding, but the cool air against my flushed skin seduces me out. The shingles are rough on my feet. I stand, face upturned, to let the rain fall over my bare body. It is 4 am and I have never felt so beautiful.

at 8 years old,
A sudden July shower, moment of grace from the heat. This was when we lived in the forest. Crawling through the underbrush with a metal mixingbowl on my head to the secret clearing nobody still knows about but you so shhh. On my back watching the leaves above me ripple like a river and Eyes Open for rain to fall in.
I am reminded of crying so I do.

at 22 years old,
Radiohead at full volume and I am inside and the sky is clear. The storm is writhing within this time as I fumble with words that say so much less than they should. What it should say is you are magic trapped in a laugh. That wine makes me honest, to believe every word I've given you but at this moment I am dead sober and still want nothing more than standing in a downpour with you and not even noticing that it's raining. That is what this should say, but it doesn't.
I wish it did.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.