rain: interlude


I’m sitting in my favorite café today (Fuel), in my favorite seat (right next to the window). I woke up early (7AM) and I’ve eaten an overpriced caprese sandwich and a honey latte, my favorite drink and my favorite cuisine, and I was doing homework for my favorite class (environmental sociology), taking notes with a fully-charged laptop and a fully-charged brain, when it started to drizzle, the raindrops literally inches away, separate from me only by the exact thickness of a spotless, open-faced glass window. There are little puddles forming in the potholes in the asphalt road and the cast-iron trash can in the sidewalk; couples are running across the street, holding hands and newspapers over their heads; a bicyclist with a decidedly not-waterproof backpack is peddling furiously uphill, leaning forward with both hands on the handlebars, open-mouthed laughter in exasperation.

There is nothing like being in a café you love with good music, your stomach full, when it starts to rain. I am fully alone but surrounded by people I don’t know – a safe, calm, but delectable kind of happiness, more than contentment but without the draining or exhausting quality of ecstasy or excitement; a heart that feels full but light, like it is filled with tiny flower-vase pebbles that knock together to the radio sound. Sometimes, I think this kind of weather is the clearest of all, more than a blue cloudless sky or a sunrise.

My mom called today. She was at Macy’s and she wanted to know my dorm address because she wanted to send me a thick quilt after I complained to her that my bed was too hard. She is sweet, and she is predictable; I got an email from Macy’s about a one-day sale, and I knew that she’d go because sales excite her. It’s always days like this, bright but light showers, that make me think of my mom – the sky gray, but not dreary, just a clean sheet over the sky like it’s hiding something secret from view, just for a moment, like you can do whatever you want while this rain is falling, even if you have to return to reality when it stops. Almost like a celestial game of musical chairs. It’s the kind of short-lived freedom I associate with my mom, who could fly up and explore the world with her lovely laugh if life would let her.

The rain is ending now and it’s time to return to my work.


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