The wind and the rain
I’m standing at the window again. Today there are no passers-by to make fun of or despise, instead the wind and rain lash the house. When I was a child days like this were my favourite and I would climb into bed and curl up with a book. On some days I would run out into the rain and dance around the yard practically naked, grinning and giggling wildly. The cool rain hitting the hot earth created a steam that smelled so wonderful, natural, and comforting. Steam would rise from the ground, and that warmth balanced by the coolness of the rain always sent me into a state of euphoria. When it ended, the sun would slowly dry things up, and birds would sing again as they pounced on insects and worms that had come out for warmth. I would stand naked as mother would towel me off, smiling at my happiness and abandon. Wrapped in the moist towel I would run up the polished wooden stairs to my room and curl up in bed, hugging my legs to my chest, savoring every moment of happiness. Inevitably, I would fall asleep, and dream of so many wondrous things and places. Today my heart aches with the memories.
I cannot explain how or why, but I am now dancing around the backyard, naked as the day I was born. The rain feels amazingly the same, so familiar in the way it tightens my skin, and makes me tingle. I know it isn’t really changing things, but it feels like it is washing away all my cares and worries. I grin that same silly grin, and giggle with glee. Who cares if the neighbors see and who cares what they say. I twirl and dance then plop down into a large puddle in the corner of the yard, laughing and strangely, crying at the same time. I close my eyes and imagine the rain cleansing me. When the rain slows, I get to my feet, and walk back inside. Mother isn’t there to towel me off, so I leave a trail of wet footprints all the way to the shower.
Curled up in my bed, tight in a blanket, I smile wistfully and drift off to sleep. Dreams of freedom, happiness, and rainbows never come. Instead, visions of loss, sadness, betrayal, and fear, fill my restless sleep.
I have learned to take the bad with the smallest good and carry on. They’ll talk about my “shameful escapade” at the pool, and whisper as I go by about how shameful and terrible I am. Sure, it will hurt, but at least I’ll have this memory of my delightful dancing to soothe it a bit. To hell with the bitchy, pompous, gossips. I’ll never be one of them, and finally, I am OK with that. Sort of.