sweet, sweet rain.

sweet, sweet rain.

I used to hate the rain.

The rain breaks my heart, drop by drop, it falls and they’re like the little tiny picks of little tiny coal miners chipping away.

The steel blanket over the road, it scares me. It makes me slow down, it makes me lose trust in everyone and everything around me. What if my windshield gets splashed and I can’t see? What if I hydroplane? What if I fishtail? What if that man behind me with the bald head and Stanley Tucci glasses stops short?

I hold my heart a little tighter when it rains. And in the tightness I feel little peaks and valleys and bumps and scabs I forgot existed. I touch the tender spots. But the thing is, I can’t let that rain-heavy grip loosen. What if I hydroplane? What if I fishtail? What if I forget?
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And when it rains, someone once said it means God is crying for the loss of a truly pure soul. I miss my puppy, who cured me of the absolute worst cynophobia (fear of dogs) I’ve ever seen in my life (really, ask my family, it was downright eerie and also kind of hilarious). I miss the man who held my family together, even though we never realized he held that power. I miss the nights singing by the piano, I miss the Christmases in New York. I miss fireplaces filled with Duraflame and the house on Homewood Road. ย I miss the woman who helped raise us, who disappeared years ago with a disconnected cell number and a chunk of my heart and the warm accent that called pajamas “peeyahmas”. I miss the simplicity and cohesiveness of life before I knew what it meant to weather a storm.
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I look at old pictures when it rains and I listen to unmastered songs that only I have. I call friends I haven’t seen in eons not because we don’t love each other but because life just happens. I miss them with intensity. I pull out my boots and slip on a baggy sweatshirt, because really the rain is for clothes that feel like pajamas. Peeyahmas.

I turn up the thermostat and know the slightly higher utilities bill will be well worth it. I notice the hills by the 405 that were burned away and smile at the thought of a greener spring. I can’t wait to see my mom and eat takeout on the couch while watching Dick Van Dyke reruns. I smell wet pavement and muddy planters and Christmas trees.
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The little miners chip away. I love the rain.

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