When the rain comes...

It’s been raining for days, torrential downpours and violent thunderstorms that crack tree limbs and spirits, turning summer into some nether-season...warm with a cold wind, the depth of the grey in the sky fluctuating throughout the day until nightfall comes and more rain falls in the darkness, fat raindrops wind-whipped against the window drumming a steady beat interrupted periodically by sharp crackles of thunder, flashes of lightning illuminating the skies for seconds of eerie brightness, making you grateful to be home, to be indoors and protected from a storm that feels like a Hollywood special effect, like the living room has suddenly morphed into the cabin of Andrea Gail in “The Perfect Storm...”

Funny too how rain like this leads you to introspection, forced indoors and into the contours of your mind, the mindless diversion of television no longer a diversion at all and the music you play in the background mirrors the mood and the lamps providing more of a soft backlight, a warming glow instead of the bright shine of luminescence...you feel your mind wandering, thinking back over your recent past and the highs you’ve felt, the beautiful moments you’ve shared with her, the days you made special for her because she’s made every day special for you...and then the lows, because so much of the future seems uncertain...you know there’s a way out, that there’s a path for you to follow and all you have to do is follow it, keep pressing on because that’s the only option and really, what the fuck do you have to complain about anyway?

But those lows...those cringe-inducing memories of telling an inappropriate story, of opening your mouth and hearing something so offensively stupid come out, seeing the expression on her face change, the smile draining away and that beautiful moment become one of awkward ugliness and you want more than anything to just take the moment back, to go back 4 minutes in time and talk about the Red Sox instead, anything at all...It’s too late though, and you proffer your effusive apologies and because she’s better than you are, savvier, she gamely tells you that it’s OK, it’s over, and you say your warm goodbyes, still feeling the electricity when her body presses against yours but you have to go your separate ways for the evening...and the rest of that evening you’re distracted, unable to focus on much of anything other than that nauseating pit in your stomach, the sting of imaginary bees piercing your brain and you just want to make it right, because until you do the rain will just keep coming down and you’re ready for the sun to shine again, you’re ready to dance in the sunlight with her...