It Rains

Thunder directly above our building, cracks and flashes in the airshaft. Then the patter of water hitting the air-conditioning unit; when it gets heavy, I wonder if it will fall. I love the rain. In the daytime I can't tell when it's even raining because my desk is so far from a window. At night, I can hear it but not see it, unless I go in the bedroom and peek over the air-conditioner (quite grimy), or through the bars. When I was young and it rained I'd run outside with no coat or shoes and get soaked in it. Once, there was my mother and my brother and my sister and me, out on our front lawn in broad daylight getting soaked for all the cars passing to see. My stepfather wasn't home so we could do such things. It was a good memory, made better because that was the summer I knew I was leaving. And knew, too, that I'd end up here, in this city where when it rains you can't see it and there's no grass nearby to mash my feet in. I didn't realize what I'd miss.

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