Today, after rehearsals for my high school's Fall musical, I drove my sister home. At the point of leaving the school, the sun was gazing pleasantly upon us. We did realize, though, that upon heading North, toward our house, we were entering the bittersweet shelter of gray clouds, heavy with tears. Before the sobfest began, we encountered heavy winds. Now, these were exciting. I've never been a good estimator, but I would say these gusts were being thrown at our little Optima at about thirty miles per hour. If I were to foolishly relinquish my grip on the steering wheel, it would have drifted counter-clockwise and into oncoming traffic about as fast as you could say, "Hey Sis, take my phone and text Mom and Dad that were encountering some turbulence." I had to take hold of the that wheel like Captain Barbossa in the eye of an Atlantic swirl.
Little did I know, my outward frustration with the up swept dust and buggies offended those poor clouds held aloft by atmospheric pressure. The the doggy tears welled up and all I could do was stay calm, ironically enough. Getting home in two pieces (my sister and myself) was my sole priority at this point. I turned off my music to narrow my focus on homeward thoughts and followed the twenty-five car line inconveniently headed slowly and cautiously in the same direction as me. I did however have the opportunity, to my sister's dismay, to text a status update to my Facebook page reading: Texting and driving is bad, especially when there are thirty mile per hour winds attacking your car!
Childish, I know, but I was determined to notify the world of my current state, and what did it get me? Two "Like"'s and four comments. I'd say it was a win.
So, I drove down my street in the relentless weather, rolled the window down to feel alive, then rolled it back up immediately due to immediate confirmation. As if the hundred fifty quarter-sized drops that seized my car's interior weren't enough, as I pulled up to my long driveway, I saw our overturned, empty recycling bin helplessly drowning in a puddle of both its own tears and those of the sky. With determined bravery, I set the short-term goal of rescuing my blue friend.
I parked the car in the carport and dashed away, leaving my sister to run the fourteen paces up to the security of our roofed patio, alone. I, holding nothing but the sheer adoration of my region's much needed precipitation in my heart, ran as fast as I could down the twenty yard driveway. I swallowed a couple drops of rain... I sure hope they weren't two doomed junebugs seeking shelter. When I arrived at my recycling bin's side, I yanked it upright thinking, "It's gonna be alright."
I wheeled the bin all the way back down the driveway homeward bound again. This time, I was surprised by how fast I was running despite the light burden that followed me close behind. I returned it to its post next to the trash bin and sped inside with a new sense of pride, a completed goal, and a gained three pounds in water.
Running in the Rain: It's just one more thing that keeps me humble. I mean, who would have room to tease after exposing such an escapade? Who says a gentleman can't enjoy nature?
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