07.11.2002 - 11:29 a.m.

It is late yesterday afternoon. I am leaving work for the second time, after a trip back to the office for something I forgot. The rain thickens as I reach the graveled parking lot. I am not soaked, not quite yet, but my hair is getting damp enough to plaster itself down my face and stick to my arms as I walk.

The world smells fresh and thick, like sinking my toes in mud and bruised grass from the drainage ditch in my parents� backyard. The rain is spattering against everything around me, against the gravel, the grass and tree leaves, all the cars with their college decals on dented fenders. The sound shifts as I turn my head. It�s like�surround sound.

I smile at the sky, raindrops hitting my face and running down the hollows between my nose and cheeks. I have my comparison backwards. Rain isn�t like surround sound; surround sound was invented so that living rooms could sound more like rain. I tilt my head farther back, letting the rain slide down my jaw and my neck, to be caught by the collar of my shirt.

Sometimes I think of all those raindrops, where they�ve been, where they�ll go next after washing down my face, across the parking lot, across Route 5 to the River. But not today. Today it is more interesting that they are all here together, at this place, at this moment, although I am not thinking that either. I am just liking the rain. It settles me.

I�ve stopped walking. It occurs to me that I should get in my car before I become any more of a danger to the leather seats.

I drive home with my headlights on, the wipers not quite keeping time with the radio. I am not sure what I am thinking, although whatever it is, it�s not the usual. I am not thinking about the other places the roads lead to. I�m not thinking about how far away six gallons would get me.

I guess the roads only pull at me when they�re dry.

-stonebridge

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