The Rain

He always did like the rain. The calming sound of it hitting against the thin roof of his childhood house, the strange music it plays when it hits the puddles. The dancing of the raindrops striking the earth. When everyone else would grumble and sigh about how bad the weather’s been, he would simply smile and agree. He knew the rain wasn’t for everybody.

He liked walking through the city streets in the rain, the weird lighting caused by the clouds, making it darker than day, yet lighter than night. He liked the rhythm-less tapping of the rain on the canvas of his umbrella. He liked going into book store cafes and sitting next to the window, watching the drops land and stick to the glass, before getting too big and falling to the bottom. He liked the memories it brings, that one time when his soccer game got poured on, and he went home absolutely soaked, only to find his mom waiting with some warm towels and some hot cocoa. Helping his dad unclog the storm drains in the fall, the huge puddles they drained cause a few leaves had covered the opening. Watching silly movies on the couch while they were bundled up in blankets, watching until they dosed off to the sounds of the rain on the roof and the movie on the TV. He liked the clouds, how the ominous grey mass off the downpour would have holes in it where the sun burned through, the blue sky peaking through. He liked seeing the raindrops in the trees after the storm, where the world was still wet but the sun was shining on it, a simple leaf becoming a dazzling emerald. I guess that’s why he liked the rain.

He liked walking through the city streets in the rain, the weird lighting caused by the clouds, making it darker than day, yet lighter than night. He liked the rhythm-less tapping of the rain on the canvas of his umbrella. He liked going into book store cafes and sitting next to the window, watching the drops land and stick to the glass, before getting too big and falling to the bottom.

He liked the memories it brings, that one time when his soccer game got poured on, and he went home absolutely soaked, only to come home and find his mom waiting with some warm towels and some hot cocoa. Helping his dad unclog the storm drains in the fall, the huge puddles they drained cause a few leaves had covered the opening. Watching silly movies on the couch while they were bundled up in blankets, watching until they dosed off to the tapping of the rain on the roof and the movie on the TV. He liked the clouds, how the ominous grey mass off the downpour would dissolve under the sun, bright blue holes poking through, lighting up the clouds in shades of white and grey, the golden beams turning the dull black roads into sparkling obsidian, the green leaves shining emeralds.

He didn’t know what it was he liked about the rain. It wasn’t any one, big thing, like how people like the sun, and the warmth it brings. It was a bunch of small, tiny things to him, little happy memories and experiences. Of course, this was hard for others to understand, especially if they didn’t like the rain. But that was okay, they didn’t have to.

He could like the rain all by himself.