Solace For the Rain
I live in a strip mall.
My front yard is a parking lot and my backyard is a Home Depot. The only wooded area near my apartment is siphoned off by a tall, chain link fence adorned with barbed wire and complete with a “no trespassing” sign.
There are some things you don’t get living in a strip mall, and one of them is rain. Oh, we have rain alright. But we don’t get it.
Rain here is indicative of a bad day. My apartment’s roof collects the rain and then vomits it directly over every entrance. It’s hurled into the parking lot, where it mingles with even more water. The water gets along so well it create puddles, which are subsequently kicked up by the hot rubber of car tires.
Imagine being a raindrop dumped onto my concrete forest. You emerge from a dense cloud, ecstatic to be free from the packed nimbus. As you fall, you grow excited about reuniting with the ground from whence you came. You picture the flowers you will help bloom, the trees whose roots you will strengthen.
But when you finally reach the ground, you are not greeted with a soft landing on dirt or grass or even a leaf. Instead, you barrel into a strip of asphalt which vehemently rejects you. Upon impact, you are hurled back into the air, only to fall once again onto the thankless surface.
You nestle your way between two pebbles, praying for safety, but as you look up from your hiding place, you see a loud, metallic creature screeching towards you at a faster speed than any earthly object should ever move. Its full weight is pressed upon you, driving you further into the asphalt.
Gasping for air, what enters your mouth is not oxygen but the oily residue from your assailant. Before you can recover, thousands more raindrops pummel towards you and push you to the mysterious hole in the ground where the asphalt meets the grass. Helpless, you are pulled into the crowd barreling towards the hole.
Upon first glance, the inside of the hole seems welcoming. There’s a lot more of your kin inside. Maybe it’s a sanctuary, you think.
You are wrong.
There are no fish swimming in this pool. Instead, you’re surrounded by vile fecal matter and other discarded societal excrements. You’d cry, but it’d only add to the pool’s misery.
Rain has no solace in strip malls.
Before I moved here, I frequented a little enclave within walking distance of my old house. Nestled in a gray town lay a strip of green where the local birds, squirrels, owls, and toads gather to catch their breath.
Although I was likely an unwelcome guest in the enclave, I enjoyed going there to listen to the toads’ croaking reminding me that I’m not crazy and that human garble really is nonsense.
When rain falls here, it doesn’t fall in a disorienting panic. It lands with grace, the leaves catching the little pearls of water, then gently placing them on the ground below. The grass, the flowers, and the dirt welcome their pearl friends, giving them a home in their stems and in their roots.
And the animals need no raincoats. The toads gather on the bank of the creek passing through, sitting stoically as they let the water roll off their backs and into the flowing stream. The birds seek the cover of a tree limb, sheltered from, but not bothered by, the downpour. They watch it revitalize their home without worrying about their driving plans.
Even thunder, which rings an ominous echo in the strip mall, wraps the enclave in a tight embrace, promising the final ingredient in nature’s recipe.
The mildew smell the rain leaves behind cleanses my senses. The air relaxes as the trees, the ground, the plants, and the animals enjoy a collective meditation.
The forest is awake.
As I watch the rain fall from the window of my strip mall apartment, I wonder if it yearns for an embrace no parking lot can give. I wonder if it wants to give more. I wonder if it will try again, and how much more it will try until it grows tired of us.
I fear it already has.
