The water went from the sky to the ground—rain. It went from the ground to my shoes—me walking through the grass. Once I take off my shoes, the water will be on my hands until I brush it off on the leg of my pants. I went from my house to the basketball court a minute's walk away to toss the ball through the hoop over and over. The sky is still dark gray from the storm, but the sun is shining now, and the white backboard is like the moon, reflecting the glow back at me. I went from my house to the court and back, and that’s basically as far as I’ve gone anywhere the first week of summer. I’d like to go farther so I’m planning a trip.
My friend is on a trip of his own right now with his family. Last week he was doing laundry, pulling clothes out of the dryer and making a stack to take with him. We have lived together for four years and he was preparing to leave and also to graduate. Seeing sand dripping down through the hourglass, I felt an urge to put together some words that would make him understand how much he’s meant to me all this time. I walked into his room as I’ve done many times before. I picked up his guitar that I don’t know how to play. I just needed something in my hands. And I told him I’m thankful for the time I’ve lived with him and that I’m proud of him. I wanted to tell him I love him, and I did, but he beat me to the punch.
Now he’s in West Virginia and in a week he’ll be back from vacation, then off again, in Toronto on tour with his band for the first time. But he was in our house with me last week. Having said my piece, I put down the guitar and picked up my laptop. I could feel a wave of tears building in my eyes. I wanted to be outside writing in the summer breeze as I let them out onto my face. In his room, I told him I was going to be sad soon. Soon meant “when you leave,” but sometimes it also means “in 20 seconds.”
I had just opened the door, laptop in hand, when he followed me into the common space. He was making conversation so I kept holding back the tears for a little while longer. But then he left and I knew I would cry soon, and you know as well as I do that that might have meant “in 20 seconds.”
Then I was outside. The app on my phone had predicted rain for a week straight and it kept on not raining. But there were clouds above me obscuring the last bit of daylight and the wind was cool. It was going to rain soon. After my roommate left, I started writing and before too long I cried. On my way to another friend's house, I saw dark spots on the pavement. It rained. It’s been raining on and off ever since.
That was Tuesday, May 9, a week before my 22nd birthday and also the second day of finals week. On Saturday I went to a graduation party. I drank mimosas, and after they left my system I drove home. It was the day before Mother’s Day. I went home to spend the holiday with my family. I drove in the rain. I saw a black bird sitting on top of a yellow traffic sign and stared at it as I passed by. I knew if I were to pull over to take a picture, it would fly away before I got out of the car. At home I forgot about the bird and my mom helped me get a stain out of my white shirt. There was salsa on the cuff from an embarrassingly large number of days ago. The shower at home has a window, and through it I saw the last bits of rain hit the ground. And I saw something pretty from the window, but by the time I dried off and put my clothes on and came downstairs, it was gone. Something else I couldn’t take a picture of.
On Mother’s Day we stopped by my grandparents’ house. My parents go there every Sunday, but it was the first time I had been in over a month. My Opa is 80 something and he confesses he is becoming forgetful in his age, so he stopped driving. My Oma is German and she has lived in Oklahoma for 50 years, but there is still a faint accent affecting her midwestern vocabulary. We brought her a pot of geraniums for Mother’s Day. I took the flowers to the back porch for her, and walking through the garage I saw car parts, a Toyota engine, a poster for an old raceway. My Opa has always loved cars.
On Tuesday, May 16, my 22nd birthday, I was back at my house. I didn’t see another person until almost 4 p.m. I didn’t know if that should make me sad. I think I have always leaned more toward melancholy, but this time I welcomed the hours alone. I slept late and watched a movie and went to the basketball court before my family came to see me for dinner. When they left they gave me quick hugs. They think I’m not touchy and they’re right. Touch doesn’t mean a great deal to me, but sometimes I forget that it’s not me against the world, and an arm around my shoulder or someone’s hand slapping mine fails to remind me.
Tomorrow is May 20, my little sister’s 18th birthday. She’ll graduate from high school on the 24th and in August she’ll move to Arkansas for college. There is no one whose hands can hold anything for long. My Oma’s accent is almost gone. My Opa gave up the feeling of the steering wheel in his hands. Some of my friends are moving away, and in the blink of an eye I will be too. In a few months my parents will have no children left at home. The rain will fall out of the clouds, my shoes will pluck the drops from the grass, and I’ll shake the water off when I get home.
- May 19, 2023