The Day the Rain Won

     The sky didn’t look rainy. It was hot and sunny with just a few clouds. But none looked threatening. Looking back, I know that those conniving clouds were wearing a disguise, and under that façade they wore the grin of a mischievous student waiting for his teacher to sit on a discreetly placed whoopie cushion.

My girlfriend, Jocelyn, was at her brother’s baseball game, and I wanted to surprise her. So that’s what I set out to do. At 15, I had only one means of conveyance: my silver bicycle. I began my ride to the baseball field that was about 10 minutes away. As I pedaled the sky remained a cool blue, still with just a few looming clouds.

I passed my elementary school, then the Steak ’n Shake, crossed the bridge, and was just a block from the baseball diamond. But my eagerness to surprise Jocelyn must have dulled my awareness of the outside world, and I didn’t realize that the sky had turned death-black and was ready to put a crushing end to my love crusade. With a cruel, taunting boom of thunder, the sky laughed as a bully would at his cowering victim, and released an unholy torrent of rain. I hadn’t planned for rain.

The storm ended the baseball game. In the downpour I searched for Jocelyn’s mother’s SUV while I soaked up the rain like a sponge - a very unwilling sponge. My eyes scanned the parking lot of spectators and players, all frantically fleeing as if the rain might melt their sweet beings. I was not able to find my love or the car. Sopping wet, defeated, and slightly agitated, I mounted my aluminum steed and began the horrendous trip home.

I pedaled with furious vigor. As I rode I could imagine each little drop, plummeting through the air with a tiny smirk across its non-existent face, with one target in mind. The back tire of my bike slung more water onto my back. With the wind rushing past me, I began to feel a chill. I felt most unpleasant by this point, and still was not close to home.

The rain decided to lighten up a bit when I was less than a block away, extremely cold and severely frustrated. Shivering, I stepped into my house and changed my clothes. I even used my mom’s blow-dryer to warm up a bit. Once I had recovered (physically at least) I dialed the all-too-familiar seven digits to reach Jocelyn. Her voice was welcoming. I was convinced she would appreciate my story.

Wrong.

Jocelyn hadn’t witnessed just how absolutely drenched I was. She hadn’t seen me shake my hair out of my face like a wet Golden Retriever trying to see as I rode home. And she wasn’t expecting me to come see her. So she had little appreciation for the absolute misery I had endured for her.

So there I sat on the floor of my room, shivering in my pajama pants and mismatched shirt, with a blow-dryer in hand. My hair was still wet, and my morale was low. I, Icarus, had flown too close to the sun. I took a shot at spontaneity, at being romantic, but my success was against the will of the gods. That day the rain won, but I want a rematch.