Return to the Rain

Day 32: More than 1 mile, less than 2.
Day 33: 1 mile. X Train.
Day 34: 3.59 miles.
Day 35: 3.6 miles.
Day 36: 4.5 miles.

It's been a busy week so writing took a back seat to more important things.

On Sunday, after we returned from South Carolina, I headed out for a quick run to get my mile in for the day.  After sitting in the car for almost four hours it was nice to get out and move. We drove through some nasty downpours and I half expected to see a tornado in the distance on I-95 in eastern North Carolina.  Back at home it was just cloudy and the two-tone asphalt suggested the rain had come and gone.

As I jogged past the Food Lion and the McDonald's I felt good.  My legs were strong even after putting them through the mud the day before and the grey skies were keeping things cool.  When I made my turn to come home I saw the sky getting darker and the first hints of thunder rumbling in the distance. Small pinpricks of cooler water started to hit my arms, legs and face and I picked up the pace a bit.  I wasn't looking forward to a drenching and dodging lightning bolts wasn't the agility exercise I was looking for.  I could be home before the worst. 

It was the smell of the air, the rain on my bare skin, the color of the sky and the wind picking up that brought me back almost 25 years to a bicycle ride with my Dad.

I am not quite two years old. I'm buckled into the canary yellow molded plastic kiddie seat bolted onto the back of my Dad's bike.  Mom is pregnant with my little brother so she's at home.  It's just me, my Dad, the trees and the sky.  There's a slight breeze as we float through the neighborhood.  The bike's gears creak and grind a bit as we climb a hill headed out to the sleepy country roads that ring our neighborhood.  The air is cool and leaves rustle in the trees and along the sides of the road.  I fall asleep, lulled by the rhythm of the bike: side to side to side to side, slower now on the straights, quicker on the hills.

I wake up to darker skies and noises I am not used to.  Great rumbles, booms and searing cracks.  Lights flash and light up the sky as water falls onto my face.  My Dad's back, all I can see other than the sky, shows spot after spot turning into larger blobs and then his shirt is just darker.  His hair looks like it does at the pool or when he gets out of the shower.  My canary yellow seat smells different now that it's wet.  The nylon straps are cold with held water.  I am not scared.  I am not worried.  I take in every drop and every lightning bolt and every thunder clap in awe.  No tears, no crying, just wonder at the world that seems so angry.

I have no idea how far we are from home.  At some point we glide down the driveway and into the garage.  There's calm but hurried unbuckling and before I know it a wall of warmer air hits me as we walk in the door and straight into the bathroom downstairs.  Mom gets towels and they wrap me up after stripping my sopping wet clothes off.  I am not afraid, I am not scared, I would just like to be dry and warm please.  Mom and Dad follow the towels with a hairdryer on the low setting.  The bathroom is tiny and it has a door that slides in and out of the wall.  The air is warm and thick with evaporating rain but we are there together and I am warm and dry.  The drone of the hairdryer continues on and Mom and Dad's voices are hushed and I fall asleep in the towels, in their arms.

Looking back at this, my earliest memory, I am hard pressed to think of another time when I felt so safe.

Ryan