Rain

It begins as a painful, faraway wail. It builds, picking up in speed, tightening, creeps near. It moans and moans. The dull, slow but urgent scream is now flowing past me, around me, through me.

It sounds like an air raid siren. It can’t be.

I am awake in an instant. Heart thumping, my breath shallow and sharp, I struggle to shake off the cobwebs of sleep – however uneasy it has been. I squint, blinking my eyes at my watch. It’s five in the morning. I’ve been asleep for less than two hours.

A rush of cool air. The wailing subsides. My mind, mired in sleep, slowed by two liters of African lager, has mistaken the wind for the herald of doom.

The wind is restless. It dances and glides and roars and whispers through gusts and lulls smashing against the side of the house, rattling the window frame, fraying my nerves.

My window is open. The first rivulets of morning light are bleeding in through it, spreading slowly across the mess of sheets, sweeping into valleys and cresting ridges. My head is thick, slow. My mouth is dry, tastes rancid.

The last effects of ibuprofen are wearing off. My ears report a slight ringing. From my leg rises a cold, throbbing numbness.

It’s raining. It’s coming down in sheets so thick I’m looking at the world through frosted glass. Beyond, the trees bow their heads in reverence to the rain.

Rain, rain, rain. For days, the skies have wept. Line after line of thunderstorms have torn through the city. They come in waves. They are relentless. When I see the sun, there is no joy for I know that soon, the rain will come again.

The sound of rain falling is a rough hiss – like thousands upon thousands of voices speaking all at once. However, like in a crowded room, a hotel lobby, a wedding reception, I can pick out words, phrases, entire conversations. It is possible to hear each raindrop slap the pavement, caress the grass. The sound is the same. A gasp. A gasp of relief or sadness, I’m not sure which.

And then it is gone.

Now, the sound of tearing linen crackles in my ears. A gunshot. Now, two. A flash lights up the morning gloom – turning crimson to icy cobalt blue. Lightening.

And now, an ugly, dark rumble grows menacingly, drowning out the chatter of the rain. Where there is lightening, there is thunder. They are perfect mates yet so frightening. I close my eyes and the world explodes and all I hear is white, hot rage.

When I open my eyes again, the clouds, flat and grey, roll on and on. Far above them, I know the sky is blue and the sun shines its rays across the billowing masses of clouds the color of freshly fallen snow. The air is thin and dry and pleasantly cool. There is no scream of lightening, no roar of thunder, nor contemptuous hiss of rain.

And although the world above is vast and empty, I know I won’t be alone.