In the Rain

Today's post is in response to this prompt from The Red Dress Club:

Water gives life. It also takes it away.

Write a short piece - fiction or non-fiction - inspired by one or both of these statements.

In the Rain

Splashing, I was splashing, while the desert opened itself to the cover of rain. What a surprise! The soaking, the downpour, water in every crevice where there was none moments before.

I was out of that house. Out of that house that contained us, shielded us from the sun. A house that kept us in spaces too close. Too close to ignore what we did not want to see.

I was a kid again and the backyard was my bathtub.

Monsoons in the desert are a special kind of storm. Once a year. Water, water, pouring down, flooding the streets that have no plan for this much water. Warm, thick air that feels like relief, so different from almost every other day of the year – in a desert.

I laid down in inches of water, completely free and undone, soaking my hair, taking it all in. Palm and yucca reached toward the sky, not even needing the nurturing it was given.

No one knew I could be so free. I kept myself in a tight bud, all the time, to protect myself from judgment. In my own backyard, all alone, in the rain there was no caution for cleanliness or perfection.

Rain was a welcome respite from the harsh light. A break from the search for comfort under an unforgiving sun.

That house, that house, it stood there and held all of our insides. That damn house. Waiting for me to come back. Waiting for me to return to a tight bud and close the door on freedom and truth.

I would stay in the rain until I was wrinkled and shaking. I would stay in the rain, running and doing cartwheels and rolling on the grass. No one really cared. I didn’t care. For a moment. I didn’t care, and I was free. In the rain.



“And then the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was greater than the risk it took to blossom.” Anais Nin