We’ve been slowly making our way towards the building, hiding under anything we can find; trees, ledges, stairways, all the while holding up our bright orange plastic bags over our heads. They’re already wet, but my head seems to be a little drier than the rest of me. I don’t want to break the spell just in case it’s actually doing something.
It isn’t raining hard, but it’s the kind of rain that soaks you to the skin before you realise it. I usually call this kind of rain drizzle. Some people call it spitting, but spitting is when a little bit of hard rain falls, usually before it starts raining proper. Spitting is when the clouds spit down on you. Drizzling is not.
It’s been falling on and off all day, like a faulty shower that you can’t get to turn on. In films, it starts raining very hard all at once. I’ve never seen that happen except on a television screen. I haven’t ever really been caught in rain like that.
We’re half-running now, taking long loping strides across the gravel. You take a short cut across the grass, which we’re not supposed to do, but everyone does it anyway. You can see the line where the grass has worn away slightly.
I guess the grass must be slippy, because you slip and tumble to the ground. I run a bit faster in order to catch up with you but try to fall over like you just did. By the time I’ve reached you, you’ve picked yourself up from the ground (I’m not a fast runner). There’s a big mud patch on your trousers where you fell down.
“Elegant,” I tell you.
“I know,” you reply, half-smiling exactly like we were half-running, a long thin smile, “it hurt, though.”
We’re pretty much completely soaked now. I can’t even be bothered to hold up my plastic bag and it joins yours on the grass. I start walking slowly to the gravel because I don’t want to slip, but you don’t follow me.
You shrug and glance at your wrist. “We’ve still got another fifteen minutes, and we’re already soaked. May as well enjoy it.”
You’ve already had that moment, the one where you think ‘stuff it’ and just can’t be bothered to even try and keep yourself a little it dry. I haven’t. I look down at myself. I can’t see any piece of clothing that hasn’t been bathed the rain. My jeans are sticking horribly to my legs, and I know they won’t dry until tomorrow unless I put them on the radiator as soon as I get home.
Damn it. I run out towards you and slip exactly the same way you did. The rain blurs my vision and falls onto my cheeks. It’s cold but I open my mouth to try and catch some. I think you’re doing the same.
We’re running all over the grass, now, slipping and tripping and spinning around and around. I don’t even care a tiny bit. I know I’ll be cold and wet later, but I try to push the thought out of my head.
I know we’ll regret it later, but that’s not what I think about as we turn our faces to the angry sky. In truth, I don’t really think about anything.
This turned out to be a whole lot longer than I intended it to be. I was initially going to write a poem or just a little post, but yeah. I was feeling the creative juices. And it’s raining outside.
It’s no wonderful piece of writing, but if you’ve ever been dancing in the rain then I hope you thought it captured at least a little bit of that feeling. 🙂 Is it raining where you are?