Storms and Anxiety

A bead of water collided with a page of the book that Ben was reading, exploding with a pip and shattering outward in a tiny circle. It was followed by one, two, three … several more drops which was beginning to dampen both pages rather quickly.

“Ah frick!” Ben griped, swatting away as many droplets as he could before slamming the book shut and wedging it up into his armpit to shield it from further damage.

Ben rolled his eyes and sighed as he began thinking about all of the books on his shelves back home. Some with warped, wavy covers and corners that flared out and upward like a bird’s outstretched wing. Most of those same books also had dark, crusty circles of discoloration that radiated from the edges of the pages back towards the spine like some kind of cruel sonar.

He grumbled. It infuriated him to no end knowing that when it came to his books, whenever there was water around, his luck became a festering pile of crap. Whether it was spilling a drink, losing his grip in the bath or simply getting caught in the rain, something always seemed to happen to ruin them.

In what seemed like an instant, those few sparse drops of moisture rapidly began to upgrade in intensity. A light sprinkling rain moved into a steady rain which moved into a pounding, soaking rain and finally - much to Ben’s amusement sitting out in the grass- to a jostling, sidewinding rain. Such a quick progression seemed crazy to Ben because, even though he had been deeply immersed in his book, the sun had been out not more than five or ten minutes ago. It hadn’t even occurred to him that what few clouds had been present in the sky that morning had so quickly summoned a group of their friends to produce a scolding, gray overcast sky

At this point, the rain was coming down at a biting angle, smacking him across the face, and it was accompanied by a pal of a blustery wind. Ben could almost detect a hint of malice from the storm as it thrashed the branches of the tree directly above him. The combined sound of the leaves violently rustling about as well as the slapping of the rain against the grass and the sidewalk created a deafening roar across the park. If that wasn’t bad enough, when it wasn’t abusing the vegetation around him, the rain and wind seemed to delight in spattering an endless supply of water all across his body, dampening his T-shirt and jeans enough that they now clung to him like a second layer of skin.

Ordinarily Ben loved riding his bike out to the park to read a book while sitting beneath his favorite tree. Nothing compared to the feel of a fresh breeze and the sounds of nature all around him as he read. This time around it seemed like the park was conspiring against him, becoming a hospitable host to this capriciously vindictive storm. To make matters worse, not far away, sharp white lines of light cracked across the sky followed by the distant irritable rumblings of thunder. It was at that moment that Ben realized the storm would likely only get worse before it got any better. He would need to find shelter immediately before the storm decided to test his conductivity to electricity. 

There was really only one place for him to go. Ben hopped up onto his feet and started to run, though plodding along was probably a little more accurate, as fast as his legs would carry him. This proved to be far more labor intensive than he expected. Each footstep squelched into the grass which had turned into a series of puddles, practically a pond with little green tips poking out of the surface of the water. As he went, his legs thrust huge splashes of water in front of him. What could a little more water hurt at this point, right!

Ben sloshed his way across the lawn, finally coming to the end of the grass and stepped out onto the sidewalk. As his first foot planted onto the concrete, there was a sensation of sliding and his body went rigid expecting to topple over and face plant with the ground. Fortunately his shoe eventually caught and he remained standing, though he had developed a new appreciation for running on slick surfaces. 

The sidewalk twisted down a brief hill before connecting with the main walking trail that he’d used earlier that morning to get to the park. It wouldn’t be long before he reached where he was going. The trail went for several miles in both directions, running parallel with a low flowing creek. Though with all the sudden onset of rain, the crest of the water had risen significantly higher against the bank. There was, however, very little risk of flooding since the creek flowed at the base of two gently slanting grass hills. 

Any other day Ben would have seen ducks casually swimming across the surface of the creek or turning tail to the sky and diving beak first into the water hunting for fish and bugs. Today, Ben could only see the vibrations of hundreds of drops of water hammering against the surface of the creek. Had he not been in the midst of it all, Ben would have been eager to sit by and watch this interaction of the rain with the creek.

As opposed to the park, where the trees had helped to impede some of the fury of the storm, Ben was now out in the open, fully exposed to the quibbling elements, as he made his way along the trail. Rain was basically pouring down in thick sheets all around him making it difficult to see anything further than fifteen, maybe twenty feet away from him. Fortunately, Ben had taken this path so frequently in the past couple of years that he knew, long before he saw, that the overpass was approaching.

Emerging from the rain, as if out of nowhere, a giant concrete arch popped into view. Beneath the arch, dim, yellow, incandescent light illuminated, almost miraculously, a wondrous, rainless void. It was a sight to behold for Ben’s waterlogged eyes. As he came upon it, the path started to descend along a gentle slope towards a trough that sank beneath the level of the concrete foundation of the overpass. Water churned down the slant of this walk path before sliding down the edge of the cement into the grass on its’ final descent into the creek. 

Ben started to slow down, finally coming to a complete stop only after he had reached complete cover, leaving the brunt of the rain and wind behind him. The wind still managed to coax the occasional spritz of water past the concrete walls, but compared to the melee that was raging mere feet away, it was nothing. 

Despite his relief at having finally escaped the storm, a feeling of unease was settling over him. Ben didn’t mind riding through - that is quickly riding though - the underpasses along the trail, but lingering beneath them tended to rile up his anxiety. Homeless people frequented the underpasses, especially in the mornings and at night and while he had neither encountered one or even seen one present while he was passing through, the possibility of being attacked or mugged was a real concern for him.

He also worried about the kinds of wild animals that might choose to take shelter under the bridge. With all of the roiling sounds and vibrations of the traffic up above the overpass, he had little worries about bats, though he was still mindful to look out for them as he passed through. It was more so mountain lions, coyotes, or wild, angry dogs that made him nervous. The latter two he was more or less certain he could outrun on a bike, but a mountain lion, who knew. And somehow, even worse than any of those four, Ben worried about encountering a family of ill tempered, hissy little geese under the bridge. Ben loved animals and was quite sure that he would never intentionally hurt them if he could help it. But he was quite certain, if it came to it, he’d punch a goose. Straight up.

Ben’s shaggy blonde hair was completely drenched and after being pummeled by the rains outside now lay strewn across his face dripping down his eyes and cheeks. He raised his free arm - the one that wasn’t holding his book in place - and smeared his hair backwards, smoothing it down along his scalp to face the other direction. Though he didn’t have a mirror, somehow he had a feeling his current hairdo resembled one of the greasy combed over styles from the fifties. He felt like such a greaser at that moment.

With his vision no longer impeded, from the corner of his eye, Ben caught a brief glimpse of movement coming from down below the path somewhere in the grass. Ben whipped his head in the direction he thought he’d seen the movement. The last think he wanted right now was to be trapped under a bridge, during a fierce bastard of a storm, with some kind of wild animal. As far as he could tell there was nothing out there. All he could see was the dim yellow and black shadows that crept between the grass that lead down to the creek. 

He was about to dismiss it as perhaps a few drips of water in the corner of his vision when from the edge of the bank, a poofy soft orange - ochre maybe? - tail jerked up above and then down below again the edge of the grass. Ben surmised that there must be a ledge, carved out in the dirt below the edge of the grass. Something was laying down there waiting out the storm and possibly hiding from Ben as well. The tail popped into view three or four more times before finally sinking down below the grass, out of sight. 

There was an animal in here with him. This triggered Ben’s anxiety. Suddenly his adrenaline was pumping and his body had developed a slight quiver. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario. What if it felt threatened, jumped out, snarling and foaming at the mouth, and tried to bite him?

At the same time, Ben still wasn’t entirely sure what animal was down there. It could very easily turn out to be an altogether unthreatening animal like a… Ben didn’t have a good example at that moment. He was certain that it wasn’t a raccoon; the tail didn’t quite have that disheveled, brown and white prison strip motif. This sparked a curiosity in him, one that partially overpowered his anxiety and inhibitions - or possibly his better judgement - compelling him to sneak down the hill to see what it was down there. 

Behind him, the storm was still furiously churning on. It was reasonable to assume that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. However, he’d survived the storm once before. If need be, he could survive it once more, taking cover under one of the other overpasses if he had to. After a few more moments of consideration, Ben made a bold decision. He was going to quietly make his way down to the bank and sneak a peak at whatever animal was hiding along the bank.

Ben stretched out his foot, moving as slowly and mechanically as possible. With any luck, if he could be quiet enough, perhaps he could make his way down there without being spotted. But the moment his shoe touched the muddy grass beside the path a loud squelching sound burped out of his shoe. Ben sighed. If he was going to do this, he was going to have to remove his shoes. 

Kneeling down, Ben pulled free the laces of one shoe, then the other, then used his toes to pry each foot out of their soggy little prisons. With his feet liberated, Ben tried again. This time, stepping out into the grass, his foot still slurped down into the mud, but it was definitely - hopefully anyways - more muted than the sound of his tennis shoes. 

Starting up again, Ben took measured, careful breaths, as he made his way down the grass. Fortunately, he thought, he wouldn’t have to go completely down to the edge of the bank, only far enough to see past the edge. 

Ben was halfway down the hill. Squirming in the mud, his feet felt even slimier than they had when they were trapped in his soaked tennis shoes. He was roughly five or six feet away from the edge. A couple more feet and he’d be able lean over just enough to…

Suddenly a head popped up over the edge of the grass. A foxes head. It glared at him, or at least Ben assumed it was glaring at him. It wasn’t growling yet so maybe it was just scared. Nope, nope. Now it was growling at him. 

Ben raised his hands in up concession. 

“My bad. I was wrong. Clearly my mistake. I’ll, I’ll be going now.”

Ben started taking slow steps backward, keeping his eyes planted on the fox. The fox eventually stopped growling, but it never took its’ eyes off of Ben either. Somewhere halfway up the hill, something hard - a rock maybe - caught his toes as he was bringing his foot down and this time Ben lost his footing and came plummeting down to the grown.

The fox immediately yelped, and started prodding something down beneath the level of the grass, pushing it forward. Out from the cliff of the bank, three fox cubs came trotting up the edge of the bank. They kept moving, walking further and further away from Ben until they had walked out from under the concrete walls out into the open. 

Wait a second. It wasn’t raining heavy anymore. Ben had been so captivated in in solving this mystery that he’d failed to notice that the heavy rains had ceased and now there was only a light, easy drizzle.

Ben sat up and sighed with relief. It was time to go home. Suddenly he realized that his shoulder felt relaxed. During his tumble, he’d lost control of his arm and his book had gone tumbling out beneath him. Ben searched the grass finally finding his book. It was caked in mud and debris from when he’d fallen on it.

“Ah frick!” Ben muttered.