86 Days Ago

For the 84^th consecutive day I walked into the empty field at the edge of town. People had long since started noticing me passing by at various times – sometimes early in the morning, sometimes not until after the sunset. No one found it in themselves to ask what I was doing, and I didn’t bother providing an explanation. Maybe because, ultimately, I didn’t even have an explanation. All I knew was I wanted to be there when it happened. Whenever that was.

           I kicked the toe of my shoe into the ground and the dry, cracked earth puffed up a swirl of dust. I stared intently until it dissolved into nothing. If it held all the answers to life’s biggest questions, it was keeping them a secret. The grass rippled in a light afternoon breeze, but the air remained hot and constricting. Sweat slipped down my back as I made way to my usual spot: about a hundred yards away from where a fence separates the field from civilization.

           A daze settled over me while I walked; I didn’t need to look where I was going. It was etched in my spirit by a delicate but stubborn hand that would never let me forget. Too many big occurrences had their home in that field; too many small, less significant ones were stored there as well. It was a monument, that field, but only to me. The rest of town would have brought in developers years before if they were allowed to do so. Thank god for political red tape and selfish agendas.

           The patch of grass where I’d sat for 83 days so far was flattened in a permanent manner. I eased myself onto the ground and lied on my back. A charcoal gray sky met my eyes. Hopeful, promising.

           My mom and I used to sprint through the field in the middle of rainstorms – that’s the memory my mind settled on. When the weather person predicted a particularly brutal wave, mom would drive us to the place where town ends and nature begins. She and I would wade through the grass until we reached our spot; then we sat in silence until the storm let loose. When it did, we would race, skip, careen around until we felt we would be drenched for the rest of our lives. Then we pressed ourselves into the grass, closed our eyes, and let the rain pour down on us some more. If it was thundering, mom would encourage me to let out the biggest, loudest scream I could muster. I learned the word “cathartic” during one of those instances.

           “It’s when you get out all of those feelings you’re afraid to admit you have,” my mom explained to me when I finally inquired about the definition. She didn’t say anything else, just let me mull over the response.

           I still wasn’t sure how she came to know running through an empty field while rain fell in torrents would feel liberating, but there was a long list of things about my mother I learned not to question.

           Lying in the field alone, I fought the urge to reach out for a hand I would never hold again. Some instincts couldn’t be squelched no matter how much effort a person puts in. The sky grew darker with every passing minute, which I felt was fitting, but I tried not to think about it. I looked at my watch and vowed to stay for at least two hours. That was a doable wait time.

           Waiting: an act that requires patience, and patience is a virtue I never possessed. But this was something I could wait for. This was something I needed to wait for. So, I searched the depths of my person for an ounce of patience.

           I closed my eyes as another memory crept into my mind. My first kiss. No, I corrected myself, not first. Just the first one to make me want to kiss the same person every day for the rest of my life.

She would later tell me she waited for the rain to kiss me. It didn’t necessarily make sense, she said, she just knew she’d have the courage to kiss me after the rain started. As if it would provide her with the exact formula to change another person’s life.

She had to push her long blonde hair out of the way before making the first move as she sat cross-legged beside me. Her hands found my face and drifted across my jawline. I hadn’t cared if I was in too deep with this girl or if it would all end in heartache; I knew what she was doing and I knew I wanted it more than anything. When our lips touched and a fire sparked somewhere in my body, spreading to every fiber, all images of the future I conjured up included the girl who gave me my first true kiss.

The rain tasted sweet on her skin and I understood what she meant about it fortifying her nerves. There was something oddly poetic about the most wonderful moment of my life taking place in a barren field on a stormy evening.

It felt like everything had fallen into place with that one kiss in that one rainfall. I should’ve done whatever I could to stay in that moment forever. I should have made mental notes about the exact situation: where I was sitting, where she was, what color the clouds were, what time of day it was, the sweet smell of her perfume. These were the things that had started slipping away some time ago. They had seemed unimportant but proved to be elements I would hold onto for dear life because I wasn’t willing to let them go completely.

A clap of thunder boomed throughout the sky, and my eyes shot open. I actively ignored the fact I was alone in an empty field to focus solely on my breathing.

“Wait,” I murmured to myself with every exhale. “Wait.”

86 days ago a girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes brighter than a summer day got into her car but didn’t make it home.

85 days ago the rain fell for one last time before it retreated into the sky and decided it needed a break, as though it sympathized with the disposition of my world.

84 days ago I walked into the field at the edge of town for the first time in years because it was the only place I could think to go; life changing events happened there, maybe it could help me make sense of the most recent ones.

Another roll of thunder. Another exhale. I stood up with clenched fists and a stare that was transfixed on the sky.

“Wait.”

Then I felt it. A single rain drop. And then another. The sky tore open and released all its pent-up rain from almost the past three months. I let it wash over me with a sigh I would venture to categorize as content. A burst of energy bolted through me, prompting me to start running. I ran without aim, without purpose. The ground eventually became slick enough that I stopped, and in turn I felt a surge of thoughts coming to a boil within my bones. I wasn’t yet ready to voice them, though, so I settled for another option. 

Because it was thundering, I screamed at the top of my lungs, letting go of every emotion I was afraid of. I screamed until my throat scratched and until my lungs couldn’t take anymore. I turned my head back up to the sky, embraced the storm, and lifted the corners of my lips up in a small smile.

I wasn’t back to where I wanted to be. Not yet, anyway. But this was an invigorating storm – one that lessened the pain of the hole in my heart. It was still there, probably would be for the rest of my life, but that storm was the one that made me realize I didn’t mind walking around with it. After all, there was something freeing about waiting for the rain.