Narrative of a Pluviophile

Image of a blue-white lightning bolt streaking downward
from the sky.

8/18/19 - 5:45pm
I awoke mere moments before the flash and the somber silence between that divine light and the thunder's mighty roar. The grin that spread across my face had edges sharp enough to cut though steel and could quite possibly rival that of Lewis Caroll's infamous Chesire in both mischief and lunacy. Quick was the word and sharp was the action as I sprang to my feet from my bed. I did not bother to turn on the lights in the room. I seldom ever do. Being photosensitive, one learns to function with little or no light available. Oftentimes, my sight doesn't serve me as well as my other senses do so I've learned to trust them and not depend on the one I use the most. However, given that I was searching for a pair of black socks and matching black sneakers, not turning on the lights was a bit foolish. The thunderclouds flared and hurled another luminescent spear across the sky, illuminating the room, helping me find my footwear easily just then, as if agreeing with my folly.

Haste was what the nimbus clouds commanded of me; haste was the spell I invoked. I threw on a shirt of unknown color from one of my drawers, grabbed my keys, cigarettes and the beer I had been saving for a lazy Sunday and crossed the threshold of the apartment door. FLASH! *smile* THUNDER! "Hurry, Mannix," is all my ears heard. Double time down the corridor and to the staircase. Were it merely a gaping hole in the ground, I would have traversed and descended that space with similar ease as a child on a slide at a playground. I reached the glass door entrance of my apartment and beheld a wondrous new world outside that vestibule. Water poured down on every surface it could find. Grape sized globules splintered off of the rooftops of the cars parked on the street. Gutters that channeled small streams of rainwater to storm drains were now raging river rapids flowing left to right, west to east, downhill and yearning to find the river that leads back to the ocean.

I stepped outside and under the faded green awning atop the entrance and faced the northern sky. As if on cue, the heavens greeted me with one of the loudest booms I've ever heard come from a storm. I bowed my head in respect and reverence and proceeded to enjoy the show. Sparks flew across the sky hither and yon. Wind gusts sprayed cool mist upon my face as if I were on a sailing vessel on the open sea in search of my white whale. The awning, whose sole purpose was to provide cover from inclement weather was failing miserably at it's job. The rain was exposing it's weaknesses and small drops of water landed on my face through the small holes in the tarp.

So keen were all my senses attuned to the squall that, up until that moment, I hadn't noticed that my socks were damp nor that my cheeks were a bit sore and I realized that I had not stopped smiling the entire time since I woke. I removed my socks and shoes and walked back out into the rain barefoot. In that moment, I understood the true definition of the word "bliss" and why there is a need for that word to be defined. It's a catch all for the swarm of emotions running through you. And in that moment, as the sky raged and the water splashed across my face, I looked up at the sky with a cigarette in my mouth, somehow still lit despite the deluge, can of beer in my hand and I knew that God loved me. More importantly, I knew just how weird I must have looked to my neighbors and any passerby that saw me just standing there with arms wide open as if trying to embrace the storm itself and I realized just how much I love being me.