Friday, November 02, 2012

The Rain


The movie was over. The proverbial "film star" had saved the day with the last shot of his bullet. The credits began to rain down, not in drip drops as rain would from clouds, rather like the slide of a water drop upon the smooth face of glass.

I paused for a moment and then got up to line up with the rest of the movie watchers who now made small chatter about the funny bits of the movie, the sad ones and all you would expect of a tête-à-tête after a movie. It was eleven a.m. One needed to go home.

Down the steps, the escalator and as I approached the mall's exit, a cold chill, a soft breeze, a light drizzle. 'How wonderful!' I thought. Just the other day I was watching Singing in the Rain. Never mind I had not just been kissed, I had not just said goodnight to the woman of my dreams; no, I had just been dreaming about the night sky and if there were stars tonight, if perhaps I could use it as an excuse to send her a text.

There were no stars tonight. From where I was, all I could see were street lights, and car lights. No stars tonight. The little invisible fireflies were in my belly. That's why I had that smile on my face. And now this beautiful late night rain.

I promptly removed my umbrella and with ease and adoration entered the delightful light shower. I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face as my feet landed into the little puddles of water scattered all over the pavement. How I would have laughed if a moon had I seen! For a moment home escaped my thoughts, and I dissolved in the moment.

Yet, in the midst of the joy, childhood escape, trickled in a heaviness. Not of holding the umbrella for long, not for the distance from home, not from the closeness of the labour of the day but rather the presence of double sorrow, and half a joy. All the while I did think of she who I do not know, could not tell whether she thought of me.

I wanted to text her straight away but feared I should awake her from her endearing sleep. After all I asked myself, on this eleven a.m, few minutes from the middle hour, could she tally awake for a droplet of gilded lullaby from me?

Unsure; wishing her here, to dance with in the rain, but only moving with thoughts and un-drawn paintings of perfect night with soft falling rain, I turned to the pages once again, inking them with these very words thinking perhaps one day, tis a story she reads and will indeed reply "That very night, I wanted to dance in the rain with you".


Why am I smiling
And why do I sing?
Why does September 
Seem sunny as spring?
Why do I get up
Each morning and start?
Happy and head up 
With joy in my heart
Why is each new task
A trifle to do?
Because I am living
A life full of you.
Gene Kelly (Singin in the rain)



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