The Rain Beckons

The slow drizzle of rain against the glass stirs her from deep within the realm of rest and guides her slowly to the foggy haze between sleep and awake. Here is where her mind sets into motion the beautiful kaleidoscope of thoughts and wishes buried beneath questions unasked and observations unsaid. The trickle of rain sets the soundtrack for a full production of tragedy, romance and comedy mixed with the absurd. A flash of lightning chases the nightmares lurking, back to whence they came. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi…” The crack of thunder and subsequent rolling bass rocks the bedroom, now darker than before. 

She opens one groggy eye only to be blinded with a second flash. “One Mississippi, two Miss…” The apartment shakes from the fury of the approaching storm. Slowly she opens her eye back up while inadvertently clamping it’s sister tighter still. A lone pupil adjusts slowly to the dark room and darker night beyond the window. The intensity of the last lightning strike had all but turned the street lamps black, wreaking havoc on the daylight sensors governing their utility.

Her left eyelid relaxes, realizing it’s safe to bring depth to the scene before her. The moonlight dances across her face, distorted through the descending drops of rain racing down the outside of her bay window. Sitting up in her bed, she lets her feelings of excitement curl her lips to a sly smile. The rain has always enchanted her, tonight would be no exception. She places her hands on either side of her thighs and shifts the weight of her body upward then backward, swinging her butt toward the wall behind her like an eight year old working a pretend pommel horse. Resting her back against the wall, she squeals with excitement when the room comes alive with light from another discharge of electricity. She claps her hands to her cheeks in mock astonishment as she anticipates the booming tortoise chasing the rabbit into the room. “One Mississippi…”

The window rattles and the ceiling creaks under the wave of thunder. She’s already up and running across the room toward her boots before the rumble passes. She forces out all common sense as she shoves her feet into the boots, past the threshold of intelligence. Out the door she runs, the rain beckons.

Twirling in the moonlight, she closes her eyes and lifts her face skyward. The raindrops paint a picture across her face as every muscle strains with the tension of a grin welcoming the onslaught from above. She turns her palms upright and feels the static charge building beneath her.

The rain drops falter… slowing… The sound of life all around her inverts to a muted phone call. The world closes in on itself as if someone screwed the lid on too tight without poking holes first. The hair on her necks starts to curl and pull away as if running from the coming storm. The rain on the pavement beneath her feet echoes in her head, competing with the surge of blood rushing through her veins.

Something is wrong.

She opens her eyes in time to be engulfed by white light. The cleansing purity burns spots into her vision. The spots grow larger and more intense until they engulf the white and the world bleeds to a silent black calm.

“Welcome home, Pixie.” A whisper tickles her left ear.

“Where am I?” she asks. A calm washes over her in the dark.

“Where do you want to be?” Her right ear quivers as the voice slides over her skin.

“I don’t know.” She tries to turn her face to see who is speaking but the thought and movement are fleeting. She has no boundaries, no center, no reference from which to turn.

“I’ve been watching you. You’re an amazing creature, Pixie.”

“I’m confused. Who are you and where am I?” she pleads once again.

“I am your everything.” The velvet voice picks her up and twirls her around slowly, letting the sensation of flight give birth to butterflies in her core. “We are in recesses of your mind. It’s truly lovely here, isn’t it?” The butterflies soar up and away, taking her stomach with them. She is falling, yet, without the reference of from what or to where, she remains decidedly calm. She settles into the moment and accepts the feeling as gospel

“Am I dead? Did I die?” Fear pulls at her, twisting the calm to euphoria.

“Tsk tsk… do you feel dead… or do you feel alive?” the voice asks with excitement.

“I feel,” she thinks for a moment, “I feel… alive!”

The sensation of falling and the startled twitch that follows grounds her flat against the mattress. Coughing, she tries to fill her empty lungs. She rubs her eyes in an effort to establish herself among the living. The moonlight dances across her face, distorted through the descending drops of rain racing down the outside of her bay window. Sitting up in her bed, she lets her feelings of excitement curl her lips to a sly smile. The rain has always enchanted her, tonight would be no exception. She scrambles out of the bed and skips to the window. She looks at the street lamp below and imagines herself twirling beneath it, dancing in the star light.

The rain beckons.