rainy dreams

It finally rained here. It has been so muggy and steamy. I prayed for rain. I don't pray. So that means a lot. Are muggy and steamy the same thing?

I love the rain. I love the thunder and the way my heart jumps when it gets so close. As if to threaten me, but never too much. A scary movie. Pushing me right to the edge. And then the end almost always happens to be a sunny cool day. And I'll walk around the block looking at houses freshly washed. Imagining myself on the other side of those bay windows. Smiling at my child as we pack to go to the park. My daughter's shoes would get muddy because the ground is still soaked. She won't care, but I will shake my head thinking about how I will clean those stains out of the carpet later. I'll wonder why I ever agreed to get white carpet. And I'll remember we both dreamed of white carpet. Because that's what we saw in the catalogues.

I'd sit and watch my daughter play. I might read the recent David Sedaris or The New Yorker. I'd smell the air. And in that breath I would taste water. I can't explain it well, but the air tastes dense. And only like water tastes going down after being thirsty for hours. I'd laugh at my daughter twirling in the sun. She'd have friends because her personality would be bubbly and pleasant. No one could help but love her.

Antwann would call saying he was on his way home from work. I'd invite him into the park. Minutes later he would be at the gate to the park. He'd still have his work clothes on. He's wearing a black pin striped suit. The jacket is tucked in his right hand. His smile is small as we catch eyes. He leans down, cuffing his pants up, and I point to him for our daughter. Her eyes bug out as she darts to him. He grabs her in his arms. He lovingly bites at her neck pretending to be the Cookie Monster. She throws her head back in glee. I sit watching and then I breath. And it tastes like home right after a hard Chicago rain.