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| A birdhouse in the city rain |
I awoke this morning to a clap of thunder right as my alarm clock was going off at 6:45 AM. G was walking naked through the room, looking for clothes. It seemed as if it were much earlier. The light in the room was all off. I did my morning ritual of Diet Coke and a cigarette , then a shower – all the time worrying that the lightning would come in through the pipes and electrocute me. I wondered what that would feel like. Would my heart stop? If it didn’t start back, who would call the paramedics? I survived only to field a call from an insurance adjuster who needed to take a picture of my car for a claim I recently made.
The usual 10 minute drive to work took 30 as Dekalb Avenue was a river due to the stopped up drains and the overdevelopment of land alongside the road.
The office windows in my building are tinted, subtracting two hours from morning light and adding two hours to afternoon. It felt as if it were dusk all day. And then finally, I left.
Getting out of the parking lot behind the building, I became aware of all of the people that are everywhere in a city. Even in the car, trying to get home, there’s no opportunity to be completely un-self-conscious. Does it look like I am picking my nose? I was , but then I saw you and I don’t know if you saw me, but I’ve got to play it off. Just an itch.
Then at home, there’s a constant stream of cars in front of the house. People coming home from work. And a constant stream of people exercising, running… with dogs and big-three-wheeled baby strollers. My neighbor is playing his electric guitar loudly – the same riff over and over again – trying to get it right. My new neighbors leave their blinds open so now I have to shut mine. The azaleas that are finally blooming outside even look sad.
When I was a kid, in rural Durham Co., N.C., the rain would come and we would play, and when we finished playing we would sit, muddied and tired, on the back porch and rest. There was a smell from the wet grass and moss, and you could hear the creek starting to rumble through the trees. You can’t have that in the city in the rain. Your creek is a major thoroughfare, and the grass and moss have been traded in for asphalt and concrete. And there’s no play, there’s work, it’s too expensive to play. And there’s always somebody watching. Believe me.
Was playing: Another Day by
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