Breathing In The Rain

 The Boy is finally moving after being sick for a week with the flu. Technically, the doctor never said that the Boy had the flu, just flu like symptoms. Listening to my son with his deep throated cough made me feel like I was breathing underwater. 

 An afternoon thunderstorm that never really coalesced cancelled play practice and sent me home early. For once, I could sit on my porch in full daylight and feel the fleeing sunlight on my skin.

Only 67 more school days until graduation. 

As the rain eventually started to fall and the temperature dropped, Loki, my old dog came out on the porch with and played with a tennis ball he stole from Leia. For a moment, my geriatric baby ignored his aching, stiffened joints and pawed the ball around the porch. 

On the other side of the glass door, Leia pressed her nose against the glass and tried to snag the ball in spite of the barrier. 

For the last month, my husband and I have been going on dates, almost as though we rejuvenated and took back twenty years. Last night, after play-supplies shopping, we went out for dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant. This afternoon, he took me to Starbucks for coffee and a cookie (I have been seriously craving a yummy soft, big cookie). 

A former student was in the restaurant and I felt like I couldn’t say or do anything without being in a spotlight. So my Beloved and I drove around the neighborhood until we drove to a five-car parking lot by a lake. 

For almost an hour, we listened to music and drank coffee, frequently not talking while we watched the storm clouds putter across the sky and eventually dissipate. 

Sometimes, we vented. Other times, we dreamed about paying off our house, moving, or just sleeping in past miserable early in the morning.  

I have a tendency to take my Beloved for granted, forget that life is precarious.  Because of our conflicting schedules, I will frequently not see him for four consecutive days. And then life interferes.  

And then, I have an afternoon like today when I hold my Beloved’s hand as we walk into a coffee shop. The long years are a tendril and I am only aware of the wind lifting my hair off my shoulders or the feeling of rain being absorbed into my shirt 

It is then when I lift my face to the clouds, close my eyes, and breathe. 

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