Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away
There’s that all too familiar pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof again.
I wish I was locked up in a room right now, snuggled in my favorite blanket, with my battered hand-me-down copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. The Smith’s Asleep just hummed away its first few notes and my cup of coffee (though Dad always preferred tea) continues to cool down beside me. As I flip through the pages, I smell that distinct, musty scent that only old books have. And I am suddenly transported back in time, when I was just a little girl, innocent and untainted– completely unaware that the boogeyman who used to hide in my closet is actually real but are now likely recognized as politicians and credit cards rather than monsters lurking (but there’s not much difference, is there?) somewhere in the dark.
And then, I get lost in the colored people’s lives. And then I think about my own life and how I longed to have Scout’s innocence and Atticus’ wisdom and wish I viewed the world in Boo Radley’s front porch. I get so lost in these thoughts that I have already forgotten about the rain and my problems and the people around me and him.
Just as the The Smiths hit the last notes, so did the rain. And my coffee’s cold.
I wish it was raining again.