It was a dark and stormy night....

When my college application asked for a quotation and a story explaining my choice, I picked "Water is essential to all life" from my AP Bio text. (A portent of things to come?) At seventeen, I thought the quotation would let me tell the admissions committee four things 1) I was a community service and environmentally minded individual 2) I lived overseas and therefore I was worldy 3) I was a pretentious little twerp who was above using Roget's 4) I really liked the rain. Even at four years old, to my sister's dismay, my favorite song was Barry Manilow's "I made it through the Rain." It is not a pro-rain song, but you get the gist.

Rain is beautiful any time of the year. Sometimes in autumn or spring when it drizzling, I like to wear my trench coat with the collar turned up and a wool hat pretending I'm part of an era long past. In the summer months, the rain comes with such violence. It's romantic in the truest sense of the word exciting, emotional, and surreal. The following story happened last Monday night/Tuesday morning.

It is a dark and stormy night. I am attempting to sleep, but thoughts of the day, week, month keep racing through my head. Sleep is often elusive, so normally I can live without it. However, with the craziness of the past weeks, I am exhausted and craving some rest. With each thought that I need to sleep, the more I worry that I am not sleeping.

I hear the metallic tap of water dripping on the air conditioner. It is raining. Chikage Windler on Channel 7 predicted the storm to come earlier in the day. Well, at least it came. The sky lights up into a gray flash. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five.... The thunder sounds muffled. I sit up in my bed. The view from my window is obscured by a tree, so I walk out onto our porch. Yellow lights of from the carpark, illuminate streams of water. To the southeast, rain can only be seen as it bounces in black puddles. I stand on my porch in my XL T-shirt and rubber flip-flops for about ten minutes peering into the apartments across the lot and counting the distance of the storm.

How is it possible with all the things happening in my life, the thought of a boy creeps into my head? I am motivated by mind-challenging work, the companionship of incredible friends, and a crazy family to with which to deal, yet on my porch I am replaying a conversation I had with a boy two months earlier. He said, "You know, your kind of a free spirit. It's amazing how you just take life in stride and do what you want." I don't know if it was a complement, but I took it as one. Sometimes I get a little sad, thinking how I can be flattered by the most innocuous comments. But I think about that conversation and laugh at my poor self esteem moment. Hopefully, no one is watching me on my porch laughing in the dark.

"Why do I care if someone sees me on my porch acting so oddly? Shoot. I'm really not a free spirit," I think. "Have I done anything truly spontaneous, lately.?" I think back to time when I convinced Evil Twin#2 and W's college boyfriend, to walk from 86th street to 116th in the rain. I remember how I got blamed for their subsequent colds.

Returning to my room, I grab a pair of running shoes that I was going to donate to "Heart and Sole," my keys, and a towel. I put on a pair of fluorescent lime green running shorts. I leave the towel in the entry way and leave the apartment.

The night air is warm and the rain is coming straight down in sheets. The street smells like wet concrete. I run down the stoop to feel the rain on my face. I stand there under the front door light taking in deep breaths. Lotion made to "keep skin looking youthful," is running into my eyes and stings. I start walking down the street, otherwise I know I'll go back inside. The question of the night is "Where am I going?" CRACK! The thunder is incredibly loud. Lightning is flashing from every direction.

The street lights are bright on Beacon, so I decide to walk along it. A girl can never be too safe whe walking in the rain in the middle of a week night. Beacon is a major thoroughfare, but tonight only a few cars zip on the road. By the time I get to Summit Ave., I realize that I am going to the park to see the city skyline. CRACK! This time I could see the actual bolt of lightning. The sky sizzles in its aftermath. Water rushes down the street as I climb to the top of the hill. In the park, I sit down on the grass and look out onto downtown Boston.

Lightning bolt after lightning blot after lightning bolt makes for an awesome fireworks display. I have forgotten my Brownie training. Is it is better to be near a tree or lie down in a meadow during a storm? Frankly, I do not care. I am a woman in a Bela Legosi movie or Bronte sister book except I am pretty sure those heroines were never dressed in running clothes and at the very least wore a brazeer.

While the storm is still showing off, I am getting a little too cold and water logged to continue watching. I jog back home squishing in my shoes and jumping into puddles. As I get closer to home, the thunder starts to sound farther away. The storm is moving fast. When I reach my front steps, all the lightning appears to be flashing behind a grey curtain again.

In my apartment, I towel off and take a quick shower. It is 1:20 am. I am awake, a little jazzed from my adventure. I start reading a book. I fall asleep before the tapping of rain dissipates.