What I'd Been Told

The air chilled, like the Earth was being lowered into a bowl of ice. The wind—which, moments before, had been warm as a pillow—cut around me, biting into me, suddenly laced with razor-toothed knives. I looked up to see a dark cloud covering the sun, crossing it out, a black crayon dragged back and forth by an unforgiving child. I’d watched the cloud approach from miles away, black as the smoke from a burning city. The day had been bright and warm; now, everything around me was tinged with purple lead.

The first heavy drops started falling, smacking and splashing against my cheeks, tangible tears. More and more drops followed, until I could hardly see for the rain, until pulling my sweater around me did nothing. It rained like it did in the movies—except I knew that, in movies, the rain wasn’t actually water and was instead milk so the cameras could pick up on it. This wasn’t Hollywood. This was real life, and these were just genuine, cold, tasteless raindrops. I tipped my head back and opened my mouth. My mother used to tell me not to do that. Every rain drop has a grain of dirt inside it, she would say. I didn’t care, at this point. The rain soaked me to the bone, the filth embedding itself into my very skin. And I didn’t care.

The wind whipped and whirled around me now, making me its slave. I sat down, into the mud, not caring how dirty it made me or how frigid I would become. I was already dirty and cold and nothing could change that. Why not embrace it? Love yourself, I’d been told. Did this count as loving myself? Grabbing fistfuls of muddy grass, letting the rain run down my scalp, shivering as it trickled down my neck…surrounding myself in all things miserable…keeping myself where no one could reach me. Did it count?

Lightning flashed, a cut ragged around the edges, a temporary traumatism across the dark sky. Thunder crackled and rippled as soon as the lightning had gone, and I thought I could almost feel the earth shaking underneath me. I thought I could almost taste the trembling beads of angst that filled the air around me. I laid back, hoping that if I took in too much, I’d be released. If I grabbed for more than I could handle, I’d simply…not. Not handle; not be. Not think. I would become the storm, and the storm would become me, and no one would notice or care.

The storm passed quickly. It seemed to only last a few minutes, as most horrendous things do. In the scheme of the universe, how long does pain last? How long does losing a loved one hurt? Seconds. Mere seconds and nothing more.

All of a sudden, sunshine was kissing my face. I was still drenched, but I didn’t feel cold.

My hands were still covered in mud, clotting and gritty in between my fingers, but I wiped them on my jeans and they were clean again.

I looked up.

The storm cloud—that powerful temptress—was already heading off to rain somewhere else, leaving the sky endless and bright and renewed blue. Lifting my face to the sun, I felt like I’d swallowed some of it, a warmth that spread from within. Light can quench your thirst much more effectively than water, you know. I closed my eyes to soak it up.

And this is how it is when you tell me you love me.