Rain

I step outside and it's raining harder than it has all day. Helmet fastened, jacket zipped, I know by the time I get home my pants will be clinging to my thighs and my socks with be soaked. I drop onto the pavement by those bulky suv's and sporty cars and through the rain and stop signs I'm riding faster than they are - as long as it's not uphill. If someone were to steal my bike I'd have to give them a five dollar bill, it's that old. But it's better than driving across town and I love it.

The rain drips through the ventilation, off the visor and onto my forehead. Sometimes I feel it down my cheek, hang on my chin, other times back behind my ear. The pavement ahead of me looks like a river, and I'm riding on water. I'm hungry and pedaling and wet and I can't tell if I'm squinting because of the rain or if I'm just smiling because, damn, this feels good.

The moment I get home, lock up the bike and unlock the door thunder rumbles. Once. I take my jacket off, take my shoes and socks off. Twice. I peel my pants off my legs and slip into a cotton skirt. Three times and I smile some more, shaking the rain out of my hair.

The rain has stopped now. It's still outside and my feet are starting to warm up. If it's raining tonight, I'll ride the bus back down. But I won't wear my hood. I like the feeling of rain behind my ear.