It’s
6 p.m. and the rains are driving against my window. The pounding is so
deafening that I can barely hear myself think, yet so entrancing that I
can’t think of anything else to ponder.
The
rains have been falling for the better part of my life, whether it be a
gentle drizzle or a torrential downpour. Over the years I’ve learned to
accept the rains and live within their bounds, not to step outside for
fear of getting soaked, not to live my life for fear of drowning in the
treturous currents that encircle my home.
I’ll always remember the first time I experienced
the rains; I was but a child. Staring through the window, I was transfixed
with the water as it slowly dropped from the sky. I followed each drop
as it descended from the heavens and hit the ground, slowly eroding everything
in its pathway. The earth was so bare at that time; the water had no where
to go but straight ahead, rushing towards some unknown destination. As
time passed, I was no longer entranced by the rains, but instead angry
because it prevented me from going outside and enjoying life. When it did
finally stop, I cautiously ventured outside as the dark clouds loomed ominous
overhead. After a few short hours, the rains had completely evaporated,
once again leaving a barren landscape. On closer inspection, however, I
realized that the land was no longer flat, but that tiny riverbeds had
formed, etched out by the merciless rains.
As I
grew, the rains returned more and more frequently, although they were often
erratic. Long periods of showers ended abruptly, ushering in a magnificent
sunshine that made me forget all about the rains. I played as hard I could
during those increasingly brief respites, capturing every possible moment
of freedom and happiness because I knew that the rains would return, whether
it be in a matter or days, months or, infrequently, years. The dark clouds
always hung in the distance, waiting to make their grand re-entrance and
drown all signs of a happiness that I had been holding so dear.
As I
developed into a teenager, the dark clouds were a constant fixture as the
sun shrivelled into a hazy speck somewhere beyond the horizon. I always
knew the light was there, but I couldn’t feel its warmth. It always seemed
to be shining for others, their faces tanned as they basked in the glorious
light. But I couldn’t see it. I knew it was there, but I just couldn’t
make it out amongst those damned clouds that hung so low, so low that I
felt like I could touch them. I often tried to reach for them, to rip them
out of the sky, but the end result was always the same: the rains came
down even harder.
So I
stopped trying. It took me years to come to the conclusion, but I eventually
realized that the harder I tried, the harder the rains would fall. I tried
to reason with them, promise them things that I could not possibly deliver.
I tried to bargain. I used to say that if only the sun would come out today,
the rains could pummel for the rest of the month. I waited. I waited for
the sun to finally peek through the clouds. I stared up at the sky until
my eyes hurt. And there were times when the sun would start to break through.
The clouds would part and a few solitary rays would reach the earth, filling
me hope for the future. But it was not to be.
As soon
as those rays shone upon my pale, sickly face, more clouds would sweep
in and the rains would cascade even harder than before. Perhaps they weren’t
falling harder; perhaps I was so disappointed at having a rare hope snatched
away that it only felt that way.
Eventually,
I knew that I had to do something about the rains. I laid down on my bed
and thoroughly thought it through. After much deliberation, I realized
that the only thing I could do would be to accept the rains as they were,
learn to live under the blackened skies, learn to breathe the thick air.
So that’s what I did.
At first
it was difficult. Naturally, I wanted to rebel against the rains, but I
had to remind myself that this was my new plan of action. I dared not say
it aloud, but I hoped that in accepting the rains and even thriving despite
them, that would show them that I was a survivor, that nothing was going
to bring me down. At that point, they would realize that to continue would
be pointless, and they would finally move out to sea.
But
it didn’t happen. I tried to live, but the drops kept falling. I tried
to grow, but the rains drove even harder. I tried to thrive, but the downpour
was so dense that I couldn‘t see three feet in front of my face. I extended
an olive branch to the clouds, but instead of accepting my offer of peace,
the rains used that branch to tie my hands behind my back in a deadly embrace.
I struggled to free myself, but the rains made my skin cold and my fingers
lost their agility. I could barely move, held in place by something with
which I couldn't even speak. People often asked me why I seemed paralysed
and I explained to them that it was the rains causing all of the pain.
They said I was crazy, that the rains don’t have that power. But they were
wrong; the rains were stronger than any force on earth. In the end, I accepted
the rains in hopes that they would go away, but that only made them stronger.
Eventually, they became so strong that I was left stunned in their wake.
Those
tiny riverbeds that I observed as a child have been transformed into massive
gulleys, but even they are too choked with liquid and debris to carry it
all away. The water level keeps rising, eventually it reaches my doorway,
but the rains show no mercy and continue to pound.
I look
to the sky, but see nothing but dark, menacing, clouds. Even the faint
whisper of sun is forever gone, driven away by the rains that never cease.
It’s 6:30 p.m. now, and the rain is still driving
against my window, even harder than before. I finally decide to open the
door and concede defeat to the demon that has held me complacent, to finally
surrender to the awesome force that has overwhelmed my life. I decide to
make the final leap, letting myself be carried away in the swift current.
After years of battle, the rains have won. I finally feel at peace, the
only peace I’ve ever known.
ã 2004. Written at Bridgewater,
Nova Scotia, Tuesday June 16, 2004.
The Magnolias (& other stories of
life): The Rains