It’s raining the kind of rain that makes you feel trapped and casts a dreary shadow on everything. It’s the kind of rain that makes Joy and the apartment smell like a wet dog when she’s only been outside for a minute. It’s the kind that makes the neighborhood weirdo seem all the more creepy because he’s standing outside in it, watching people scurry about. It’s the kind that conjures up unpredictable wind and tosses branches and debris all over the unsuspecting sidewalk and streets. Inevitably, sirens follow to aid victims caught in the storm. It’s the kind of rain that makes me fumble through the front closet in search of the one illusive flashlight among cardboard boxes and forgotten junk, in case the lights go out. It’s the kind of rain that traps me inside, like a prisoner.
And though the rain continues, and will through tomorrow, we’re safe inside a fortress made of wood and plaster. The thin glass windows that separate us from the torrential storm suddenly seem six feet thick and we’re far from the gloom. The howling wind is drowned out by music. And here we are dry, safe, and happy. I start singing the song, “Just my honey and me. And the puppy makes three. We’re happy in my blue haven.”