Rainy Days and Mondays

“Shit!” I stuffed my notebook and laptop into my bag, nervously checking the radar app on my phone. “There’s no way he didn’t hear that thunder.” The angry red blotch of rain with the yellow halo was heading our way, and there wasn’t much dry time left. I packed up the last of the Oreos and pretzels and panic started to creep into my head.

Lisa headed out the door just ahead of me. “I know! He said he’d let us go early today.” She trotted outside into the inky night, humidity so thick it was suffocating. Behind us in the lobby of the library the last few students moved quickly toward the sliding doors, trying to beat the rain. Scattering like marbles, students dashed toward their cars.

I scoffed, “But no. He was all ‘blah blah PHSC policy blah blah no show blah blah plagiarism. Now I have to drive home in this damned rain.” Umbrellas popped up under the streetlights as last of my classmates scurried into the parking lot. “See you next week!” I shouted to my new friend. She waved back as she ducked into her Honda. I thought about the ride in front of me: He knows I have to drive more than an hour to get home. Shit.

There is only one thing I hate more than driving in the rain: left-hand turns without a dedicated green arrow (don’t judge me). I’ve been known to go 15, 20 minutes out of my way to avoid a left turn; even my mother thought it was mighty odd that I’d waste gas to drive basically in circles to go around the block. Worst-case scenario would be driving in the rain AT NIGHT where left turns would be involved in an area I don’t know as well as the back of my hand.

I reached my Jeep, not a true rain-stompin’ ass-kickin’ Wrangler but a high-maintenance Cherokee that sips tea with its pinky extended. I tossed my bag into the passenger seat and got ready to drive home. And I don’t mean buckling up and turning on the lights. Those would come later. First, according to my son who moonlights as an audio engineer, I must decide on the right driving music. Should I listen to peaceful “Miserere,” “Hymn of Cherubim,” and “Aeternam”? Or would I need the adrenaline-inducing riffs from Combichrist and Icon of Coil to get me home? I chose the former and got Spotify logged in. I needed to go to my happy place before facing the watery darkness. Time to buckle up and get moving as the first tiny drops of rain hit the windshield.

I backed the Cherokee out of the angled spot, the back-up camera helping me out. It was dark out, and the halogen lights of the PHSC lots don’t provide enough light to see where I’m going. I pushed the gear forward and headed toward the first left out of the parking lot. Those tiny drops water quickly became fat drops of rain, blotting everything out of view. On with the wipers. I eased left onto Blanton; luckily there’s usually not much traffic in this area at night.

The rain fell harder as I reached Ramsey and made a right, making sure I didn’t

get stuck in that deep trench at the right-hand edge of the road. By now the storm was getting into full gear. The 97-degree temperatures of the day heated up the pavement, and now steam was rising, illuminated like a phantom miasma as cars’ headlights came at it from the opposite lane. It was an eerie sight, punctuated by the lightning zagging overhead as I sped over the giant hill on Ramsey. I thought being on the top of that hill would make it more likely I’d be hit by lightning. My hair was still standing on end as I passed the house with the purple Christmas lights still lit in the yard.

As I reached the end of the road, I realized my fingers hurt from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. The THUP THUP THUP of the windshield wiper as it dragged across the glass matched my heartbeat; I couldn’t even hear the music between the thunder and the wipers. I flexed my fingers, trying to loosen my grip a little. Turned the audio up a notch. Pucker factor involuntarily engaged.

I made the right onto St. Joe, lightning still dancing around me, rain still beating my poor car. Normally I enjoyed the hills in this part of Dade City, the curving road, the fields, the beautiful house with the columns in front overlooking it all. Last semester I didn’t hit one night of rain. Now it felt like the setting for a horror movie where zombies would suddenly start crowding the road while demons initiated the Apocalypse.

With the steam and rain battling outside, the air conditioner did its finest inside the vehicle which now felt like a meat locker. I turned the AC off for a few moments at a time, forgetting that I could just adjust the temperature a bit from arctic to comfortable. My concern was staying on the road between the barely visible lines.

Still gripping the steering wheel for dear life, I kept checking the rear view mirror. Maybe I didn’t see zombies, but this time I saw a car’s headlights moving closer behind me, getting wider as he rode my tail. Douchebag, I thought loudly. Am I not going fast enough for you? Stay the fuck away from me. As I concentrated on the road in front of me, the douchebag in the white Mustang passed me in the rain, rooster-tailing water on me as he flew past. The vinegar taste of fear stayed with me for the rest of the way home. A few SECONDS later, he slowed down to make a right. What a complete jerk! I thought my heart would pop.

I made it to Bellamy, and had to make yet another left against a blind curve. The rain and lightning were still doing their worst. Each time the thunder crashed I twitched and let out a squeaky sound, betraying my fear. Waiting at the traffic light, I felt the need for new music and changed the playlist to hear some groups I found on a community radio show called Dark Horizons; Combichrist, Edge of Dawn, and Rotersand turned my attitude around from scared little girl to Imara, Warrior Queen and Conqueror of the Night. I listened to the lyrics of some light traveling music:

"The rain will wash me away

All structures collapse

Nothing covers my grave

Only destruction remains."

I reached SR 52, and the headlights coming from the left slowed down. My light turned green, and I made a right to head west. As I made it through the last of the sudden deluge, the rain began to lessen. Turning my wipers down to intermittent, I could hear the music better without genuine thunder for a bass line. And just like life in general – I got through the rain and made it back to the safety of home.