Often I sit beside the rain, close up to glass, listening so intently. My mother driving so carefully, ears adjusting, I listen to the rain.
Each patter holding secrets, whispering memories, telling moments. This is the time when I relax, press my hand close to the surface, pray, and see all those moments.
A raft comes in view, three girls holding so tightly, laughing, pride flowing in their faces. Waves slap abruptly flopping their bellies, yet they stay strong.
We hold tighter chanting to never let go. Water droplets spraying in our eyes, we dare not blink. Hands slipping, grasping, pulling, grabbing, we all stay on. Sun baking our skin, we stay on.
Rain silently wiggles down the window, falling on the ground. Wheezing fills the air, the car lurches on, sending me back where it all seemed perfect.
Awhile ago she and I went water rafting, an enjoyable time that made life complete. Always packing sun screen never to be put on, we would find eagerness knocking on our hearts.
It was always perfect, one day it would happen, wheeze by as rain, and we would be home talking all about it.
Rain has many elements, when wet it is fun, when dry it is gone. Moments with her were always fun, but when she wasn't there, it was gone.
YOU ARE READING
Rafting Rapids
Non-Fiction02/20/2015 Reflecting back on the past, Marina finds what losing someone can really do to her life. Through this reading imagine the symbolism and ride the waves steadily.
