Petrichor

In its entirety

Mariel could sense the storm coming; she could feel it in her knees. It started as a dull ache early in the morning. It was barely noticeable as she ate her breakfast which consisted of two eggs, dry toast, and a cup of coffee, the same as most mornings. She sat alone in her breakfast nook and ate while reading a Readers Digest. The record player was on quietly in the background playing one of her late husband's Johnny Cash records. After eating, she slowly cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes. She wiped her hands on her floral apron as she transitioned into her other chores.

As the day progressed, the pain grew, and by lunch, she knew what was coming. She didn't mind the pain, though, because she loved a good summer storm, and she appreciated that her body gave her some warning of its approach. Her late husband used to tell her it had something to do with the pressure of the storm, he was always spouting off little facts like that, and she would just listen and nod her head. "Yes, dear," she would reply.

Mariel loved watching storms coming in. She loved watching the lightning in the distance and the rain falling, hearing the thunder booming over the fields, and smelling the storms rolling in. She found herself oddly excited by the storm today for some reason. She was almost giddy with anticipation. She finished up her chores quickly after lunch and then made an early supper just so that she could be sure to watch the storm for a while before bed.

She sat alone again at the dining table, eating meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. A twinge of sadness hit her as she recalled one night with her late husband as they ate the same meal. They had been arguing because their grandson had been to visit earlier that day, and her husband thought she had been too strict with the boy. "Grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandkids, not scold them," he would say. She took another bite of her meatloaf. Maybe he had been right; after all, the grandkids and great-grandkids didn't come around as often anymore, not since he passed away last year. He was always the fun one, and she was the rule maker and the "party-pooper," as her grandchildren would say when they thought she couldn't hear.

Mariel finished her supper and cleaned up quickly before making her way out to her covered porch. It was still early evening, and the air seemed to flutter with anticipation, or maybe that was just her. She sat in an old wooden chair that creaked when she sat. From there she had a good view of the storm; she could see for miles. The tall grass in the fields swayed in the breeze, and sparrows swooped down to catch their supper. Crickets filled the air with their songs. The dark clouds on the horizon blinked like broken lights as they got closer. She smiled. It was a perfect evening.

As the storm approached, the sky filled with dark, grey clouds. She knew it was not a night to be outside, but she continued to watch the clouds get close. The temperature began dropping as the storm covered the evening sun. She pulled her knit cardigan closer around her as the wind picked up. The wispy grass swirled, making the fields look like waves on water. The birds were gone, and the crickets had stopped singing; both were probably seeking shelter from what was coming. Her knees were screaming now. She rubbed them, trying to relieve some of the pain. It helped a bit.

The storm broke close to her house. The wall of water began falling, and it was close enough to smell now. She took a big inhale of the fresh, earthy, almost sweet smell. Rain was Mariel's favorite smell in the entire world, even above fresh baked cookies and her husband's cologne. Her late husband always liked to tell her that the name of this rain smell was "petrichor." They used to sit here and watch evening summer storms roll in, and he would talk about the chemistry or biology of the rain hitting the soil and releasing something or the other, and that was what they smelled. She would just nod her head and say, "yes, dear." She didn't much care what caused it, but she loved listening to him, and she loved the smell of rain.

The smell always reminded Mariel of her childhood. She used to play in the rain for hours, running and jumping and spinning with her arms out wide. She'd always inevitably get in trouble with her mother for spoiling her clothes, but she would take any punishment if it meant she could play in the rain. She missed playing in the rain. She missed the feeling of mud between her toes and the rain hitting her. She couldn't remember the last time she had played in the rain. She had outgrown those childish ways long ago.

A thought occurred to Mariel as she sat there watching the wall of rain approach her house. She had lived a long life, and she didn't know how much longer she would be given. What was stopping her from going out in the rain? Before she had even made up her mind, she realized she had already stood up. She just wanted to play in the rain one more time.

Mariel walked over to the steps as quickly as her sore knees and old body would let her and took off her shoes. She wanted to feel the mud again too. She stepped off the porch just in time for the first sprinkles of rain to fall. One drop hit Mariel's face, and she smiled. She walked out further from the house as the raindrops grew larger. The grass tickled her feet. She found a good spot away from any trees, spread her arms out wide, and closed her eyes. She threw back her head and let the rain fall and run across the wrinkles on her face. She hadn't smiled so big in a long time, and the muscles in her face strained from the effort after so long.

Mariel was soaked to the bone now, but the warm summer rain felt nice. She began laughing, imagining what she must look like and what someone would think if they were to see her, but she didn't care. She was happy, happier than she had been in a long time. Her laugh slowly turned into sobbing. Tears ran from her eyes, mixing with the rain. Why had she deprived herself for so long of this joy? Why had she let society tell her to grow up and leave this behind? What was wrong with this? It wasn't harming anyone. Sure her clothes were soaked, but they would get wet when washed anyway. She decided then and there that she would never let life get in the way; she would play in the rain and do whatever she wanted for however long she had left. She was going to be happy.

She put her arms down and looked around for some mud. The bare patch in her grass that always gave her trouble and made her so mad because grass refused to grow there was now a glorious muddy spot. She was laughing again now, her shoulders jumped up and down, and she practically ran to what was now going to be her favorite bald patch of grass. She stepped one foot into the mud, and it squished between her toes. She placed the other foot in and sank in a little, causing more mud to squish up between her toes. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the sensation. She threw her head back again and stood there, soaking it all in. The sound of the rain on her tin roof, the smell of the rain soaking the ground and hitting the trees and grass, and the wet mud squishing between her toes overwhelmed her. She didn't know what heaven would be like, but she hoped this was it.

Mariel felt something brush her hand. She looked over and smiled.

"You know, some Australians back in the 60s named the smell of fresh rain "petrichor." It's actually not the rain you're smelling; what you're smelling is compounds like ozone, geosmin, and plant oils being released from the soil as the rain soaks in."

"Yes, dear," Mariel said as she held his hand, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back again to feel the rain on her face. Now it was perfect.