Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter Twenty-Three

Another damp inning concluded. A few fans left their field level seats. The awning over the upper levels provided better protection. Those socializing over drinks and appetizers at Tobacco Road huddled more under the patio table umbrellas, than the railing overlooking the open field of play.

The mist turned into a steadier but still light rain. The stagnating air hung moist as a dense fog and cooler temperatures settled. Some stadium vendors dropped their coverings to protect their merchandise. Some fans headed for the exits. The home plate umpire had seen enough. "Time," he called, arms extended. He pointed to the infield tarp that was rolled along the right field line. Field officials and players jogged in from their positions to the shelter of their respective dugouts. Grounds crew members, adorned in Atlantic Coast Conference, Tobacco Harvest apparel, began the process of rolling out the massive, infield, tarp.

The public-address announcer explained the rain delay procedures while the early beats of Blame it on the Rain, by Milli Vanilli, provided background accompaniment. "We can go if you want, but you remember where we parked the car, right?" Dylan offered to Julie.

She didn't take long to study the increasing velocity of the rain before she decided, "It's okay, we can wait a little while. I actually like the sound of the rain on the roof. "You mind if we wait?"

"Hmmm," he pondered rhetorically. "Walk halfway across Durham in a downpour, or sit here with you, and listen to the sound of the rain on the roof? Yeah, I think we're good. We can stay a little longer." He chuckled.

His comment made her smile. "When we still lived in Calgary, my mom took Emmy and me to see my dad who had a competition on one of the tracks. It was running late due to weather. We sat in the old starters' booth, they had just finished building a new one. We were way up on the top of the mountain. The snow turned to rain. It looked a lot like this in the lights that went down the course. I never liked being in the rain, but always like to watch it fall. I like hearing it on a metal roof, watching it streak down against high light poles. Something about the rain and nighttime."

"And the smell of rain," Dylan added.

"Definitely," she confirmed. "Have you ever smelled the rain after a long dry spell?"

"Oh, especially on a hot afternoon, when the first drops sizzle," he added.

"Okay, so, I hadn't been in Barcelona long when I signed up for this tour to see a monastery about an hour outside of town. It was September, and the region hadn't seen rain in a while. As the train pulled into this small town, Montserrat, it's in the most beautiful mountain setting, but anyway, the rain started to fall. It steamed, like you said, and smelled so good."

"Why are monasteries always in the mountains?" Dylan asked.

Julie nudged his arm off the rest between them. "Yeah, because that was the point of my story."

She smiled back with a nose wrinkle, as she shook her head laughing. She pulled the scrunchy band from her hair, so it fell freely on her shoulders.

The rain decreased in intensity, but became steadier, settling in for a duration. Smoky Mountain Rain, by Ronnie Milsap played over the speakers. The crowd continued to dwindle, some leaving for the night, others to local bars and restaurants within walking distance of the Durham Bulls Athletic Park.

"I've never sat and listened to rain songs while watching it fall. This is kind of cool, actually." Julie said.

Dylan told her, "It's sort of a baseball tradition. Every stadium has a loop they play. During long delays they either repeat the same ones or reach way down in the barrel for obscure songs about rain."