At first the rain was lovely
. The rain sprinkled our faces while we hiked through the quiet forest, falling from branches
, falling from leaves
high above we couldn't see. It picked up as we pushed on and i put my raincoat on despite the sticky heat
, careful to leave my head free for air conditioning
. The curls on top bent to meet the raindrops, causing my friends to laugh at the tangled mop I like to call hair
. Then they laughed at all the pictures I took of dead trees
. There was no way to explain it...i clicked and smiled. Let them laugh; they were all weak sniffly hikers
and i giggled at them secretly whenever I could.
After the hike we hid in the car eating chips for a while, watching the windows steam and filling our bellies. Lovely times. Made me miss them even though I'm not even gone yet, made me thank God I had found such friends. We fit together like a puzzle.
Back at the campsite, the rain was tumbling down in buckets. We put up a tarp in a flurry of obscenities and insults, good-natured of course, and roasted soya-dogs over the flame of the little camp stove. The beer was good but tasted like rain; i stopped drinking early and checked the tent where the rain had soaked through the canvas. It poured harder. In a fit of frustration she yelled out "Fuck you Nature." I cringed and the sky exploded.
We were puddles floating in a sea of tent that night. My feet pruned. No one could sleep, or even think properly. They blamed me for the wet because I knew what I was doing, because I could have done more for them, because I had slept diagonally across their legs the night before and somehow that made me blame-worthy. I kept quiet, wondering how I would ever miss them. I couldn't take the puddles soaking through my skin so I ran to the car, sleeping there beside my tapes, emergency brake keeping my bum company. All I had was a damp picnic blanket to cover me, and I shivered all night, but I was dry so I didn't care.
I went through all extremes with them that weekend; the love, the giggly fun, the anger, the lack of understanding, the understanding, the half-meant insults, the look in their eyes that said they would always be there, the look on the back of their heads when they weren't. The wet brought it out in us, a catalyst to pass the time quicker. A man walked by us while we were hiking; "It never rains but it pours," he said. At the time I didn't know how right he was, but I agreed.