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The Glorious Rain

The gentle droplets started just before four on what had been a perfectly sunny afternoon. The sun gave way to the clouds blown in from Oklahoma some seventy miles north of Vacton. When the clock displayed the numeral ‘5,' I walked to the bar, poured three ounces of Glenlivet in the tumbler and added an ounce of ice-cold distilled water, no ice, to the brown liquid whose aroma had my nose tingling.. I went to the sunroom at the front of the house and sat in the large white rocker. My son, Todd, had bought the rocker for my Birthday present at the Cracker Barrel Restaurant where he worked part-time after his University classes for the day were over.

I sat there, not rocking, silently listening to the barely increasing volume of droplets that swiftly changed and became a spectacular downpour. I was sipping toward the bottom of my Glenlivet when a flash of green across the street caught my attention. The brown-haired woman that lived directly across from me had pulled her dark sedan into the driveway completely unnoticed by me. She was dripping wet as she stood frantically searching her purse for her house key. The wind was blowing rain on her exposed body as she stood under the small overhang that covered her door entryway. I imagined her shivering from the wind and rain and not being able to find her house key.

I stood, reached through the open front door, took a golf umbrella from ...

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