"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet." -Roger Miller
"Being soaked alone is cold. Being soaked with your best friend is an adventure." -Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier to Love
Yesterday I helped a dear friend of mine ship a few boxes of her life to Texas. She is preparing to move this weekend, driving over a series of days to return home. I rode the relatively short distance to her house with my windows half way down, watching the fog in the mountains. The day was gray but warm, as if it took no notice of the date on the calendar. My heart was light, in spite of the overwhelmingly long to-do list that loomed over me, and my free hand was keeping time to the music on the window frame.
I had known the day was coming. Our relationship is unique and my life has been intertwined with Beks for a few years; we are alike in more ways than not. I knew this little town couldn't hold her big heart forever. She recently settled into the idea of moving and I never doubted her decision - it's time. The last month has been full of excitement and preparation and bittersweet conversations as I know she'll only be around for a bit longer.
I arrived at her house about 9am, accompanied by a light sprinkle. In the midst of packing tape, address labels and sharpie markers, little attention was paid to the weather. Not long before we had prepared to load the cars, a loud clap of thunder drew our attention outside - a full blown rainstorm, blowing in suddenly, wasting no time with pleasantries.
Because of other obligations we couldn't wait long to move our packing party to the post office. Despite the weather, we took multiple trips across wet grass and pavement, balancing boxes and tugging on doors, running and laughing, trying not to fall on wet leaves and concrete floors. We both emerged soaking wet, tracking in leaves, water running down our faces and changing the color of our clothes. I'll admit, I had to fight the urge to stomp through the little rivers that appeared down the sides of the streets, and I marveled at the movement of the water as it collected and spilled around the tires of parked cars. What is it about rain that encourages the child within us to be silly, to laugh and dance?
I will likely not see Beks again before she leaves, but I couldn't think of a better way to send her off. As we left the post office and the rain began to let up (of course!), tears made new trails on our already wet faces as we hugged and said goodbye. I know it's not really goodbye - you can never say goodbye to someone who has left such an imprint on your heart - but rather "see you later".
