The shower

Today it rained. It was the heavy, wind-driven rain that draws people to the windows to stare.

It was the kind of day that has me running for a hot bath, cocoa, a novel and a fire.

My most memorable rain storm was on a summer night in Boulder. We lived on the busy passage that linked the Flatiron mountains to the town. With the exception of one snow day on which I trudged knee-deep up the center of it, it bore the most traffic in town.

On the night of this story, the rain was coming down like they describe in tall tales, and I knelt backward on the couch watching it in the headlights of cars coming down off the mountain.

In my peripheral vision I could see my husband watch it for a minute from the open front door, which was on the side of the house, facing the dark driveway. There were many trees lining the driveway, and it gave the illusion we were set farther back from the busy street. We were right up against the busy street.

He closed the door, went upstairs to the bathroom, and came right back out with a bottle of shampoo and a towel.

“Might as well conserve water,” he said. Then he flipped off the light, stripped naked, went out the door and showered in the driveway.


One Response to “The shower”

  1. Gunky Says:


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