Today’s Writing Prompt is something of a more personal story. This isn’t made up, or really embellished, it’s a story about something true that happened to me. The prompt is ‘The rain didn’t stop me’ and here, for your reading pleasure, is a memory of mine.
I had just received some bad news. The sort you really don’t want to be receiving while you’re on holiday, but there we are. I sat, perched on the edge of a concrete seat, the blistering humidity cutting a path through the air like a sword through silk. Around me, holiday goers walked unhurriedly, herding small children like excitable chicks from ride to ride. A nearby sign proudly proclaimed that this was the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride – a ride I had just come from, blinking in the sudden sun and heat, only to check my phone to find the email.
That’s the problem with knowledge. It’s very hard to un-know something, especially when it’s something so monumental. I sat there, staring at my phone, and vaguely wished that I hadn’t opened the email. Then, in what I hoped looked like a dramatic and noble gesture, I put my phone away and stood up. I was here, it was hot and humid and beautiful and foreign, and I was going to enjoy myself. I walked off resolutely in the direction of our next scheduled attraction, shoulders set and only sweating a little bit more than usual.
Then, as I walked along, a few paces behind my friends, I felt something on my arm. I looked down. A fat raindrop trickled down the side of my forearm, cool against the heat of my skin. Suddenly, it was joined by another, and then, like the opening of the supermarket doors on Black Friday, an innumerable host of raindrops started to fall, smacking the packed ground like the beating of a drum. Quickly, with the rest of the people in the park, I made my way to shelter; a mere 50 yards away, but I was drenched before I got there. The sky had opened and sheets of rain were falling, battering away at the veneer of magic that Disney World fights so hard to generate. The characters scuttled indoors, ponchos and raincoats were brought out by the more prepared guests, and suddenly the shops and cafes were packed, as if everyone had decided to stock up on plastic Mickey Mouse figures. I stood, as my friends disappeared into Disney Christmas Store, staring at the rain.
I have a name for this sort of rain. It’s a rude name, but the child-friendly version would be, I suppose, ‘Ah screw it’ Rain. This wasn’t the light drizzle of back home, where you’d reach your destination and a quick shake of the head would leave you bone-dry again. Nor was it the harsher downpour, biting cold and whipping, during which you’d hunker down and think longingly of a nice cup of tea and a blanket. This was monsoon rain, sheets of water coming down with an inevitability which awed one. If you had to travel from A to B during this deluge, then you’d may as well say ‘Ah, screw it’ and not bother with an umbrella or a hat – because you’re going to get wet anyway. It’s a true force of nature, and as I stared out at the wall of water before me, I made a strange connection.
In my head, this rain – this inevitable, unstoppable force, which had just sort of ‘happened’ in the same way that the email had just sort of ‘happened’ – this rain was stopping my day as much as the email had put paid to further plans. I couldn’t affect the email – the news I had got therein was final, and at least for now I couldn’t contest or work around it. But I could affect the rain stopping my day. I gripped my backpack and strode out into the deluge. I hadn’t gone more than 3 steps when I was drenched, rivulets of warm water running down my hair, through my beard, pinning my tshirt to my chest and soaking my boots thoroughly. I walked, abandoning all effort to stay dry, face upturned to the sky, while around the lazy drops, as near to infinite as makes no difference, chased all the ‘normal’ people under verandas and into buildings. I closed my eyes, in no hurry to get anywhere, and by now so thoroughly wet through that it would serve me no purpose to go any faster. I walked, past the incredulous and bemused faces of the wrapped-up and sheltering guests, semi-wading through the rivers that now flowed down the gentle sloping pathways and into the carefully tended lake.
Eventually, as I walked, lost in the downpour which enveloped and included me in its embrace, I saw my destination. The Haunted Mansion, a typically fantastic goal for such a quietly monumental journey. I walked on, changing worlds and changing nothing, silently laughing at the weather for trying to put paid to my holiday, and at the same time pushing down the feeling that I had been fighting ever since I received that email. I could meet these challenges head on, and while I hadn’t planned on getting utterly and gloriously soaked that day, I had done so with a smile and a spring in my step. Drenched, I arrived at the shelter under which my incredulous friends waited, with no part of me dry and the prospect of a wait in the cold fan-filled ride line, a smile splitting my beard and water falling off my nose. I had beaten the rain, and what’s more I had done it with a ridiculous sense of enjoyment.
Regardless of thenews, I would just believe that little bit harder in myself and get where I wanted to be. Regardless of the rain, I would just walk that little bit taller and get where I wanted to be. The rain didn’t stop me.
I had just received some bad news. The sort you really don’t want to be receiving while you’re on holiday, but there we are. I sat, perched on the edge of a concrete seat, the blistering humidity cutting a path through the air like a sword through silk. Around me, holiday goers walked unhurriedly, herding small children like excitable chicks from ride to ride. A nearby sign proudly proclaimed that this was the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride – a ride I had just come from, blinking in the sudden sun and heat, only to check my phone to find the email.
That’s the problem with knowledge. It’s very hard to un-know something, especially when it’s something so monumental. I sat there, staring at my phone, and vaguely wished that I hadn’t opened the email. Then, in what I hoped looked like a dramatic and noble gesture, I put my phone away and stood up. I was here, it was hot and humid and beautiful and foreign, and I was going to enjoy myself. I walked off resolutely in the direction of our next scheduled attraction, shoulders set and only sweating a little bit more than usual.
Then, as I walked along, a few paces behind my friends, I felt something on my arm. I looked down. A fat raindrop trickled down the side of my forearm, cool against the heat of my skin. Suddenly, it was joined by another, and then, like the opening of the supermarket doors on Black Friday, an innumerable host of raindrops started to fall, smacking the packed ground like the beating of a drum. Quickly, with the rest of the people in the park, I made my way to shelter; a mere 50 yards away, but I was drenched before I got there. The sky had opened and sheets of rain were falling, battering away at the veneer of magic that Disney World fights so hard to generate. The characters scuttled indoors, ponchos and raincoats were brought out by the more prepared guests, and suddenly the shops and cafes were packed, as if everyone had decided to stock up on plastic Mickey Mouse figures. I stood, as my friends disappeared into Disney Christmas Store, staring at the rain.
I have a name for this sort of rain. It’s a rude name, but the child-friendly version would be, I suppose, ‘Ah screw it’ Rain. This wasn’t the light drizzle of back home, where you’d reach your destination and a quick shake of the head would leave you bone-dry again. Nor was it the harsher downpour, biting cold and whipping, during which you’d hunker down and think longingly of a nice cup of tea and a blanket. This was monsoon rain, sheets of water coming down with an inevitability which awed one. If you had to travel from A to B during this deluge, then you’d may as well say ‘Ah, screw it’ and not bother with an umbrella or a hat – because you’re going to get wet anyway. It’s a true force of nature, and as I stared out at the wall of water before me, I made a strange connection.
In my head, this rain – this inevitable, unstoppable force, which had just sort of ‘happened’ in the same way that the email had just sort of ‘happened’ – this rain was stopping my day as much as the email had put paid to further plans. I couldn’t affect the email – the news I had got therein was final, and at least for now I couldn’t contest or work around it. But I could affect the rain stopping my day. I gripped my backpack and strode out into the deluge. I hadn’t gone more than 3 steps when I was drenched, rivulets of warm water running down my hair, through my beard, pinning my tshirt to my chest and soaking my boots thoroughly. I walked, abandoning all effort to stay dry, face upturned to the sky, while around the lazy drops, as near to infinite as makes no difference, chased all the ‘normal’ people under verandas and into buildings. I closed my eyes, in no hurry to get anywhere, and by now so thoroughly wet through that it would serve me no purpose to go any faster. I walked, past the incredulous and bemused faces of the wrapped-up and sheltering guests, semi-wading through the rivers that now flowed down the gentle sloping pathways and into the carefully tended lake.
Eventually, as I walked, lost in the downpour which enveloped and included me in its embrace, I saw my destination. The Haunted Mansion, a typically fantastic goal for such a quietly monumental journey. I walked on, changing worlds and changing nothing, silently laughing at the weather for trying to put paid to my holiday, and at the same time pushing down the feeling that I had been fighting ever since I received that email. I could meet these challenges head on, and while I hadn’t planned on getting utterly and gloriously soaked that day, I had done so with a smile and a spring in my step. Drenched, I arrived at the shelter under which my incredulous friends waited, with no part of me dry and the prospect of a wait in the cold fan-filled ride line, a smile splitting my beard and water falling off my nose. I had beaten the rain, and what’s more I had done it with a ridiculous sense of enjoyment.
Regardless of thenews, I would just believe that little bit harder in myself and get where I wanted to be. Regardless of the rain, I would just walk that little bit taller and get where I wanted to be. The rain didn’t stop me.