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The Ride

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It rained the day of the local airshow, and my mood was as dark and sullen as the skies outside. A myriad of things had brought me down. Achy knees. A few recent arrows of intolerance within our rural community that - while missing my children - passed close enough to my multicultural family to cause a sting and to make me wary. My son, Demario, had given me a particularly hard week of testing boundaries and defiance as he struggled to adjust to our family. I was tired the moment I got out of bed that morning.

Roger came in from his early wanderings, boots caked with mud that was dribbling on the kitchen floor, and suggested that we go to the airport to watch the show. "It's raining," I muttered, glancing from my coffee cup to glare at the dirtied floor beneath him. He shrugged good naturedly and without being asked, my husband gave me his new theory.

"Do you think that God smells like rain?" He pondered, and the thought chased a smile across my face. Still somewhat reluctant, I rounded the kids and we headed out into the storm.

For a tiny-town event that came on a rainy day, the airshow brought out the people like few events have. Rain-soaked drifters from all parts of our area huddled together that Saturday, in two hangars that smelled of grilled hotdogs, and they chatted with one another as they waited for a showing of ancient bombers and aerobatic planes. My daughters called to childhood friends and Roger, ever the newspaper man, headed into the center of the gathering. I stood there, solemn, on the edge of the crowd holding a baby too big to be carried and glanced down at my son. His shoes were on the wrong feet and his faded shorts were baggy on his thin frame. His nose had dripped and dried a pale crust upon the dark skin above his lip. He'd forgotten to lotion his legs. I wished I'd taken the time to remind him to wash his face and tend to his ashy skin before we left the house. Those are the things he does not remember on his own. I wished he had a friend to find here too. I wished he'd tell me more of the thoughts that went through his ten-year-old mind at times like this. I wished he didn't look so sad. I wished I could tell him at that very instant that everything was going to be all right.