The Rain

I wrote this poem (?) back in 2001. It was after a sensational summer thunderstorm that summoned old memories of my long-lost friend, Roseann Fusco. She was our landlord's daughter and just one year older than me. We were friends from 1965 until 1970. I have searched the Internet for her, to no avail, but will keep trying with the hope of discovering where she is, what she is doing and see if she remembers me - and the rain. It is amazing what a sound, a scent or a taste can evoke. Here is what I wrote after the "rain" way back in 2001. It rained last night and I thought of you. As I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythmic drumming of the raindrops on the roof, I remembered, so vividly, our fascination with the rain. We especially loved the thunderstorms. I recalled running down the stairs to your apartment where we sneaked out onto the covered porch of the house on Putnam Street. Excitedly, we huddled under a blanket and eagerly awaited the first flash of lightning to pierce the sky. After each bolt our count would begin, "one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand..." In unison, we would squeal in delight when the crack of thunder struck. I can so clearly recall the cool, fresh scent of the air that the rain heralded. A cleansing rain, a rain so hard that it washed our chalked hopscotch boxes from the sidewalk. Steam rose from the cement roadway and everything seemed clean and fresh again. Over thirty years have passed and I wonder, "Do children still play that game anymore?" It rained last night. I sat by my window and thought of you. It was a hard, steady rain. The kind that could erase a chalked hopscotch box from the sidewalk. Steam rose from the blacktop street. A tear, bittersweet, fell from my eye for days and friends long-gone. Then, a flash of lightning split the sky. I began to count, "one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand." When the thunder rumbled, I thought of you and wondered if you were close enough to hear it, and if so, did you remember too? Roseann, I hope to find you someday.