rainy day campus gothic
there are 100 people in class. this seems like a great many, until you feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck as you are compelled to glance over your shoulder at the 400 empty lecture seats. a pencil falls to the floor. the echo is jarring.
you have shitty brakes on your shitty bike, as do i. they scream at each other in painful recognition as we narrowly avoid collision
the river is running high. there are no ducks. where have the ducks gone.
you swear to begin studying once the rain stops. the rain has not stopped in 3 days and you are on academic probation
"practice is not cancelled,“ comes a note in your inbox. but you know this is not so. you know the field is flooding.
someone sits next you in the caf. "it’s raining,” they say. you gaze out the window. they are right. you wonder when you will again see the sun.
it appears to have stopped raining, so you walk to the caf. it is not raining. it is misting now. you regret leaving your jacket. wishful thinking is the folly of man.
“water cleanses the body, rain cleanses the soul,” says the girl who has walked in the rain. you too have walked in the rain and do not understand. the girl seems content but your feet have been soggy for four straight hours. you are afraid of this girl.
the broken souls are easily spotted. they walk in a downpour, their hoods remain down. they stare ahead, although whether to warmth or to death is uncertain
you hear whispers ripple through a class. “LL Bean lied.” and you know. no backpack is truly water-proof. “my notes will be ruined,” you think. you would not have looked at them either way. and you know this.
you cry in the rain. you think no one will notice. the redness of your eyes is the only color on this side of the quad. we know you cry. the rest of us will do this later, once we are dry. it may not be weeks until we cry.
