2:05 AM.
The rain is slapping down on the ground, hard.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” a girl outside says in hushed excitement, “it’s, like, really wet.”
At first, I thought the sprinklers had turned on, as they do every night, and ignored it for a while. It didn’t occur to me then that the sound of water seemed harsher, angrier, like the water was attacking the state-wide drought with a vengeance. I clamber down the bed frame–the stacked beds provided footholds–and nudge my feet into slippers. Like a ghost, I hover over to the window, careful to keep quiet. The snores of my roommate continue on in ignorance.
Before I pull back the coarse curtain, I glance backwards to reassure myself of sleep behind me. I peel back a section of the fabric. A faint reflection of my face gazes back at me in wonder, then the rain comes into focus.
The walkway from my dorm to the rest of the campus is wet. The puddles have no beginning or end, and the split-second ripples from the rain appear livid and with purpose. There is nice lighting outside, yellow-orange and dim, reflecting off the water. The scene is almost picturesque, but I don’t linger. I leave the window open; the screen ought to deflect some of the rain. Withdrawing, I climb back to the top “bunk”, and sit against the wall, listening.
I close my eyes.
When I open them I’m in the music building, standing on stage in the concert hall. The lights are bright, yellow-white rather than orange. I can’t see any faces, but the red plush-lined seats are filled with bodies, black and anonymous. I am with my ensemble–I don’t know who or which one, but I know they are my people and we are one and none and everyone.
We are lined up in front of our instruments, hands in front, smiling, looking out to the audience. It is night time and the concert had just ended. There is no trace of the repertoire we just performed in the hall, just the sound of thunderous, livid applause.
I open my eyes and the applause is still in my ears, great and unceasing. I know by morning’s light it will be gone.
I also know that the upcoming concert hall will sound just like the rain when I am done performing three nights from now.
Nestled in my covers, I begin to drift off to sleep. I dream proud and vivid.
—
I like to dramatize things. I should really be doing homework.
Wordsmith, ...Et Cetera 