February 29 – March 6

Shitstorms happen. And we need them to happen.

For these past two weeks it’s been surprisingly gorgeous. Blue skies, a smudge of humidity in the low 60s, the rising scent of tattered wet newspaper and spilled trash bins. Uncommon for March, but lovely. Lovely for a night to be had for wine nights and a rooftop dinner in the Mission with your closest friends. And why not follow it up with an art gallery opening?

But as you know when great plans are anticipated, they somehow backtrack. Starting with the rain. It didn’t swell in the earlier part of the day when I was in North Beach, only in my Uber ride on the way to El Techo did it worsen. Upon shaking off my bright yellow umbrella of dew and hugging my friend in the line to the elevator I didn’t know how much worse everything would get. The warm faces quickly regressed into worried looks. My good friend’s phone and wallet were stolen. To have your personal items take off with the Lyft that had just sped off is a panicking situation. And reaching the Lyft via my other friend’s phone was a joke. How we wished all of this was a joke right now.

What unraveled from the rooftop to a living room with two police officers at nearly 2 AM was just a part of a night no one asked for. We didn’t ask for a phone to be stolen away, for a windy tumultuous night stranded at the Balboa Park BART station amidst the heavy rain while someone out there was satiated by the 15 bucks spent at Mission Burrito in no solemn thanks to my friend’s credit card. I sat in the Uber we managed to call on my way to my friend’s apartment in soggy shoes and tights clinging to my legs, sad and defeated in how the night had brought us to here. But giving way to Murphy’s Law, in spite of our hopes for a lovely reunion anything did happen. Anything but the night we had in store.

Then the most amazing thing happened. We were warm in a bed of white sheets and a sun glaring from behind a bookshelf where rays peaked through the spaces where the books weren’t tall. I was tired but at peace. There were still sips of Earl Grey tea left in our mugs and my friend had traced her phone, cracked, abandoned at SFO airport. Recovery of that, and our composure over so much disbelief at the storm and fatigue and lack of help from authorities over the long night, was finally having its effects.

Perhaps the morning is all you ever need. We’ve come into the clear and the storm has subsided, and the air sure smells great with the disaster of the night lingering for true reconciliation. I guess, from all this, things you don’t expect, and don’t want to happen, find their way into your weekend to realize that was just what you needed to remember those that dance in the rain with you.




2 thoughts on “Petrichor

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