I was poised in the library, facing a window as big as a movie theater screen. On the other side of the glass, the afternoon was shaded under a pavilion of clouds. Tree branches bobbed back and forth like sea buoys, and the pedestrians picked up their paces. I turned from the window to my laptop and checked weather.com's local radar. It looped the images like the footage of JFK's assassination. I was grossly entranced by the red splotches.
This was happening at roughly 1:30 p.m., and I was preparing to leave the library less than a half hour later to walk home. According to the radar, deep reds and yellows would be dumping their buckets of water at that time, and I wasn't into the whole "wait for the rain to slow down before walking outside" idea. I had things to do. I needed to get home. I was hungry. I'd get wet if it meant I could eat a delicious egg sandwich ten minutes sooner. What food could the library supply? There were a few vending machines, but, come on, that's no meal.
As I contemplated the nature of a steady diet of Doritos and honey buns, Chris Wood walked up to me. I said something like, "Chris: you are at the library, and I am at the library. This is nifty. I usually don't see you here at the library because you are somewhere else while I am at the library. But look at the two of us meeting here, atypically, in the library. Isn't it funny? Isn't the library a great place for us to run into each other?" I don't remember how he responded, but I think he said something about the library. It might not have been important.
We heard thunder. Chris then faced me as if he had a secret. He knew I'd be leaving soon and said, "Do you want to borrow a poncho?" I waited for him to add "just kidding," but after it seemed like he wasn't going to say that, I slapped him in the face, right there in the library. I slapped him hard; it made the sound of a one pound chicken breast flopping onto a frying pan. Chris was upset, but I thought he was trying to pull a prank with this poncho thing. When I realized he was serious, I apologized with a firm hand shake and told him I'd accept his offer.
Chris disappeared and I headed for the outdoors. I held the folded poncho in my hands, reluctant to get inside of it. I walked out into the rain, and it felt like I was pushing through a thick jungle of water. My laptop rested like a helpless child in its pouch against my body. I had to wear the poncho. This was an exercise in protection. I trotted over to the nearest building to prepare.
Standing in front of a glass door, I slid the crinkly thing over my body and backpack. It felt like I was getting inside an oversized hooded robe made of thin blue garbage bags. I took it off and put it back on. I breathed deeply and blazed outside. My hands and feet were immediately lathered with water, but the rest of my body was dry. Rain pelted the ground around me, but I walked slowly, methodically. I knew the torrent could fall all it wanted, but it would never drip too far inside.
Write to Joe atjwmchugh@bsu.edu
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