Once in a Blue Moon

They say it only rains in our town once in a blue moon. Whatever that means, it’s true. At least now it’s true. The old men would sit in the café every morning and talk about how they remembered a time when it rained nearly every day in the summer months. I can remember a time like that too. I don’t remember it raining nearly every day, but I do remember it raining at least twice a month. It was quite small then. Those were big rains. The gutters outside our house would be flooded. I would climb up onto the sofa under the window and press my nose against the cool glass, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. It would watch my father come home in the rain, his coat buttoned up tight and his hat pulled down low over his face. Mother would say, “You really need to remember to take the umbrella next time.”

My father would say, “But then I couldn't do this,” and wrap his arms around mother so that she shrieked. My father would laugh and kiss her, and then he would chase me around the house while I screamed with delight.

When the rain stopped I was allowed to put on my cherry-red rain coat and rubber boots and go out to play. The puddles were fabulous. The other children would come out to play in their rubbers, and we would have a splendid time until our mothers called us in. We went in reluctantly. Those puddles full of rain water were wonderful, magical things. You could see the whole world in them if you looked carefully. There is nothing you cannot be when you have a puddle of water and a world that smells as fresh as if it had been newly made.

But that was all so long ago. I don’t remember exactly when the rains stopped. I only remember that as I grew older the earth began to shrivel up and die like a grape that has been left too long in the sun. It was sad, and depressing, but we got used to it, all except for the old men who sat in the café every morning. They said we were under a curse. They said it was because children didn’t have as much respect for their elders anymore. I once asked my father if this were true. He sighed and looked sad as he said, “No, but perhaps it is because we do not have as much respect for our world as we used to.”

When I was fourteen I went to visit my cousin. Where my cousin lived it was fresh and cool and green. People had lush lawns instead of cracked brown earth and straggling weeds. Their trees were large and green and vibrant; ours, those few we had, were small and stunted and had a tortured sort of look. It was such a different world than the one I was used to. I loved it and wanted it to be my home. When I went back to our dry town I asked my father if we could move away. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “Our life is here right now.”

So I prayed. I prayed that rain would come again and turn our little brown town into a green paradise. I prayed that children would be nicer to their elders. I prayed that people would love their world more. God seldom works in the ways we want him to. The rains did not come. I finished high school, and the rain did not come. I went to college, and the rain did not come. I graduated, and still no rain. Perhaps the old men were right; perhaps we were under a spell that would not be broken for a hundred years. I would not see it happen. Perhaps my children would. I could not stay and wait for it, though. I had to leave, go some place where people were happier, and the towns were more than one color. I took a job at a newspaper office far away.

The night before I was to leave, I lay awake in my bed. Sleep would not come. The windows were open, letting in the little summer breeze there was. Everything was still. The moon was full and very bright, brighter than I had ever seen it. I looked at it and thought about the new life I was going to have. I was still thinking when I heard a noise.

When you've lived in a town your whole life you come to know its noises, the song it sings every day. But here was something new, and it awoke sudden memories in me. Perhaps I was dreaming, I thought. I sat up and listened hard. There it was again, a long, low rumble, followed by a crack. I got out of bed and ran downstairs in my pajamas. My parents were standing on the porch, tense and listening. I stood beside them and looked up. The sky was dark; only in patches could the stars be seen. The moon was still there, bright as ever, but all around it was darkness. In a flash I was little again, and the sky was dark and ominous, and the rain came.

And the rain came. It came slowly and lightly at first, a mere sprinkling, as if it had come to a new and strange place and didn't know where it was. All around the neighborhood doors opened and people came out, some in their pajamas. I walked out into the middle of the street and held out my arms. The rain pricked my skin. It was cool and refreshing, like a cold drink after a long, hot day of work. I could smell it, I could taste it, and it was good.

Then without warning the skies opened up. The rain poured down in sheets, soaking our bodies, seeping into the hard, dry earth. It woke us up. We were all out, the old folks to the little children. We laughed and danced about, splashing in the puddles that the thirsty earth did not drink up.

I slipped away, and went behind the house. I lay on my back on the ground. The rain poured into my eyes and mouth it seeped into every pore of my body. It was cold, but it was blissful. The moon still shone just as brightly despite the pouring rain. I laughed aloud for sheer joy. I was alive. I could feel it.

One rain does not make a river. But one rain can break a spell. Years later I came back to my home town. I lay awake in my bed again. I could hear the radio coming from the living room where my father was still up. I heard the announcer say, “Hello stargazers: get ready for a blue moon tonight. The moon will not actually be blue, but it is the second full moon in the month of August. This is the ‘seasonal blue moon,’ the third of four full moons in a season, an occurrence with has not happened in three years.” As the announcer’s voice faded into the back of my mind I heard the thunder. And the rain came.

Things seldom come out exactly as you want them to, but sometimes life can surprise you, once in a

blue moon.