“Give It Up, Sweetheart”

Something about rainy days brings back memories of other rainy days. I’m not one of those people who finds rain saddening in particular. There is beauty in gray skies and comfort in the nurturing power of water.

However, rain is an obstacle for travelers. It’s one thing to watch nature bathing itself from a dry, comfortable room. It’s quite another to be in Gloucester, Massachusetts during a Nor’easter with several blocks to walk.

I suppose I was waiting for a break in the downpour. My friend, from the North End of Boston, offered his hand. “This is the only option.”

Pulling my heavy-duty stadium umbrella from my bag made him laugh. “You’re fighting a dragon with a flyswatter.” To illustrate, a man on the street lost his battle with his umbrella. It folded and twisted as if a demon had possessed it. I had seen spoons bent in similar shapes in horror movies.

I might have waited longer. He pulled me into the deluge. “Give it up, sweetheart. We have to go.” Within seconds, the thermal-lined hoodies we wore were satiated. Heavy globs of water and ice pellets bombarded us like bullets. At one point, he was attacked by a flying piece of plastic and I chased his sunglasses several yards while he wrestled the plastic behind a newspaper vending box.

I knew then that Chopin, whose Raindrop Prelude I had learned to play in childhood, had never endured a Nor’easter. Even the storm portion of the prelude failed to capture the violence we were attempting to survive. I had doubts about Axl Rose, too. His cold November rain seemed like heaven’s gentle weeping compared to this.

Escape was impossible. For half a block, I took shelter under my friend’s jacket, walking behind him. Rain defied all laws of physics and assaulted me from the sidewalk.

In the end, “Give it up, sweetheart”, was all I could do. We surrendered, helpless cowards to our environment, and gave up before reaching our destination. Instead, we stopped at a pub, where I expected to be shooed away for our appearance. Everyone in the pub was also drenched and frozen. A crowd of sweethearts who had given up.

Into each life some rain must fall, they say. There are no guarantees of moderation.