Rain.

I worry that they will see me. Two cars pass by, splashing water from their tires. The rain touches my sweater and marks it dark gray. I am not alone here.

I turn around and go back in the house, but the need still inside me. I need the rain. I need it.

I wander through the house, wondering where I will find my solitude. The porch doors are before me. I open them, and step out.

The rain comes whooshing at me, powerful and calm. It has no evil in it, just the force of nature. It is balanced. My sweater darkens some more as it slowly is taken over by the rain. The back yard is breathtaking. I see the mushrooms in the grass, their layers steeply defined, like an artist drew them. The leaves and grass and moss are green as the rain is drunken in, as they are nourished and mothered.

I look back inside the house. Will my sister see me? No. I tilt my head up to the overcast sky and feel the rain as it splatters on my face, in one place and then another. I squint and tense my face, but it hurts when drops land in the corners of my eyes, so I wipe them away and look forward again. I close my eyes and hear the sssssssshhhhhhh of the rain hitting everything around me. It is not enough yet.

My feet are covered by sneakers and socks that reach the bottoms of my calves. They are missing the glory. A bit quickly, I remove my shoes and peel off my socks, which are already wet. I place my feet on the puddles that have formed on top of the wood porch floor and relief floods through me as the water seeps between my toes and licks my heels.

But I still need more.

To my left, there are orange stairs of the same wood leading down to the ground. My eyes look for spiders, but I know somehow that there will be none. I climb over the dog gate blocking the enterance and descend to the ground, feeling the water that has collected on each step caress my feet. When I reach the bottom, the stone plates are cold, but this awakens me. Here there is more water and the puddles are deeper. Bits of dirt float in them and settle on my skin. The grass is inches away and popping in color.

I look up to the corner between the side of my gray house and a tall hedge where I know a spider resides. I see it in its web, its jet black body and stubby legs. It is here, just as I am, in the rain. Just here. I turn back to the grass and decide that it will be alright. There are no threats today. Not right now.

I step into the greenery. The tips of the growth touch the bottoms of my feet first before they settle and sink a little into the water pooling atop the grass and dirt. For a moment, I stare at the ground watchfully, but then I look straight ahead, trusting the earth. I am level with the bushes and the trees now. We are rooted in the same soil.

Something touches my foot, and I know before looking that it's not a blade of grass. A dull pang of fear rises in the back of my mind, and I shift my gaze down. It's...a worm.

Before I know what's happening, the corners of my mouth pull up and my jaw opens. Sound is released and it startles me that I am laughing. I take a step back onto the stone slabs and grin.

"Hi," I say, a smile in my voice.

The long, narrow worm slithers through the grass quickly, the same way a slippery noodle is slurped.

"Good to see you," I say as it hurries away, wherever it's headed.

Satisfied, I retreat and climb up the stairs, over the dog gate and back to the porch. A drop of water slides down the center of my back, and a shiver runs through me. I look down at my sweater and see that very little is still dry. Mom will be home soon. I should change. But first, I must thank.

"Arigatoogozaimashita. Arigatoogozaimashita."

They are the first words that surface in my head. I inhale deeply, then reluctantly reenter the house and shut the porch doors. My dog stands inside, waiting for me. The air is warmer, and for the first time, I realize that I am chilly.

I don't make much of an effort to dry my feet on the rug by the doors, and don't think about cleaning later when the water marks the floor where I walk. When I reach the bathroom, I look at myself with the lights off at first. Then with them on.

The water makes my hair sparkle in the light, drips down my face on the side of my nose. My skin looks dewey and more youthful than ever. My eyes are bright, alert. I hold out my arms to observe my damp sweater, but it's more than damp--it's soaked. Yet a couple spots along the insides of the arms and the sides of the torso have managed to stay dry. I rub the white parts across the rest of my sweater, trying to mix them with the rainwater. Then I peel off the sweater and touch my arms. I am pleased to find that they are wet even though I'd worn the sweater. I ball up the pullover and am about to put it in the laundry bin, but I don't want to part with the rain in it. I stand there for a moment with it in my hands, turning it over. I remove my shorts, which are less wet, and put them in the laundry. Somehow, my underwear is dry, but my gray bra is not. I look back at the sweater, and decide that the rain has touched me. As I dry, it will be in the air in the house. Over time, the rain will leave, but for now, it is here and within me.