rain dance

' Once, I danced naked in the rain, ' I tell my daughter. ' It was very late and dark in suburbia and I was seventeen and in love, and my boyfriend and I were sitting in his room. He was playing guitar with his long, blonde hair over his face as he bent in concentration. I sat cross-legged on his bed and looked out the window. It began to rain and I smiled. I love the rain- you know that. I was writing a poem, and the notebook lay in my lap, a pen in my hand, and I took both of them and placed them on the counter. I'm going to dance naked in the rain! I said to my boyfriend. And he laughed, and he knew I meant it. So he followed me downstairs and out front, and after the door closed behind us we stood together under the street light for a minute, just watching the rain, listening to the rain. It flew in straight arrows underneath each street lamp, and my hair was beginning to feel damp. A dog barked twice down the road, otherwise there was only the sound of the rain. I took off my shirt, and threw it down. I took off my pants, my underwear and my socks, and threw them down, and I took off running down the middle of the street, shrieking pointlessly, joyfully. I ran back toward the house and saw my boyfriend, arms folded, grinning and wet, and as I grabbed my clothes he kissed me. It was a small thing, nothing really. No one saw me but him, and we went back in as quietly as we came out. But I was seventeen when I did this, and I am thirty-eight now, and I still remember like it was yesterday, the sight of the arrow rain, the sound of that dog barking, the feel of the wet asphalt underneath my feet, the smile on my face. '

My daughter laughs. ' Oh mom. That is just like you. '