The parson’s iPhone said it was going to rain. His iPhone does not lie. It rained. It really rained.
At dawn he thought his iPhone was waltzing close to a falsehood. Two hours past dawn the day became hazy as rolling clouds danced with rays of sun unable to decide who was to lead.
An hour after the gainfully employed sat down at their desk or punched in on the clock a mighty cloud of deep, deep blue black obscured the dance floor pushing the sun into places unknown and swallowing up the rolling clouds. The day was turned into a dreary gray obscuring the optimism that hours ago shook him awake.
Mid-morning seemed like partial night as the ominous clouds lingered over the day, slowing the pace of intentions and prolonging his daily visit to the Quik Trip. Finally, cappuccino in hand, the parson headed toward the car, where Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion waited expectantly.
In defiance of the gloom of the day and the parson’s approach, Charlie Brown occupied the front seat. His opening the door brought a look of “What?” to his the canine’s face. “Get in the back,” the parson ordered, “you can’t drive. You don’t have thumbs.” In apparent understanding of his lack of evolutionary development Charlie Brown conceded the parson’s superiority and jumped to his appointed place.
East the parson traveled down the familiar highway not more than a half mile when the black cloud overhead decided to completely dominate the day. Drops of participation hit the windshield with unusual force, big drops, real big drops. They hit at once. The deluge did not begin with a splattering of rain. The cloud opened the doors of its bomb bay and released a torrent in a stream as if poured from some celestial bucket.
The lights were on. The parson could not see very far. He didn’t see him until he was parallel to the car door. Head down, the hood of his sweat shirt was pulled over his head obscured what features were visible through the rain. It had only been raining two or three minutes His clothing drooped with the weight of the wet.
Two hundred yards beyond the parson turned around and headed west toward the now approaching shadow trudging through the downpour, the ground cover sloshing with each footstep. “Need a ride?”
“Ah, sir, I’m going that way,” he said, pointing beyond the parson’s rear bumper.
“I know,” said the parson; “I turned around when I saw you.”
He reached for the door; then he paused, looking at Charlie Brown. “That dog friendly?”
“That dog’s friendly,” the parson smiled, as Charlie Brown leaned forward with nose twitching in examination.
He got in. The parson turned around, heading east again and asked the soaked figure where he was going. The parson headed that way. Silence was drown out by the pelting of the rain on the car. The wipers worked in incessant effort to clear seemingly submerged windshields.
“I appreciate this, I guess I was really stupid. I thought I could make it to the Quik Trip and home before the rain started. I was really stupid. It’s eight miles round trip.”
The parson turned onto the road that hosted the man’s destination. He protested he could walk, but the parson ignored him and continued through the wet onslaught. He let him out at his Mama’s house where he said he was living for a while.
When the parson turned around and headed back the man was on the porch. A heavy stream of white smoke was propelled into the downpour as he relished the reason for his walk in the rain.
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