held onto it

Summertime thunderstorms. Nothing like 'em. The air gets so hot and juicy, then sizzles itself into an uproar and downpour. During the day, a great work distraction. At night, a fantastic, romantic light show.

Today we had our first bout of the season, just before work let out, so that when I left for the day the sidewalks were no longer steaming hot and the air was almost refreshing after the stifling air of my lunchtime sun bath.

One of my favorite summer memories is of a thunderstorm the summer before Junior year of high school. Nicole and I had been stuck at her house all day having aimed to make it to the beach, but were lulled by the heat into soap-watching in the A/C. Having given up on the neverending saga of Luke and Laura (for the day), we wandered around the house pestering her mom into entertaining us somehow. Take us to the mall? Not going out in the traffic. Bake cookies? Too hot.

Suddenly, a breeze picked up. The sky got dark. Here was our entertainment! We leaned out the windows and gazed upwards. Big, fat drops splatted on the driveway, a couple at first, here and there. The leaves on the trees were twisting round and flaunting their pale green undersides. Then the skies gushed.

Just as fast as the storm had rolled in, Nicole had me by the hand, dragging me outside. We kicked off our Keds at the door and ran up her driveway. It had rained so hard, so quickly that puddles were already forming and streams were running down the side of the road to the gutters. We jumped and splashed and squealed and kicked and laughed - laughed with sheer glee - through the end of the storm, ignoring the choruses of "Jesus, girls, really!," coming from the house.

It was one of those moments that you begged yourself to hold onto, to enjoy as the kid you really still were, because you were on the cusp of being too cool for everything of the sort. Hanging with the older kids and partying and driving around in cars with your newly-licensed friends and worrying about kissing boys and not being seen as a little girl anymore was all-consuming. There wasn't time for silliness anymore, friends might not think you could cut it in the big leagues.

Except when moments like this presented itself, with one of your best friends out of the gaggle, who was on the same page as far as taking high school by storm, but, like you, peeked back over her shoulder every now and then and wanted it all to be easy and uncomplicated again. Who thought maybe there was something to that notion of not trying to grow up too fast, which at that tender age just couldn't admit to.

I'll never forget that day with Nicole. After jumping and laughing ourselves into a breathless tizzy, we held hands, peering up into the sky, letting the rain soak us through and drop into our mouths. And reveled in the sheer giddiness of being a kid... on the verge of not.