Raincoat

Now that it’s warmer out, I like to sleep with my window open. Even though the cars going down Highland are loud, I enjoy feeling the cool air on my face at night, and the warm sun opening my eyes in the morning. But sometimes I wake up to wet light. Those days it’s tempting to complain; it’s romantic, but I won’t lie and say I like when it rains. But I also don’t hate it, because I get to wear my raincoat. I got it at the thrift store down the street, along with a print of “Christina’s World”. The coat is cream and long, with a huge collar and sides that widen as they go down my legs. When I got it, I convinced the guy to give me a discount if I paid in cash. That felt nice, but afterwards I regretted buying it. I realized my new coat had some issues. It is a size XL and is way too big for me. My hands barely peek out the wide cuffs. It is old and stained. It clearly wasn’t made for me, but I wear it and I go out in the chill. The waterproof fabric engulfs my body. I’m more coat than man. Still, I like how it has big pockets, and they can fit a book and my hands. I’m wearing my hat, which is new. A month ago I didn’t wear hats, I thought my head was too big. I’ve been wearing one every day lately. I walk up the street and get a coffee. I sit and read Mary Oliver in the moist morning. On the way back I walk under a tree. A rainy whirlwind shakes up the branches and I’m showered with chunky droplets and pink leaves hanging. They’re cold and soft and blurry; they fly in circles for way too long, then graze the sidewalk in silence. I look around and think of what Oliver means by the pleasures of the body in this world. It’s me, with my raincoat, in a world not tailored, but fresh and grounding, physical and real. I look at my reflection bouncing off a beady window. I’m standing underwater and my coat fits me perfectly.