Not dry

“Wait, Mary, those clouds are crazy!” I point ahead, then take out my phone to snap a picture.

The symmetry is perfect. We’re walking along the lakefront path with the lake to our left and the city of Chicago to our right. Over the lake, the sky is clear and blue, but directly in front of us, where water meets buildings, the blue makes its way into a fairly terrifying looking black.

“Dude. This is tornado weather,” Mary says, also taking a picture.

She’s right. We’ve gotten gusts of warm and cold air since starting out in a way I’ve never experienced. At first, I wished I’d worn a tank top. Now, I’d pay money for a fleece.

I hear the drops before I feel them. “Oh no. Here it comes.”

We look at each other, completely helpless - still a five minute walk from where we can cross from the path into the city. Not exactly what we’d signed up for, but a little rain never hurt nobody (probably not true, but we needed to stay optimistic).

“Should we run??”

“Nah,” I say. “I think we just need to accept this.”

The drops get fatter and quicker. Soon Mary and I are absolutely soaked through.

We power walk to the crosswalk leading off the path, with our sights set on completing the half mile walk to the train that will take us back up to our side of town. Once we’re close to the train, the rain slows. I look at her. She looks at me. We had wanted a long walk, after all.

“Should we…”

“Not get on the train?” I finish her thought.

We laugh and skip the station, continuing north.

We make our way through 2 more downpours and 2 more miles until we’ve safely made it to our desired location - a brewery two blocks from my apartment. With chattering teeth, we chow down on french fries and fried pickles and a hazy IPA.

No questions asked, it was a well-earned reward.