Dinner for 1

Original Post Date: March 3rd, 2009

Nietzsche said, "God is dead." Chicken Little said, "The sky is falling." Frost said, "Nothing gold can stay." Ozymandias said things that none of us remember.

We are in a storm. It's pouring outside. Go look. Do you see it? The raindrops of change beat on our windows. New ambitions flash with sudden brilliance, followed by a revealing groan of the way things were. The wind sings with the voice of time itself, and these nights it is no love ballad. Time waits for no one, and the devastation of fallen nature imposes its importance on the man-made structures of security and supremacy.

Responsible homeowners are worried about their houses of cards. Children are in awe, standing next to the window.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me ... for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."

I love the rain. Especially when it pours. The only place better than next to the window with a cup of hot chocolate, is outside in a playground or a parking lot. Somewhere where there is nowhere. Where the only shelter is the shelter of nature - tree-branches of memories and caves of laws. A shout in the rain is a muffled pebble and every droplet it touches, ripples. A smile is a lighthouse, guiding lost ships safely into their port of happiness.

We can't choose when it will rain. Usually we complain about its inconvenience, when it ruins a parade to celebrate Achievement, or when a rousing game of Friendship is called on account of it. We are furious at the clouds of Gods when it happens on a wedding.

We also can't choose when it stops. I had my raincoat on today. I woke up with it, actually. I wasn't looking forward to getting all cold and shivery. But I was looking forward to that familiar pound of the world's elevator music.

The jailwarden said, "You get one last meal."

Steak. Bacon wrapped asparagus. Garlic mashed potatoes. Gingerale. It was perfect. I am actually an amazing cook, hidden deep within the bowels of a picky eater. I learned from the best.

Frank Sinatra helped me make it. Good ol' Frankie - he always helps me make it. He's getting old, and repeats a few lines once in a while, but he still knows how to make me smile.

Phantom of the Opera was my conjugal visit. We've met each other a few times before. She knows all of my favorite positions.

There is an eye to every storm, and today was it. There is something to be said for not being wet, for being in the purest moments of consistency. There is a brilliant comfort in those lulls, where one is able to meander as they will, knowing that for those moments, everywhere is a warm, trusting place. They do not come often, and when they do, we are well advised to treasure them.

But you can't jump in puddles when it's dry.

"I wish it was raining," I said.

- Z