The Oracle 2020

47 Rain is Just Water

by Charlie Burnett The empty parking lot is no stranger to the absence of cars in such poor weather. When I saw that it was going to be raining, I texted Todd to see if we were still on. He responded with the shaka emoji and, “F Beach, 10:00 AM.” That morning, my mom drives me out of our gate, past the security hut, and onto Wickapogue Road. We drive along the glistening roads without a car in sight. The wet weather is only enjoyed by lush fields of grass and wildflowers. I look out the window and watch mansions, private beach clubs, and gated communities glide by, one after another.

“I don’t know, I just asked Todd if we were still on and he said yes.”

I blast my music, or at least the music my mom likes, as we start down the long stretch of marshlands and dunes on either side of us. We finally get on Road F and turn into the lot. I see Todd’s slumped silhouette through the borderlinelegal tint of his driver side window. I’m not sure whether he sees us, and then his window cracks open just enough for him to poke his hand out and wave lazily to my mom. I get out of the car and run to Todd’s truck while screaming, “Love you!” to my mom. She pulls off as I climb into Todd’s car and shut the door.

“How ya doin’ ked?” asks Todd in his trademark exaggerated surfer voice.

“Good. Good. How ‘bout you,” I reply.

“I’m fine, late-night driving but fine.”

“Do you know what it’s like out there?”

“Not one bit, but who cares, let’s dangle the toes in the