The Northwest Voice

After hearing the news that we would be in total charge the following night, I looked back at Debbie, expecting something, anything, but she only smiled weakly. Of course, I knew the answer already—we were committed for our entire summer, and it wasn’t even the 4^th of July! Those remaining two months loomed before us, and though it should have been a time to relax—a time to get acquainted with our new home, we were shackled to the decrepit theater. We were doomed.

During the return trip to Coos Bay , the only sound was that of the windshield wipers. Those frayed rubber blades only did an adequate job, mainly because I hadn’t changed them in three years. Foolish Californians! So, instead of talking, we listened to the sweeping, back and forth, motion. After all, there was really nothing to say. Of course, I longed to blame Debbie for the loss of our summer, but the truth is, I only had myself to blame for not speaking up.

 Just as we pulled up next to the old house on Telegraph Hill, the sky opened up. Where there had been a continual drizzle, now was a downpour, the likes of which we’d never seen. We sat quietly watching the water run down the windshield. Finally, the silence was broken.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” I asked.

She replied, “No, I though you had.

“Nope,” I answered, “sorry.”

 But maybe we can wait it out.”

Sounded logical, especially if it was a California rain, but we had no idea how much it rained in the Pacific Northwest. We sat and sat until finally we’d had it.

“What if it never stops?” I asked. “What do we do?”

“Let’s make a break for it,” Debbie said. I nodded and we quickly flung open the car doors and made a dash for the stairway. Since our apartment was on the third floor, the stairway made two switchbacks before reaching the top floor. By the time we staggered into the apartment, we were soaked to the skin.

As we peeled off the wet clothes, Debbie said, “I will never again make fun of women in rain gear.”

The next morning we awoke to rain. Since we had both grown up in the Central Valley, we were used to sunshine and lots of it. So, it’s no surprise that the rain was starting to wear on us. I mean, in Bakersfield a rainstorm made the news, so to shake ourselves out of the doldrums, we decided to go out to breakfast and then go shopping at the indoor mall.

This time we took our umbrellas and pulled them out when we parked the car. Wouldn’t you know it – it was a Saturday morning, so we had to park quite a distance from the mall. Armed with our trusty umbrellas, we were taking no chances, but while our head and shoulders stayed dry, our shoes began leaking. So, by the time we made it to the shopping center, we both were sloshing around in wet socks. We were miserable.

“How do they deal with all this rain?” Debbie asked as we sat down on a bench.

I shrugged and slipped my shoes off of my feet, pealed off the sodden socks, and started to wring the water from them into a planter.  I was beyond wondering what people would think, but when I realized that I had no intention of putting them back on, I slipped on my shoes and tossed the socks into a trash can.  Debbie followed suit and soon we were both walking down the mall. As luck would have it, a shoe store was just around the corner from the main entrance. Making squishy sounds, we walked into the store and were immediately approached by a young salesgirl.

She smiled and looked down at our feet. “Need some rain boots?”

“I guess so,” I answered and we picked out a matching pair of green boots. We also bought two pair of slip on tennis shoes, and dry socks, to wear as we explored the mall. With our wet shoes in a bag we headed out of the store, looking for some serious raingear.

Poor Debbie – she had always taken pride in the way she looked and dressed and now she was reduced to wearing rubber boots. As we walked through the mall she became more critical of the people who passed us.

“Did you see her? She’s not even wearing makeup! And that one over there – her hair isn’t done. Come to think of it, none of the women we’re seeing seem to care about their appearance.”

“Maybe the climate forces them to simplify,” I offered, but Debbie would have none of it. 

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter – there’s no excuse for it. My gosh, we’re out in public. Have you ever seen me go to a department store dressed like that?”

I shook my head, but thought to myself, “If she’s willing to wear rain boots in a mall, who knows what next year will bring?”