A Walk in the Rain
A Walk in the Rain by Dave Wright I study my watch. The second hand touches the 12. Six o’clock. Time for my walk, a routine I have done every day for the past ten years—except for once a couple of years ago. The evening news reported some kind of problem in a nearby neighborhood—a race riot or gang violence—something like that. I could have gone for my walk as usual. But I didn’t feel well, you see. I went to bed early that night, pulled the covers over my head, and slept until morning. Sometimes my bravery frightens me. I check my watch again. Five after. I’m late. I bolt the back door, check the lock a second time, then shuffle to the front entry. The only sound is my slippers sliding across the linoleum in the empty house, which has been my home for fifty years. It used to ring with music, but it is deathly quiet now. I drop onto a bench by the door, grunt, and stoop to tie the laces of my walking shoes that are neatly under the bench. I rise from the bench and reach for m