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The grass was wet, soaked through with the light rain coming from the dark skies overhead, clouding out the sun. It was overcast, dripping down precipitation onto the ground below, soaking into the dirt until it softened into semi-solid mud, a waterbed for the insects. It looked like it was going to storm in a couple of hours, like lightning and thunder were likely to hit in a moment, exploding trees and taking down power lines, but for now, it was only bare quarter-inches of rain splattering down on your skin with all the force of a light breath.
It drummed quietly against the windows in John's home in Washington, gaining rhythm through mass motion, rata-ata-tata-tat with each second, thrumming through the glass. John's Dad sat quietly on the welcome-home mat in front of the front door, smoking from a pipe, letting the pressure difference between the inside and the outside blow the smoke into the rain. It was split apart in short order, unable to survive the machine gun barrage of droplets tattering the smoke into small shreds until it had dispersed entirely into the air, far too dilute to see or smell anymore. The scent was overwhelmed by the simple pleasantries of petrichor wafting from the ground below.
Four teenagers laid down in the backyard, two of them in the dirt, one of them in a small plastic pool so that they did not have to experience the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of getting mud on them, and another lying on the porch. It was John's idea, mostly. Let's just go and sit out in the rain. Why not? What else did we have to do with the day? From a cracked-open door inside, a bluetooth speaker quietly played the local alt rock radio station, nothing that hadn't been heard before on a drive to school, just so there was something to focus on. Dave could swear he was hearing the same thumping as the raindrops on windows coming from his sunglasses. John had discarded theirs, eyes bleary, staring upwards into the swirling, towering sky.
Their clothes were soaked through, and that was okay. Jade was lying down, slowly swiping her limbs back and forth like she was making snow angels in the steadily accumulating water in the little pool tub sized mostly for toddlers, her body curled up comfortably into it. The walls barely even came up to her face, her hair splayed out like a halo in the rainwater, every cannonball raindrop splattering into the pool and making a little splash while the rain began to slowly intensify. Her skirt clung to her legs like cling-wrap, eyes barred from the worst of the onslaught from large, round glasses.
John and Dave were not making mud angels, but they were both lying flat on their backs, letting rain fall down on them because when else would you have the free time to go and sit in the rain? When you were adult? Not likely. John reached out and gently pulled fistfuls of grass out from the mud, where it came loose like shedding dog fur, clinging in clumps to their fingers until they wiped it away on their shorts. Dave was planking, arms to his side, body ramrod stiff, water accumulating in the seams where his arms touched the edges of his torso and then gently spilling out. They were both soaked.
Rose was trying to one-up everyone in absurdism by reading a book in the rain, but then realized very quickly that she did not actually want to sacrifice any of the hardcovers she had brought with her and had put it back inside about fifteen minutes ago. Still, there was something strikingly soothing from the strange act of lying on concrete, hard, firm, unyielding, scratchy, and letting gentle raindrops cascade across you, soaking through you, like an ocean full of air. It was cold, but it was warm, the air unable to decide what temperature it wanted to be at from the summer climate. She gently rubbed her elbows against the rough concrete.
There was a clap of thunder, and footsteps from within. The back door opened up with a slow, cautious creak, the scent of pipe smoke accompanying it only detectable to Rose. The rain intensified further, starting to tickle, maybe even sting slightly if you were the sensitive type. "Alright, kids, time to come back inside. Don't need any of you getting hit by lightning now, do we?" Dad asked rhetorically, filling the air with a little "Hoo hoo hoo" sort of chuckle. He pulled the back door open as Dave and John slowly peeled themselves out of the dirt.
"Have fun, you guys!" John whispered to the earthworms they were now putting back down into the ground, letting them continue to wiggle away. "Coming, Dad!"