Listening for Home in the Shower

          Sometimes when the rain hit the aluminum roofs the only sound I heard was a tinkling. Those times I did not worry too much because it meant only a light sprinkle and some steam off the sidewalks if the sun was out in full force. Other times, though, the first drops would pelt the roofs hard and fast. It did not matter what I was doing, then. If I was not at home, I started running, racing the wave of rain to the clothes' line.  
        Once the clothes were safe, I was back outside no longer fighting the rain, but reveling in it. My friends and I played soccer in the half flooded field, kicking up water and loose grass. More than once I hit a cluster of fire ants in the puddles, and had to go running to the rain gutter to rinse them off. I didn't care, though, because it was an excuse to feel that wonderful, clean rain water rushing down on my head like a waterfall. Afterwards, we lay down on the still warm futsal court and stuck out our tongues to catch the raindrops. All the time, there was the roar of the rain hitting the roofs.
       It has been nearly ten months since I played in a real rainstorm, ten months since I heard that great roar on the roofs. I can recreate the sound, though. I discovered it years ago when I was on furlough and feeling homesick. All I have to do is turn the water on high in the shower and put my hands over my ears. For a moment, then, I am listening to that roar again. For a moment I am listening to home, and I can imagine that I am beneath a rain gutter with clean, fresh water running down my face.