Lots of Purple Rain

Last Friday's torrential rains kept us out late. We danced in the street while water gushed into our basement, climbing up the wheels of dozens of snoozing bicycles.

There is a certain smell when the first drops hit the hot streets and brittle window screens-- a dusty, blooming, friendly city smell that has always pulled me outside while others scurry under the awnings. I remember long walks during summer storms from my growing up years in Hyde Park, watching tired lawns perk up, and scuffed sidewalks gleam with temporary polish, enjoying the quiet and solitude, a transformation more subtle than a snowstorm, but no less exhilarating. 

We were celebrating a friend's 40th birthday. At 11pm we started sending our sitter apologetic, hopeful texts. Do you mind if we wait until it clears a bit? No problem. She had biked too, and was not eager to suit up in the storm.  We asked again at midnight and one more time until we agreed that we would  just return when the rain stopped and/or we were done kicking up our heels.

Michael and I had brought dueling 80's dance mixes. We have a funny, sparring relationship about music. He probably has better, more sophisticated taste (for example, he actually listens to lyrics, whereas I am a sucker for anything that gets my bottom shaking), and is a master of putting together mixes. But right before we left for the party, I realized he had no Eurythmics and only one Prince song on his mix. I also thought some of his choices were too slow for a dance party. He protested, conjuring up memories of soundtracks from his housing co-op days in Michigan. I snarked back something about him being older and not a "girl."  The gauntlet was down and I was challenged to come up with my own playlist in 30 minutes.

I am glad we brought the extra music. Michael's songs got everyone moving, even those I had scoffed at. But around midnight, his list was winding down, the rain was turning up, and no one seemed in a mood to stop dancing. Enter my combo of Cyndi Lauper, David Bowie, Stevie Wonder, The Pretenders, Annie Lennox, B-52's, Peter Gabriel and Prince.

Long story short--there was much dancing. The warm, relentless rain was seductive. We opened the front door to their graystone and let the music hit the street with the water. We followed with bare feet and then bare everything. Laughing and bathing in the purple rain, letting it fall on our heads like a memory. . . .

We were 30 and 40 somethings, not so much grasping at old memories but feeling strong and joyful about where we are now. These are friends I have known for over ten years. . . not growing up friends, instead growing older together friends. We all carry our own associations with these songs of our youth, but share more recent adventures:  crazy bike trips, raising kids, tilting at windmills and breaking up concrete.

I can picture them chasing the rain--maybe even the same storms--as kids in Detroit, Boston, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Evanston, Wheaton, Rogers Park.

The evening finally wound down at 3am, as the trees dripped echoes of the storm.  I biked home in heels and a borrowed T-shirt. When Michael and I opened the door to our basement and saw how the rain had worked a different kind of magic on our block, we laughed and groaned, snapped back into "responsible adulthood."

We spent the next few days cleaning out the basement (sewage water-ewww!), but I am still grateful for the storm and more memories.