...and it's okay to be angry sometimes.

Donna decides today that she likes the rain.

But her relationship with the rain comes without the fresh enthusiasm of my nephew Kelly (who's six) and I know this because she just bought an umbrella. It's not that connected--you know? There's no intimate bond here--Donna, tiny bullets, and a bulletproof vest. Her blood might be green, for all I know.

Outside the clouds are firing projectiles, laying siege to the town--but it never lasts long. There are no sorties, no reinforcements--there's none needed. I learned that from experience--no textbooks or anything, I swear. The food goes bad too quickly in the sky, I suppose. It's perpetually 1894 up there--that forgettable year before modern refrigeration was invented. I Googled it, don't worry. 1894. It was also the year when one of Alexander Graham Bell's telephone patents expired. I Googled that, too.

And so here I am--on the telephone. It's true. Sometimes I think I've been on the telephone my whole life--every voyage and visit I've made has been via copper or tiny fiber optic filament. I've been everywhere--wow. Too bad I couldn't take pictures. I woulda had some stories--man.

"So guess what--from now on I'm going to be in love with the rain."

"Is that so?" I clamp the telephone receiver with my cheek and neck, and begin to chop an onion.

"For real. I bought an umbrella and everything. It's raining right now, and I'm going to go outside and go for a walk and just fall in love with all the drops." She makes a few charming sound effects.

"With an umbrella, Donna? That's hardly fair. Where's your kindergarten spirit? My nephew, Kelly--you should see her outside, dirt, mud, puddles--everything. Once she stomped on a puddle right beside me, soaked those new pants I had just bought.

"Well I don't want to get soaked, Billy. I get claustrophobic when my clothes are sticking to me and my hair is covering my eyes--no, I just can't do that. I need that umbrella, it'll keep me young."

The onion falls into the pan, and I begin to react.

"Right--well I was going to run down the block to the market--could I come with you?"

"Billy, you'd have to take the streetcar, and you always miss it. Plus, aren't you eating now?"

"Well, yeah."

"See, I can't afford to miss this chance--who knows when it's going to stop."

I pace about the kitchen and hear the wind rattle the ladder of the fire escape. The rain is knocking against the half--opened windows.

My oven's buzzer is very distinct.

"All right, all right--go have your adventure."

"Have a good dinner Billy, I'll see you around school."

"Later."

I eat and leave the apartment and when I step outside there is only a light drizzle and a few clouds--and my skin is wet for a moment but it all quickly fades into a dry, lonely sky.