It's All In Your Point of View(Ric Wooldridge) It’s All In Your Point of View


Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax was being hard pressed to keep calm.

Shoot! Let’s face it. Jax was about ready to crawl out of his skin and dance in his bones!

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

The leak in the rain gutter was directly over his apartment’s mail box.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

He could tell the mail hadn’t come yet by the echoed accent of down beat. Plop! It wouldn’t be so bad if there was something to do. The TV was busted, the antenna connected to the radio was grounding out because of the rain, so all he could hear was gargles and static.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

All of Jax’s friends were at work, unlike himself. His job in construction was seasonal, which was normally alright if he had some thing to do. There was nothing to do today!

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax stared at the drops as they grew from the joint in the gutter and fell with the resulting, drip, drip, plop!

Two small drops followed by one huge PLOP that set his teeth on edge. The beat was definitely that of a waltz. One, two, one! One, two, one! One, two, one! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax didn’t remember the leak being there last year. But last winter had been full of noise and things to do. Last year Jax had a buddy to share his apartment. Gig had an awesome stereo system and a zillion CDs to constantly fill the air. But when Gig got married the tunes had gone with him. Now Jax had to make due with his puny off brand componant system with a screwed up CD player and single cassette deck. Too bad Jax didn’t have any tapes.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax buried his face in his arms as he draped himself across the back of a beat up, overstuffed, ugly orange chair that probably matched some sofa somewhere on the other side of the 1960’s, hiding his eyes from the object of his irritation.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax tried to think of something he could do to break the boredom. After four days of this weepy weather, he had already cleaned the house. His sparse bedroom sparkled, the kitchen gleamed, the worn carpet had been vacuumed and his piece of junk entertainment center was dust free. Jax refused to make his bed, because he would just mess it up again tonight, but he had already done his laundry and put clean sheets on the bed yesterday.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

If Jax had any creative inclinations maybe he could write some poetry. Shoot! It was worth a try. Who knows it might be good.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Jax flinched at each liquid impact with his mail box as he got out a pencil and paper. He shuffled over the his tiny “dining room” table that was centered in a small room that included the kitchen, living and dining area. He had bought the table from the corner bar and grill when they had gone out of business. It wasn’t bad for twenty-five bucks, and so what if it’s base allowed it to wobble.

Jax sat down.
Jax struck a thoughtful pose.
Jax began to twitch.
Drip. Drip. Plop!
I wish the rain would stop
Plop! Drip. Drip.
It’d be nice if it would quit.
Drip. Drip. Plop!
My life is off the clock
Plop! Drip. Drip.
Today is in the pit!

Mahershalalhashbaz! Enough of that! What did Jax know about writing poetry, anyway?

Drip. Drip. Plop!

With each drop Jax lost a little more patience; became a little more tense. With each drip his ability to think of anything substantial diminished in proportion.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

Without thinking Jax got up and went to the closet, just off his living room, and got his jacket and hat. As he donned his outdoor apparel, he allowed his unconscious momentum to thrust him out of the front door where he stopped to look briefly at the leaking rain gutter.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

After a moment of blank contemplation, Jax turned and walked into the rain in search of nothing. But after just a moment he left the offending liquid percussion section behind. Though it was decidedly wet, the tensions instantly began to unbind as he walked toward the city’s central park. Jax was surprised to notice a few small birds flitting through the trees despite the rain. Not being all that cognizant of the happenings in nature, he wondered if these feathered flitterers were also refugees of some form of cabin fever.

The streets seemed alive with sounds and movements. The misty drizzle changed direction with the slight wind. The clouds were moving in two directions at once, the upper layers moving more rapidly than the lower. The wind was cool as it blew the rain into Jax’s face, but instead of discomfort he was amazed to find it refreshing.

The determined stride of his exodus smoothed out to an easy stroll. A car with foggy windows passed him slowly, it’s driver all but invisible. The park came into view and for some reason he was surprised that it was deserted. Giant firs and redwood trees swayed and changed shape with each and every breeze. The greens, browns and grays, all subdued by gentle rain, had a dreamlike quality that eased his mind and renewed his spirit.

Jax, in all his life, had never just taken a stroll on a rainy day. After all, when it rained you were supposed to stay in where it was warm and dry. When he was young he had always played indoors on days like this. As he grew older, he had always found something or someone to occupy his time when it was wet outside. Now, after all these years, Jax was amazed at the pleasant sensations and impressions he was experiencing on his rainy day walk. Normally Jax would have found himself pronouncing anyone claiming enjoyment of such activity officially “a half a bubble off.” Jax smiled to himself, “Well, now I know,” he thought.

Entering the park, Jax went over to the playground area and eyed the wet swings. Shrugging, “oh well,” he sat in a swing and gazed across the green grass as the moisture soaked into his blue jeans. A squirrel came down the side of a fir tree to his left and clung head down as it barked at him. Noting that the squirrel was relatively dry under the thick foliage of the big fir he spoke to the crotchety rodent. “What are you griping about? You’re dry!” Then he started laughing. Maybe the squirrel had the same problem he did. Just because you lived in a tree didn’t mean that you couldn’t get cabin fever. “Alright, I get it. Why don’t you take a stroll? Its working for me.”

The rest of the afternoon Jax hurried at getting nowhere. Walking in the park, watching the wind blow random patterns of moisture across his path, he could feel the healing decompression of his short walk about. As he approached his home, drenched to the skin and completely relaxed, he could hear the two step pattern that had driven him from his home.

Drip. Drip. Plop! Drip. Drip. Plop!

A grin spread across his face as he danced to the rhythm up his porch steps and into his house.

Squish. Squish. Schlapp! Squish. Squish. Schlapp!

It was just a rainy day. As it turned out, his private thoughts turned out to be pretty good company.

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