Footloose In America

KNOWING WHY

Yes, there are moments when I wonder                  "Why are we doing this?"                                             Like when it's raining,                                                   - and I don't mean an average soft sweet shower-  but more like it's being poured                                  out of an endless bucket,                                              and it's cold                                                                     and it's been that way all day                                    and that New Hampshire highway                        has no shoulder,                                                            and everything is leaking                                          from the rain coming down                                       and the traffic splashing up,                                     and your boots are more like wading pools,          and you're worn out from lugging them along,   and you curse every driver                                       who comes a little to close,                                         which means you're cursing everyone                 who splashes you by.                                                   Yes there are moments when I want to  cry,         "Why are we doing this?"

"Hi. Do you remember me?'                                        She was sort of pretty. Her name was Mary.        She wrote for a local newspaper.                               We met her yesterday.                                                 It was dry way back then.                                           And the rain was not so heavy just now.

"Can I talk to you guys for a moment?                    "It's kind of important."                                                 It was a place where we could get off the road.     So we did, and all of us in our rain gear                  got closer together so we could hear                        through the rain and the traffic                               on the road. 

"Do you remember me telling you    about my brother?"                                 I did. She had said he was dead.         And as a poet                                            she hadn't been able to write               in the months since it happened.       "But what I didn't tell you                    "was that he dreamed of doing            "something like you're doing.              "He wanted to see the world "slowly, softly, close up                         "and personal.                                        "But he didn't get to do that."

The shower intensified                          as she pulled her hand                          from under her slicker.                        As she extended her clinched fist      toward us, she said,                               "If you tell me no,                                     "I will understand."                                Then she opened her fist to reveal      a silver locket, as she explained,       "In this locket                                           "are some of my brother's ashes.        "Would you take them with you         "so he can live his dream too?" 

Yes, there have been times                  when I have cried in the rain.            But never have I cried so sweetly      as I did right then.                                 Yes there are times when I wonder,   "Why are we doing this?"                    But not there. Not then,                       in that rain.                                            Right there, right then,                         I knew why.