weather report

nobody here believes me about the weather back home.

i brought the report in on paper because the office printer has a setting for legal documents and i wanted the sky to suffer under one. it said rain, but not the kind that falls. it said the rain would come sideways, strike the windows, and leave small stones in the gutters. dolores looked at the page and asked if that was a joke.

i said no. i said back home the weather has a grudge and enough time to work on it. she put the paper beside her mug and told me the forecast outside was clear. i looked through the window. the parking lot was dry, the trees were standing up, and one cloud had the shape of a thumb somebody had pressed into bread.

there were forty-two drops on the glass.

i counted them because the smallest one kept moving after the rest stopped. dolores said that was condensation. i said condensation does not usually climb. she said maybe it was a bug. i hate when people offer a second explanation that is worse than the first.

by lunch, the report had a damp corner. the corner was nowhere near the window. i folded it shut and put it in my drawer, under the burnt strawberry i keep for emergencies. nobody asked what kind of emergency required a strawberry. this is why nobody believes me. they want the weather to arrive with a permit, a witness, and a normal noun.

i am taking the report home tonight, and if the sky starts climbing, i will let it in.