Low Down: Junk, Jazz, and Other Fairy Tales from Childhood by Albany A. J

Author:Albany, A. J. [Albany, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781935639770
Publisher: Tin House Books
Published: 2013-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

beauty of rain

Some cities have a particular season that best defines them, and for L.A., I always felt that it was summer. Most striking was how differently things sounded when filtered through the thick haze that would come in late June and stay through September. As a kid, I spent many summer afternoons with my head out the window, listening to Sly Stone being played on some distant cheap stereo along with the loud, lazy conversations of end-of-their-rope mothers and the sound of babies wailing in many languages, their cries rarely answered. Plastic wading pools meant for two or three sat in the middle of Hollywood courtyards, at least six wild kids piled into each, while neighbors looked on from behind broken screen doors and cats sat on top of rusted-out VWs on lawns of long-dead, overgrown grass.

My passion was for summer showers. Dad said my love of the rain came from being conceived and born on rainy days. To me the smell of rain-wet pavement was sweeter than that of any flower. I’d lie out on the fire escape, looking straight up at the sky’s end, trying to see the rain’s origin, watching it fall in seemingly slow motion, perfectly silent and true. Holy water. On the street below, shirtless boys skateboarded down slippery sidewalks with long, wet locks sticking to their backs, beautiful as statues.

Then there were the old people who hung out at the bus stops, never going anywhere, just sitting on the benches, watching. These ancient sentinels were a mystery to me.

Who were they? Had they been radicals or jewel thieves? Now they only sat at the Hollywood and Western or Hollywood and Vine bus stops, toothless and forlorn, with wet newspapers held over their withered heads, too old and tired to enjoy the rain. The summer showers never lasted long, but when they did come, I felt that life held possibilities, and I’d find myself almost believing in something.

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