Motorcycles at Night, in the Rain

It was raining when I left the house, and it was raining when I got to the meditation class. All throughout the class I was supposed to be meditating I could only think about how the sound of rain was getting louder and it was getting darker. I was worried about driving my motorcycle home at night in the rain.

In Nosara, motorcycles are more common than cars since they are able to drive better on the flooded roads during the rainy season, and I had just learned how to ride one for the first time, about a week ago. I was scared of how much I loved it, because I knew the risks, as if loving it more automatically shortened my lifespan.

I got used to driving during the day, and driving at night, and driving during the day in the rain, but never the worst combination, which was driving in the rain at night. I had a bad feeling this was going to be the night I had this first lesson.

I lay on my back, listening to the sounds of rain, trying to meditate, trying to relax and accept the present but I could only concentrate on the argument I had with him today. The stillness of the meditation only revealed how much he dominated my thoughts since that night.

I thought of the rain and how its static drumming across the canopy of the rainforest wasn’t getting weaker. It kept going and going. And he kept giving and taking, without end. Here’s my guitar, but I want your nights. Here is a picture of my dog but what is the secret of your loneliness? Here is my loyalty and attention, but now I wonder if should feel guilty for only thinking about what I want. He takes some of my emotions and independence.

In between the continuous giving and taking, and the pulling and pushing, revealed something else that was true. He existed there, as a paradox. He is proud and insecure. He is generous and moody and wants control and is afraid of hurting without justice. There are things, unspoken things, that are simply not acceptable. There is warmth like the central heater of a family home, and coldness like getting lost in a winter storm. There is purity and strategy and there is honour.

He overpowers me with his giving and taking, like the storm and thunder roaring around us. It scares me, it scares me a lot because it is so big and so much and so close and so out of my control. There is everything to worry about but also nothing at all, nothing to be done. I am surprised because he is asking for something I never knew I could give, he is asking for my life. I think yes, I will accept it, without wondering why anyone would want it. Things always change for me and I lose friends and jobs. I was popular in this town last summer, but not any more. Even the kindness I have to give I often confiscate in anger. I lost my only brother, I will have no family one day. The truth is my life is mostly nothing except courage.

I knew the rain would not stop and I would have to drive home. I waited back after class to see if the rain would get thinner, but it didn’t. I tried to make small talk with the instructor about the rain but nothing changed my fate.

The drive home was very long and I went very slow. The black road winded through the jungle like a river of rainwater. The rain was moderate and not easy to see through. The night was totally dark now and I only had the light of the motorcycle to see ahead of the road, I could only see ahead 20 meters at best. To my relief most other drivers were going slowly as well. Sometimes I remembered the landmarks, passing the hill here, the left curve there, the hotel here. I have been through this road many times but it still looked new and strange tonight.

I drove slowly in the rain and in the dark for maybe 30 or 40 minutes. Paved roads turned to dirt roads, that were sometimes flooded by as much as two thirds. Sometimes mud flooded the road in sideways rivers. I thought about wanting to write this instead of being here. I thought about the days we had apart and not knowing what would happen next, if he was thinking about me. Wondering if I had lost something important, if at all. I wonder what we paid for with that suffering, about what was earned. I thought about learning how it was good sometimes to squander things, just a little bit, in order to enjoy them. Time, money, people. I thought about how I was always afraid, almost always, almost constantly, but it was a brilliant way to live. I was afraid as I watched the road ahead. Watching, we were always watching each other.

When I got home, I was relieved to still be alive. I told no one that I got home safe, that I was scared that I could have died tonight, it was my secret.