Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

The rain dripped down my navy rain jacket as I walked home that night. The clouds had been raining a lot recently. It was drizzling now, but it had been pouring and sprinkling at different times throughout the day. That’s Ireland I suppose. Rain, rain, and also rain.

I was walking back from another movie at the Galway Film Fleadh. Another disappointment. I had been excited for this festival, figuring that these movies have to be good if they’re putting them on at a festival. Seven movies later, I had seen only three that were any good. The one I had just watched, Snap, was still in the undecided category. It wasn’t great, but wasn’t horrendous. At least I was getting reimbursed, I told myself.

And so the rain dripped. I looked at my watch and realized it was only nine thirty. Certainly not late. If I wanted, I could get back to the apartments in time to go out with people to the bars. I crossed the bridge over the River Corrib. Half past nine and those guys were still fishing. I’ve never fished before, couldn’t ever see the point. If I wanted fish, couldn’t I just go buy them at the store?

I focused on one man in particular. It was impossible not to; he was wearing bright yellow boots – Wellies as they call them here in Ireland – and a strikingly red jacket. How could that jacket shine so brightly even in the rain and clouds? He had the hood pulled up over his balding gray hair. I could tell rain was getting on his glasses and he couldn’t see well. But still he drew back his rod and cast his line. I heard the reel spin and the line whiz out of it. The sinker flew with a plop into the water.

And now he stood. I wondered what he thought about while he waited for that one fish dumb enough to mistake a lime green piece of plastic to be food. I bet he probably has a wife and a few kids. They’re probably grown now; maybe they even have families of their own now. Maybe he thought about his grandkids, or maybe just the delicious meal his wife had made for dinner. He looked like an Irish stew kind of guy.

The fisherman looked very peaceful, enjoying his time alone. I bet his house would get pretty loud sometimes, and being the good grandpa he would play along with the kids and laugh. But people need their quite time. Time to relax, mellow. Time to just let the rain drip down their rain jackets as they contemplate a movie they had just seen.

He looked up from the river. Eventually we made eye contact; he waved. I waved back, smiled. I took this as my cue to go. It was time to get back to my thoughts, so I left the fisherman to his, and continued my walk home.