(In the car, after the fun.)
I don't recall ever being in that heavy of a downpour before (if you know of a time, you can remind me of it later). We were bringing our daughter home from college, and my husband decided we should stop at Multnomah Falls. We walked up to the falls and were there just long enough to take photos of every combination of twos possible—dad & daughter, mom & daughter, dad & mom—when someone very big turned a humongous garden hose on full blast and started watering the crowd.
Everyone ran, fast. I ran to the left down a corridor-of-a staircase with some fellow from Asia. Dad and daughter headed down the open stairs. I assumed they were going to the car, but I wanted to get inside a building as fast as I could. As my unknown Asian companion-in-flight and I flapped down the wet concrete staircase, I was laughing, gasping, and muttering incoherently as my hair reached its saturation point and began a water show of its own directly in front of my eyes. As a tributary was flowing effortlessly down my back I muttered, I have no idea where I am going. Continually laughing. Continually amazed. Continually confounded by the immeasurable volume of wet.
We all ended up in the gift shop, and after the deluge had subsided, we three freezing, soaked puppies didn't even discuss walking back up to look at the falls. My daughter, who just finished her sophomore year in college, splashed and jumped through the parking lot puddles like that sweet little girl I once knew, the one whose hair I used to comb. The lake we had parked our car in was much deeper when we got back. My shoes were soaked; my jacket was soaked; my hair was soaked and promised to be a mass of frizz when things dried out (it made good on that promise)...but I loved that sudden adventure.