Wishes in the Rain

He had come out here from Philly, where it was 18 degrees, hoping for what he kept referring to as Your Famous Los Angeles Sunshine. What he got was snow in Malibu, sleet in Hollywood, rain in Santa Monica and a biting wind at the door of his downtown hotel.

“This is great,” he kept saying as I led him through what seemed like an end-of-the-world blizzard to the car where my wife waited.

“I’m really sorry about this,” I said, feeling somehow guilty that he had come to L.A. looking for summer just as God was reminding us who was in charge. It wasn’t the first time. When a friend came to town last month, an earthquake off the coast shook our house with such vigor that her gin and tonic sloshed around in its glass.

“My goodness,” she said, startled. Then she stared at me as though I were responsible.

“Continental drift,” I explained apologetically.

She said “my goodness” again and was on edge the remainder of the evening, no doubt anticipating a final jolt, a last grand slosh of her booze and then a freeze-frame and fade out. I saw her lips move in prayer.

Our guest from Philly was named Richard. When we reached the car my wife said, “Welcome to Anchorage.”

“This is really unusual,” I said, as though in Philly they had no idea of what the weather was normally like in Southern California.

“I know,” Richard said. “The cities of eternal sunshine are going to hell. Riots in Miami and now snow in L.A.”

“This is so rare,” my wife said, “we don’t even know how to talk about it. I heard a newscaster say the snow was pouring down.”

We passed accidents caused by icy roads, necessitating delays on the Hollywood Freeway. I apologized for that too and honked my horn as though at my signal the traffic would part, the way the Red Sea parted for Moses.

“L.A. is at a standstill,” my wife said. “All we need now is for Kadafi to attack.”

“It’s all because of the Arctic air,” I explained feebly, wishing I hadn’t said that. The man was a university professor with a degree in Euclidean geometry. He knew something about everything, including Arctic air.

When we reached our restaurant the service was slow because a waitress was snowbound near Newhall. The place was packed and there was only one waitress working our section.

“I’m really sorry about this too,” I said to Richard.

“Like he said, it’s the Arctic air,” my wife added. “We ran into it in Milwaukee once.”

After dinner we braved the elements again for some late-night conversation at our home. I hadn’t seen Richard since 1985. There was catching-up to do.

As we drove up a rain-washed Topanga Canyon I said, “Can you believe they’re still talking about a drought in California?”

“Too many people, not enough water,” my wife said.

“What we ought to do is make everyone whose last names start with ‘A’ line up along the Ventura Freeway and ship them to Omaha.”

“Did I tell you I had cancer?” Richard said.

It was a feathery nonsequitur dropped lightly amid my witless humor. At first I wasn’t even sure he had said it, so swiftly had the comment come and gone. I drove in silence as the windshield wipers swished the rain away. I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s OK,” he said, laughing slightly at my discomfiture. “They think they got it all.” He leaned closer, attempting lightness. “They blame it on the Arctic air. That’s why I came to Los Angeles.”

I was still tongue-tied but my wife came to the rescue. “Hang on,” she said. “Spring is just around the equinox.”

The cancer was discovered in a routine examination and it scared the hell out of Richard. Even when they told him the prognosis was good he was afraid they were wrong and had it triple-checked until he was satisfied. Then he decided to take some time off and travel. I’ve seen that kind of odyssey before. It was a quest for renewal. One reassesses on the road.

Later, as we talked, I realized Richard meant it when he said he loved the stormy mixture that was sweeping L.A. “Stop apologizing,” he said. “When I was a kid we made wishes in the rain. This is perfect.”

He flew out yesterday morning, when the sun shone on the snowy peaks and rain-wet trees glistened in the vivid light. L.A. greeted the day looking like a woman in love, full of dreams and wild colors. I was glad Richard had come to visit this week. He saw us in a way that was rare and exhilarating. He was right. There was nothing to apologize for. It was a perfect time to make a wish.