I open the heavy glass door that lets in the room-temperature air to the hot sauna. The floor space in front is free so I lay down my white gym towel. I notice a white pair of men’s socks on the edge of the heater. I look to the man on the bench and decide to say, nothing.
My lower back hurts and I need to stretch despite the row of maybe five or six people, including two big dudes with sleeveless shirts and bulging arms. The bearded guy’s bicep looks like a turkey leg plumping in the oven.
I close my eyes and stretch my legs straight in front of me with my back to the floor. I slowly raise both legs, controlling my core muscles. I feel a crack and the base of my spine and think, “That’s a start.”
Turkey bicep talks about vitamins, creatine and protein powder, mentioning how he had to cut back on expenses.
I feel the rush of air as the sauna door opens and the chatty man leaves. My eyes are closed as I move into a frog pose, hoping my hip will pop with the satisfying release of cracking a knuckle. Then, one leg at a time, I stretch like a pigeon.
As I pick up my towel to leave, I use the cloth to grab the white socks from the heater and toss it all in the laundry basket between the sauna and the pool.
I quicken my pace toward the lobby, proud of myself for getting in some cardio, and I hear the rain before I see the parking lot through the glass.
Between the heavy splash of water and the echoing voices of treadmills and stationary bikes upstairs, I recognize the song playing but can’t quite place it. I sit on the armless black leather bench and listen.
“Holy shit,” I think almost out loud. “That’s ‘November Rain’ by Guns N Roses.”
I laugh to myself at the irony and snap pictures of people dashing through the rain. One voice complains, “I’m not even sure where I parked!”
My clothes are already drenched in sweat and sauna runoff but darting for the car through raindrops will likely ruin my cellphone. Without pockets, I tuck my key ring into the waistband of my pocketless, soft black bell bottom pants with designs of moons and stars. I think they make my ass look cute.
As I walk outside and stand under the awning, rain rips through the sunsetting sky, pounding the ground like an angry toddler forced to eat broccoli for dinner. Then he throws his water cup at the windshield.
A river flows across the brick sidewalk, and I jump from side to side over puddles like I’m playing Hopscotch. I hold my phone case closed under my arm as I pull out the keys and beep the “find the car” button.
Once inside the car, I pick up the odd time drumming of giant raindrops, falling like welled tears finally releasing. In the distance, I hear rumbling.
The passenger seat still has the new roll of paper towels I’ve been meaning to bring inside my office. I tear off a sheet and wipe my phone screen and eyeglasses.
As I plug in the dash cam and turn on the car, the sound of the rain eases like a percussionist swapping heavy mallets for brushes.
“Hey Siri,” I say as Einstürzende Neubauten’s ‘Die Interimsliebenden – live’ plays through the car speakers. “Play ‘November Rain.’”
I cruise home about ten miles over the speed limit and pull into the driveway as the song ends.
The rain has virtually stopped.