Tag Archives: rain

And on…

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As the rain smashed against the window, she just wanted to be home. In bed. Snuggled in blankets. It didn’t help that the air conditioning was on in the classroom. And the teacher droned on and on and on. And on. And on.

And on.

What was he even talking about? She had no idea. Something about math, obviously. But he wasn’t putting anything on the board. Just talking. Did he just say something about a test next class? She didn’t care.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Great. Now she had to decide if she should try to check and risk his wrath. It’s an automatic absence if he sees her phone out. It went off again. Was that the same text? It was too close together. Wasn’t it? Or was it just the second alert?

She decided it wasn’t worth it. Usually she enjoyed this class, but today…today was just so blah. Blech. Yuck.

She looked at the clock. How had it only been fifteen minutes??? It felt like class should have been almost over.

There were shirts in the schoolyard. She could see them from her seat. They represented something, but she wasn’t sure what. Did it matter? Could she make a difference either way? This was way too deep thinking for 8 AM. She had a break after this class. Then a class at 11:15. Is a forty-minute nap worth it? She would just be groggy for the rest of the day. Should she grab breakfast? It was so far…like two blocks…to the caf. Then again…they couldn’t mess up breakfast, could they?

Her phone went off again. Maybe it was someone asking her to go to breakfast. Maybe it was him. That would be even worse. He wasn’t taking it well. If it was a text from him, it was definitely not worth the risk.

He’s collecting the homework. She already has it out in front of her, and passes it up. The guy behind her was hitting her in the neck with the corner of his homework. She forgot he was even there. She grabbed it, gave him a look, and passed it up.

The teacher did that thing all teachers do when they get a stack of papers. Fix it, try to right the crooked ones, and then smack it on the desk so they all align. Except they won’t, because some people left those fuzzy edges on the paper.

He put them down. It rained harder, the AC kicked in and blew ice-cold air right up her sleeve, making her shiver, and he started droning on and on and on.

And on.

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A Perfect Sunday

As he sat in his moon chair listening to the rain he realized what a perfect Sunday it was.

Peaceful.

Relaxing.

He felt the excited/trapped feeling people get sometimes in storms. Moments like this had been his favorite since he was a child.

It was nearly perfect, but something was missing. As soon as he recognized what else the day called for, he ran to his record collection, moved a lamp close by so he could read them in the cloudy darkness, and pulled out all four of his Smiths records. He put one on, turned the sound down to a three, and returned to the moon chair just as A Rush and A Push and the Land is Ours started up on the player.

Perfection.

A Rainy Reunion

The two friends sat on his stoop watching rain fall a few feet ahead of them but not yet breaking through the leaves above. It hadn’t been raining when she arrived, but just started once they’d sat.

“It’s raining.”

“Yup,” he responded.

She looked up at the tree and smiled.

“This is nice, sitting in the rain without getting wet.”

He nodded and continued to enjoy the patter.

“I missed you.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile.

“So what do you want to do today?”

“We’re doing it,” he said.

Sunglasses and Rubber Boots

I sat on the park bench reading, and she came up and sat next to me. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her if it were not for the rubber boots shooting into my peripheral view as I looked down at the novel.

They were bright blue, but that wasn’t what attracted my attention. I looked up at the shining sun and had to shield my eyes from it, even with my dark sunglasses on. It was a scorcher, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

I looked over at her and smiled, she smiled back, but I couldn’t see her eyes through her dark aviators. She looked to be about twenty, wore a bright white and blue print dress and had nice legs. She had a vintage umbrella propped up against the bench next to her, and a little plaid satchel out of which she pulled a sandwich and an apple.

I tried to focus on my book but could not. Why the rubber boots? It was a perfect day, a bright blue cloudless sky backing up my thoughts as I looked around to see the other people in the park going about their busy lives. Not a single one carried an umbrella or wore boots; as a matter of fact none were prepared for any sort of rain at all.

I wanted to ask her, and was about to when a ringing came from her pocket and she pulled out a cell phone.

“Hello?” she said in a Danish accent, and I decided this was fate, I was not meant to inquire about her footwear. Instead I placed my book back into my messenger bag and went on my way, only to find that five minutes later, a sudden darkened sky opened up and rained down on me and the many other unprepared people on the streets. I pulled into a coffee shop for shelter, and before a minute passed the girl skipped by, dry under her umbrella, her boots protecting her feet from the massive flooding that was taking place, and her sunglasses nowhere to be seen.

Words sunglasses and rubber boots and photograph by Christina  Mølholm of And the Monsters fame.

The Irony of Fortunes

Some music to accompany the story:

He opens the fortune cookie, drops the remnants onto the little dish, and reads it out loud.  “Your life will be happy and peaceful.”

“That’s ironic,” I say from across the table.

“Why?” he asks me.

I give him a quizzical look.  How could he fail to see the irony in this situation?  “Why are we here tonight?  Why did you drag me out on the coldest, rainiest night ever to a Chinese Restaurant we haven’t been to since we were dating ten years ago?”

“I sometimes forget we dated, we’ve been best friends for so long.  We used to come here all the time.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.  But that’s not why we’re here.”

“Oh yeah…that.”

He’s so frustrating.  Clueless.  But then, that’s the kind of person who would do this in times like these.

“So,” he said, “Can I have your orange wedge?”

I push the little plate towards him.  “Knock yourself out.”

He reaches his big, stupid hand over to my plate and takes the wedge.  He starts slurping at it, sounding like a kid who just started wearing braces.

“Don’t you think I’ll look good in fatigues?”

Ugh.  “Yeah I hear they’re quite slimming.”

He looks like I just slapped him.  He puts down the chewed remnants of peel.  The smell reaches me, making me regret giving up the orangey sweetness.

His gaze is drawn outside, looking at the street now devoid of cars.  Every once in a while the wind blows a splattering of drops onto the window.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.  I don’t get why you would leave.”

“There’s so much peace and quiet.”

I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.  He continues.

“I love this place.  I’m going to miss it.”

“Then why go?”

“You know.”

I really didn’t.  There is no reason, no point.  The worst is that as of now it’s faceless to me.  I don’t know anyone there, so I don’t need to worry or care.  I can avoid it by staying away from the news, papers, websites.  But now he will be there, and now it has a face and I will be confronted with it at all hours.  At work.  In the car.  Washing the dishes.  On a date.  I’m forced to think about it now…and it makes me feel…

“Uncomfortable?” he asks.

“Huh?” It is like he was reading my mind.

“You look uncomfortable.  Need to switch?  My chair is pretty soft.”

“No, no thanks,” I say, laughing a little.

“I ship out pretty early tomorrow.”

“Do they still say that?  Ship out?  Isn’t that the navy?”

He turns a little red, reminding me of the time he walked in on my little sister changing.

“I dunno…”

“Maybe you better find out before you make an ass of yourself.”

He gets up, bumping into the table and making the glasses of water sway enough to spill a bit over the edge.  He drops a twenty on the table.

“Thanks.  This was important.”

“I know,” I whisper.

He turns to go, and I feel like I need to say something meaningful, but can’t think over the emotional noise cluttering my head.

“Wait.”

He turns, but I still don’t know what I want to say.

He gives me a sad wave and turns around to leave.  Pulling his coat tighter, he opens the door and is attacked by the wind, rain spraying him as he makes his way out of my life, and possibly out of his.