Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Rainy Tuesday


  1. I will just catch up on several prompts I missed at once.


    Rain had always been part of her life. Memories were always permeated with images of puddles, umbrellas and lightening. There were plenty of sunny days, but the rain always stood out.

    When she was little she would go to the Jubilee Market on Mondays with her grandmother. They were there for bread and greens and fresh fish, but she was always allowed to get flowers too; the more colorful the better. When it rained she would wear her boots and take her clear plastic umbrella and dance in the cobblestone street while her grandmother and the flower cart lady would laugh and clap.

    She had looked forward to prom since she entered high school. Everything about it appealed to her; the dresses, the boys in their tuxedos, the romance. She was devastated when it started raining that afternoon, feeling sure the evening would be ruined. She had found a true prince though, he made every effort to keep the night magical. He helped her with her coat, kept her covered with the umbrella and danced every dance. They stayed out all night ending up on the beach at sunrise. A pause in the rain allowed them to walk in the sand barefoot, still in their formal clothes, and draw hearts for the surf to erase.

    Their marriage had been blissful, even without the ability to have children. He had built her a house just on the outskirts of town in the midst of an oak grove. It was her dream home, complete with picket fence and tin roof. Her favorite times were when they would sit in front of the fire and listen to the rain on that roof.

    It was raining hard the day she got the call; there had been an accident. He worked construction, a steel worker on high rises. He had fallen, three floors and it did not look good. He managed to hold on until she got to the hospital, to hold her hand one last time. She got the story from several different people, and as usual, it was slightly different each time. They all told of him being the hero though; someone else was in trouble and he fell getting them to safety.

    She did not go out in the rain any more. It held different emotions for her now. Instead, she would sit by the window and watch the rivulets run down the pane. wandering like her thoughts. At night she would listen to the drops falling from the trees. She thought of them as her children of the night, and sighed at the beauty of the music they would make.

    1. Your second paragraph really bursts with joy, Mark! I enjoyed this. :)


    Edwin Walters came back.

    He stood on the sidewalk, a few houses down from the object of his interest. There it stood, looking nothing like he had remembered. It looked barren and cold, sterile in a way and lifeless as if all the marrow had been sucked from its bones. A flutter of sadness filled Edwin’s chest. He felt ill.

    Six years now, almost to the day that they had relinquished the keys. The day it was no longer theirs. For seventy-five years it was as much family as it was wood and clapboard, cinderblock and glass. It was home. The place his immigrant grandfather established as his own through hard work and hopeless indignation. Here he raised two daughters and a son; reared them in the local church, and in the tradition of his heritage. The middle-child was Edwin’s mother.

    His grandmother died and was buried out of their parlor. His mother grieved her first born son (her still born son) and fostered six offspring, among them was Edwin. He battled his father’s alcoholism and his father in rebellion, looking for independence from the man who shared his name. And Edwin grieves the mother who bore him as she passed from this life in the very same room as her mother had.

    The elder Edwin Walters held down the familial fort for twenty years after he had become a widower. And his family waned, going ways separate from each other and him. So in a sense, it had died long before this six year anniversary.

    When Edwin found that his father had been diagnosed with liver cancer, he felt the distance and despair was too wide and soon to be irreversible. Edwin came home as did each of his siblings to care for the man who cared for them. They came home to bury their father, leaving Edwin to return in six years to stand on the sidewalk a few houses down.

    His pocketed hands stayed covered. His cap pulled low over his brow. The steady drizzle that had fallen throughout increased now, in size and force. Edwin crossed the road and approached the boarded and neglected house, his former home. It was slated for demolition. Edwin needed to see her one last time. He needed to say goodbye.

    Near the back, a window remained uncovered. Edwin inhaled deeply and held the breath to steel himself for the sight, his old room. He wiped the rain droplets from the glass with a wide sweep of his hand. And Edwin peered in. The ceiling was crumbled and yellow; the walls tinged and scribbled upon. One of the wooden panels was ripped from the wall; it exposed a dissertation penned there to be found at some later date. The words were Edwin’s. It spoke of family and home. It regarded life and happiness. Edwin wrote of how those very moments were the happiest of his life.

    The rain was a torrent now. It drenched Edwin and every memory of this place. It washed this moment from his mind. Edwin wiped his fingers across his wet eyes as he bid the dwelling farewell. That damn rain!

    1. I love it, Walt, especially the last two paragraphs and the writing on the wall. Nicely done, my friend. Smiles to you.

  3. Something wasn't quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but in the back of his mind something was niggling at him, making him do that funny, one-eyed squint, head cocked slightly, waiting for the offending tickler to crawl out of his ear pose. Eons passed in those ten or so seconds, playing the waiting game with his brain, sure it would catch up. Finally, it did, kick-started by the one lonely drop of water that sneaked and snaked its way inside his clothes to crawl slowly down his spine. "Crap!" he thought. "It's raining."

    1. We've had a bit of that around here lately, but I'm not complaining since we're coming out of a horrible drought.

      Niggling... I like that, Rob. I'm so glad you were able to participate.