Blame It on the Rain

There was a storm coming. The dry, crunchy grass rustled sadly with the sudden gust of wind. The air changed quickly, becoming thick and sticky, and you could smell the condensation building. The sky, however, was still bright blue, in typical Arizona fashion, broken up by a gorgeous swirl of bright-white cirrus clouds. In the distance there were the vicious dark cumulonimbus clouds, the sign of a once-a-season thunderstorm. But no matter how strong and disastrous the storm would be, the lone tree in the backyard stood brave, old and wise and unaware. Things that I wished I could be. Well, maybe not old.

At 21, I should have already established a life plan. Hell, according to my father I should be halfway done with it by now. Not that life was hard, or that I needed to establish a formal to-do list to get myself through it. But I was unmotivated, unless the ending was clearly drawn out. And life, as we all know it, isn’t clear and it isn’t fair, and it’s definitely not worth stressing over. I took my time with everything I did, no matter how simple the task.

Life happened to me, I didn’t make it happen.

“You’re going to get struck by lightning,” I heard from the backyard below me.

I didn’t remove my sunglasses as I sat up and stared down at him. The last thing I needed him to see right now was the shock my eyes held at his sudden appearance. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Texas right now?” I challenged.

He let out a low laugh, a sarcastic chuckle, and shrugged in disinterest. “Probably.”

My foot slipped on the shingles and I tensed, afraid – he braced himself to catch me, prepared for me to slip right off the roof altogether. I smoothly regained composure, bringing my leg up again and leaning back to take in the last bit of mid-afternoon sun before it was swallowed up. “The storm is at least four miles away, which means another 15 or 20 minutes before I need to worry about lightning striking me down.”

“With your luck?” he dared.

I just never had the best of luck – with anything.

I was sheltered, to say the least, and the complete opposite of my older-by-seven-minutes sister. My luck, well, it all went to her instead. While she was frolicking away at some charter school in Europe, I chose to stay home and have my mother teach me. Being home schooled meant I only had one best friend: the boy now standing in my backyard, who lives across the street. Our friendship started before we were born, our mothers being best friends, and we grew up together. My mother would teach me during the day, and around 3 we would go to pick him up at school so his mother wouldn’t have to leave work early. We did everything together; homework, bake cookies, arts and crafts, play soccer and kickball in the backyard, ride bikes around the neighborhood. His dad and older brother even helped us build a tree fort in his backyard one summer.

But like I said, I never had the best of luck. I understood high school meant a new group of friends, I just never expected to be so shut out after growing up together. I never expected to be replaced. Somehow I became that person he awkwardly waved to when we saw each other walking down to the mailbox or we’d sleepily say hello in the mornings as I stretched for my 7AM run and he grumpily fell into the driver’s seat of his car before driving off to school.

When he’d come home from school, I’d be starting my afternoon bike ride and we’d exchange exhausted smiles and quick waves before going on our way. I’d return from my ride, the sun setting and the heat no longer rising off the pavement, and he’d be leaving to hang out with his friends, always calling out to his mother that he’d be home late.

It surprised me when, one day, he didn’t go straight into the garage to escape the heat after returning home from school. I remember it clearly, how I stood there sheepishly, watching this boy I once knew like the back of my hand coming toward me after so many months, nearly a year, of barely speaking. I especially remember how my skin prickled, even in the 108-degree heat. He scratched at the back of his neck, stopping a few feet from me and my bike, and stared. His ice-blue eyes devoured my whole being without shame.

“So, uh, I’m in a band,” he started. I remember wanting to say that I knew, I could hear the noise from my bedroom every Friday night. “We have, uh, our first show this Saturday. I wanted you to, um, you know – I was wondering if you could make it.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking me to go. He wasn’t asking anything because his voice didn’t imply a question. I remember thinking how typical it was that he spoke this way, coming from a flawed public schooling system. But I bit my tongue, holding in my judgments and ranting, and before I could think my schedule through I asked him, “What time on Saturday?”

His band was terrible. Just like my luck, his band’s talent ceased to exist. And I told him so. Fortunately, my honesty didn’t scare him off – it brought us closer. I was introduced to his friends, all of whom seemed to take an instant liking to me, and his brother remembered me instantly, saying something about how grown up I was and how I’d become a “beautiful little lady.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm and I knew he was poking fun at me but it caused me to blush the deepest shade of red and I could hardly murmur out a shy “thank you.” His parents were thrilled to see that we were talking and hanging out again, just like old times.

It seemed like whenever he was around, my luck changed. And honestly, I was glad we were becoming as close as we were because I felt like a completely different person with him around. We started doing everything together, as if no time had passed at all since we were children. He’d go on runs with me on weekend mornings and he’d skate along beside me on my evening bike rides. I’d go with him to band practices – he eventually left his first band and started a new one. I cheered him on as he walked across the stage at graduation and his brother and I embarrassed him afterward, pinching his cheeks and throwing confetti in his face while cooing about how proud we were of him.

I was there when he found out his band was signed. I was there when they recorded their first real album. I was sitting on his bed, watching as he played video games from his floor, when his mom walked in with an envelope that held the news that he and his band were scheduled to go on tour for the summer and into the fall. But that was as far as I could go as far as being by his side. I had to stay behind for college.

He left for tour and was gone for months. He came home for a couple of weeks but had to leave again, this time for much longer. They didn’t come home after the tour ended; instead, they ended up in California to start recording a new album. That took several more months. And from there, they were off on more tours. We kept in contact by phone calls and text messages, but that was about it. He’d sometimes swoop into town over night and be gone by the following morning, and I was lucky if I got to see him for a few hours then.

I wasn’t sure when my feelings switched from best friend to something else, but I knew I had developed a crush on him. The longer he’d be away, the harder it hurt. It took a lot to keep my mind off of the idea of him. It was a little easier these past few months because his brother had gone on tour with him, whereas every other time I’d see him and instantly wish his younger brother were home too.

I missed the way he made me feel. I didn’t get butterflies, not until after he left anyway. Instead, I would get this warm feeling that would radiate from my toes to my fingertips and it would only happen when he was around. It was like my heart forgot to tell my brain that something drastic was changing and just did whatever it wanted. Every time my phone rang with the ringtone he had specifically picked out just for his name, my heart would lodge in my throat and my palms would get sweaty. I had no idea how to reverse these feelings, or if it was even possible to.

It didn’t help that whenever he would come home, we’d go out to eat so we could catch up on events and then fall into old habits. He loved playing video games while I sat perched on his bed, watching, bored. I’d flick his head until he gave up, which would spark a wrestling match. I think he’d forget that I’m a girl, and not his brother, and I’d end up pinned underneath him, hands held above my head, and at least three new bruises. After a swift punch in the arm, he’d roll off and we’d lie there laughing for a while, just enjoying the fact that he was home and we had the luxury of doing things like that.

Last I heard, they were supposed to be finishing up their current tour and then be off to Texas to record a third album. But there he was, staring up at me as I sat on my rooftop.

“So, are you coming down any time soon?” he questioned.

I sighed slowly as lightning streaked the sky. My skin prickled, just as it had a few years ago when he approached me in my driveway, and the wind picked up noticeably. Dead leaves fell from the trees, dancing around his feet as they were carried away to someplace new.

Without answering him, I started to climb down from the roof. I gripped the lattice tightly and listened as he shuffled around in the grass below me, ready and waiting for me to fall. I stopped when I felt a raindrop cascade against my cheek.

“Marley?”

I went to step down but my foot was caught. I didn’t get a chance to register it before I went to move and I ended up tumbling off the lattice. I closed my eyes tightly, bracing myself to hit the hard, dry ground. But instead of being greeted by the earth, I felt his arms encircle around me.

I looked up at him, helplessly being held in his arms. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

He looked a little taken aback by my words. I knew he had shown up just to hang out but it was time for me to speak up. It wasn’t like I had never been rejected before. He didn’t have to feel the same way about me. I just wanted him to know.

“I have to.” His voice wavered with insecurity. He knew the waters I was treading in but I couldn’t tell what he was truly thinking or feeling.

The skies opened up then and it felt surreal to be standing there, staring at him, listening as the dirt welcomed the rain with open arms. You could almost hear the grass come back to life, if only until the rain stopped. It felt something like our friendship. I was the dying grass and he was my rain.

The rain had soaked through our shirts now. It felt so cool against my warm skin, especially my burning cheeks. “You know what I’m saying, Garrett.”

He swallowed hard and chewed his lip. “I don’t know what you want me to say-”

His voice was drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain. His lips stopped moving and I could feel the mud squishing between my toes as the puddles grew. There was a loud clap of thunder and a wave of goosebumps rose up my arms. I could hear the massive raindrops filling the watering cans my mother had left out from her earlier gardening.

“I was just hoping that maybe it was mutual, because it’s not every day that you find someone who gives you your luck back.” I wrung my hands together and looked anywhere besides at him. The silence between us grew so loud that the only thing left to listen to was nature. I could hear birds chirping a happy song thanking the skies for their tears.

The apples of my cheeks tingled as my eyes burned. The rain pelted against us, blurring our visions. I wiped at my eyes, as if that would help any, and exhaled deeply before bravely looking at him.

His eyes softened, the confusion and anxiety draining from his body language. “So you want me to stand here in the pouring rain and tell you, in the most cliché way possible, that I think I might be in love with my best friend? That’s what you’re hoping for, when you say you want this to be mutual?”

It was my turn to be the shocked one again. I opened my mouth to say something back but I wasn’t sure what could top that. Nothing I said could top this moment because he was right: this was the most cliché timing possible. I stared at him, unsure, and listened as the rain continued to be collected in buckets and soak into the softening ground. He was drenched and looking somewhat like a wet dog; his hair was no longer a fluffy bed-headed mess, instead it seemingly melted into his line of vision. His shirt clung to him snugly and his pants were starting to drag downward with the weight of the water.

He stepped toward me, his arms closing around me, and his lips pressed against mine. It was only a couple of seconds before he pulled away, but he was smirking at me now. “Guess what, Marley. It’s mutual.”

“When it rains, it pours, huh?” I laughed under my breath. He laughed, too, and kissed me again.