Rain

One of the things I loved about living in Washington was the rain. Everything about it just seemed to please me, from the smell, to the sound, to the look of it. I loved to way the rain seemed to make the air cold, or how it darkened the sky. Loved the way my hair would drip by the time I got inside. Honestly, I’d never experienced anything else, but I knew I didn’t like heat. From the few days a year it was actually sunny, I knew I didn’t like it.

That’s why I always found you’re opinion on the weather so strange, you were a spectacle in my own home. You’d said you’d grown up in the middle of Texas, where it was always hot and people dared to wear shorts during december. I remember how you would laugh, saying that growing you’d only experienced three seasons; spring, summer, fall and more summer. You said you loved the heat, the way you could walk outside and it would immediately grip you. Like the earth was providing you with a blanket to wear all the time. You said you didn’t mind sweating or the occasional sunburn. The only thing you hated was the rain.

The day I met you, you informed me that you were only here for school. That being a stupid eighteen year old, you had wanted nothing more than to start everything behind, to start new in a new place. You just wish you’d chosen that place better, that now you’d been stuck here for three years. But the next year you’d be a senior, so you’d get out soon. The day we first met you told me how much you hated the rain, how it suffocated you; made you feel trapped. But I ignored it. I ignored it everyday for four years.

That day it had been a record breaking thunderstorm. It rained harder than it had since I was a small child. I was driving home from work, though I could barely see out my front windshield. It was impossible to miss you though. You were standing on a street corner wearing a tie dye sweatshirt, that even when wet was incredibly bright. Your long brown hair was soaking wet, clinging to your face. You were the only one outside, the only one unfortunate enough to get stuck in this. I don’t know why I'd pulled over to talk to you, in all of my twenty-one years of living in this stupid town, I had never once pulled over to help someone caught in the rain.

“Hey, do you want a ride somewhere?” I asked, once I’d gotten close enough to the curb for you to hear me over the pounding of the thunder.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” You said with a smirk. Even though you gave off a cocky atmosphere, I knew you’d give in. You looked incredibly unhappy, more so than the average person that would get caught in something like this. I raised my hand over my heart, mock hurt playing over my face.

“I promise I’m not that strange,” I said, “Come on, I’ll let you drive if you want. You’ll probably get sick if you stay out there.” He shrugs before getting into the car, turning his torso and looking at me.

“I have pepper spray in my bag and I know how to fight,” he says, looking me up and down. I yank my right sleeve up and flex my arm.

“Do it look like I’m planning on doing any fighting ever?” I ask, smiling when he laughs.

“No, I guess not.” After that you told me where to take you, but when we got to your apartment building you were reluctant to get out. Instead, we sat in my car for around three hours. I don’t remember what we talked about or what we were interested in then. I just remember that I asked you out and you said yes.

I think about where you could be now and I hope you’re happy. I hope you made it somewhere that is sunny everyday, I hope you never have to deal with the rain again. I hope that there’s something there that reminds you of me. And I hope you know that during thunderstorms I sit on the floor wearing your clothes.

I remember the day I realized I was in love with you. We were having a lunch date at your apartment. I didn’t bother knocking, we had long since given up on that notion. When I walked in you were preparing a salad, gliding around the kitchen and singing to yourself. Your voice was so beautiful and your movements so smooth. For a while I just stood there, watching you. When you finally turned around you didn’t stop singing like I thought you would. Instead you waved me over, grabbing one of my hands in yours, placing your other on my shoulder. I placed my hand on your waist as we moved to the slow beat of the song you were singing. And as we slow danced in your kitchen, I stared into your brown eyes only just now seeing them. I knew that I loved you, everything about you. I love the way your hair curls around your face, or the way you look up at me through your eyelashes. When the song ended I stopped our movements, placing my forehead on yours. I snaked my arm around your waist, pulling us closer together. Slowly I leaned in, kissing you lightly. When we pulled apart I kept my eyes closed, the side of my nose pressed against the side of yours.

“I love you,” I whispered, pushing closer to you. Without missing a beat you whispered it back. For a while we just stayed there, pressed against each other. But when you heard the crack of thunder, you sighed and pulled away. I should’ve realized how unhappy you were, I should have cared more.

I don’t know where you are, I don’t where you went. All I know is that I came home one day and everything that you are was gone, you were gone. And you don’t answer my calls. I don’t why I keep calling, but I can’t stop. Maybe it’s to remind myself that you’re real, or to get you to call me back, or to make sure you knew that all you have to do is say the word and I’ll come to wherever you are. I will give up a lifetime of rainy days and thunderstorms if that meant living a lifetime with you.
After a year of being together you were finished with school. The only reason you stayed in Washington as long as you did was for me. After college, you moved into my apartment. I promised we would deal with the weather together.

Often times you would look up places for sale in sunny states, you’d ask me what I thought of them. Everytime I would wave you off, telling you it was nice but I wouldn’t want to live there. You’d pout and tell me that you liked it. Our last fight should have tipped me off to how unhappy you were, how angry you were.

You had been looking at houses again, this time in New Mexico. I’d gotten annoyed and asked why you kept looking at these houses if we were never going to move there.

“So you’re saying you would never move somewhere like this with me?” You asked, your eyes drooping.

“Vic, you know I hate the heat,” I practically whined.

“Yeah and you know I hate the rain. But I’ve stayed this long because I love you,” You said, angrier this time.

“That’s different,” I muttered.

“Yeah, because it’s not hurting you,” You said, snapping the laptop shut and standing up.

“Vic, come on, don’t be like that,” I said, standing up and following you.

“Whatever Kellin, I’m going to bed,” you said, right before slamming the door in my face.

I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was. Or to tell you just how much I loved you. That night as I layed on the couch, I made a decision. I planned on telling you after work the next day. I wanted to move somewhere with you. We could anywhere you wanted; we could go back to Texas, or California or Nevada or even Hawaii. Hell, I would move to a different country if that would make you happy. I remember smiling, because as much as I hated the heat, seeing you happy would be worth it.

But when I got home from work the next day you were gone. Everything you owned, except for a few spare tee shirts and a sweatshirt, was packed up and gone. At work I had printed out page after page of the best sunny places to live. I remember dropping them, letting them slide all over the floor. I didn’t sleep that night, I must’ve called you a hundred times. You didn’t answer once.

You always said that if there was ever a reason for you to leave me it would be because you had to get away from this goddamned rain. I would just laugh and shake it off because you would never; you loved me a much as I loved you and I knew that I could never leave you. But maybe I should have paid more attention when you said things like this, maybe I should have counted the times a day you said you hated the rain and maybe I should of taken you a little more seriously when you spoke of moving to sunny Arizona or the beaches of California. Because when you did leave it wasn’t because you hated the rain, or the thunder, or the dark, or the cold, or the way it made you feel. It was because I had stopped listening.

So, at 1:30 in the morning on a Tuesday night, I call you. I expect to leave a voicemail, like I have every other time. But today, for the first time in three months, you answer.