Dancing in the Rain

Trigger Warning: violence & loss of a loved one.

“Look, Brit!” I say to my fiancé from my spot on the couch. “It’s raining.”

Brit glances at the few droplets of water that had just appeared on the window nearest him. “That it is,” he says. He looks over at me and gives me a sardonic smile. “Do you want to?”

I can’t help the slow smile that spreads across my face like melting butter on warm toast. The ache in my chest eases immediately and I want to laugh. Without needing to say anything, I jump up and race to the door, Brit hot on my heels.

Once outside, I see that the trickle of rain has morphed into a downpour. Perfect.

We race into the yard and laugh at the water dripping down our faces, just like we did on our first date.

“Ahem.” I hear Brit clear his throat to my left and look over to see him bowed slightly at the waist, his hand extended toward me. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Evans?”

I can’t help but laugh out loud, for the first time in ages it feels like. Looks like I wasn’t the only one reminiscing.

I collect myself and give him a curtsy before accepting his hand. “I would be delighted, Mr. Conworth.”

I can feel my smile ease and my heart lighten as he twirls me around in the deluge, my feet squelching in the soaked grass and mud. I don’t have a care in the world right now, least of all dirty shoes. He alternates between spinning me, dipping me, and holding me closely as we spin in a circle together and I follow easily. We’ve always loved dancing whenever we got the chance.

***

My hand shook as I attempted to fix my lipstick in my tiny bathroom mirror. Of all the boneheaded ideas I’d ever agreed to, this was probably one of my worst. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to a blind date—and going dancing, no less! The last time I’d danced in public, I’d somehow managed to twist my ankle, spill my vodka soda all over myself, and give some random guy a black eye. And those were three separate mishaps that had happened over the course of two hours. I had no interest in repeating the endeavor.

But, of course, when Brandi told me she had this great guy I needed to meet, I’d secretly been so desperate that I’d said yes without fully considering the implications of said date. And it was too late to get out of it.

“Claire!” Brandi called from downstairs. “Hurry up! We need to get going!”

I took one last look at my face. This is as good as it’s gonna get, I thought to myself as I inspected my too-pale skin tone, not-full-enough lips, too-straight eyebrows, not-blond-enough hair, and too-dull blue eyes. I was as average as they come in this small town.

About twenty minutes later, Brandi and I walked into the restaurant shaking off what water we could from the sudden rain outside. The hostess then led us to the table which was apparently already occupied by our dates—Brandi’s new boyfriend, Josh, and his friend, who was supposedly the perfect man for me. All I saw were booths and tables occupying the entirety of the restaurant main space. Where was the dance floor? Didn’t this place become a swing-dancing hot spot in an hour?

Josh, whom I’d met briefly the week prior, leapt up when he saw Brandi and gave her an over-the-top kiss that simultaneously melted my heart and made me want to vomit.

“Do I need to say, ‘get a room,’ or will ‘stop it’ suffice?” A voice came from behind the couple, deep and rich and totally unexpected with its wit.

I leaned to my right to inspect the comic and I only let my eyes widen a fraction before I reigned myself in. He smirked at me once he saw me leaning, which only made him more gorgeous. He was tall and lean but seemed built like he either worked out regularly or did something physically demanding for his job. He had a clearly defined jawline covered in dark stubble that matched his short hair. His nose was straight and perfect, and his eyes, which were focused on me at the moment, had to be a dazzling blue. The lighting in the restaurant was dim enough that if I could tell the color of his eyes from five feet away, “dazzling” was the only possibility.

“Sorry, guys,” Josh said from his spot, still entangled with Brandi. “Brit, this is Claire. Claire, Brit.” He motioned to each of us, respectively, with the hand that wasn’t encircling Brandi’s waist.

“Hi,” I said, giving him a shy smile.

“Hi,” he said back, his smirk expanding into a bona fide smile of his own.

We all sat at the booth, Brandi and Josh on one side, Brit and I on the other. I couldn’t help but look at him every chance I got as we chatted. Brandi talked me up to Brit and Josh did the same, explaining to me every single way he thought Brit was a fantastic guy. Brit and I didn’t actually get much time to simply talk to each other.

But we looked at each other a lot. He would glance at me during every one of Brandi’s compliments. I would look at him while Josh went on and on about his good grades in college. Every once in a while, our eyes would meet and we’d smile.

An hour later, tables were cleared from the center of the floor and a guy with a microphone announced the beginning of the swing dancing. I’d almost completely forgotten we were there to dance and the fried chicken sandwich I’d just consumed nearly came back up. It was going so well and now it was doomed.

“You okay?” Brit asked me.

I forced a nod and a reassuring smile. “Yeah, definitely!” That might have been too enthusiastic.

He gave me a real reassuring smile and took my hand, leading me onto the floor. I was sure he’d regretted doing that by the second song. I had stepped on his foot no fewer than six times, bumped into him while he was trying to spin me, tripped over some other girl’s foot somehow, and nearly backhanded him in the face. This was not going well.

“I have an idea,” Brit nearly shouted into my ear over the loud music. He took my hand and led me toward the entrance.

“Where are we going?” I shouted back. I’d left my purse at the table, but neither of us had coats since it was summer.

“Outside.” He looked back to smirk at me.

“But it’s pouring out!”

“I know. It’s much easier to dance in the rain, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never done it.”

We were next to the door by that point, and Brit spun around to look at me, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “You’ve never danced in the rain before?”

I shook my head. “And I wasn’t really planning on starting now. Plus, how do I know you’re not gonna pull a Ted Bundy and hit me with a tire iron so you can get me in your car to murder me?”

“It was a crowbar.”

“What?”

“Ted Bundy used a crowbar for that.”

“The fact that you know that is not reassuring in the slightest.”

Brit chuckled. “Do you trust me?” His hand was still holding mine and it gave it a little squeeze.

“Yes.” I was surprised to find that I’d meant it.

“Good, let’s go.” He pulled me through the door and into the rain.

I squealed as the cold water hit my face, ran down my hair, and soaked my clothes.

“You won’t feel so cold once you start dancing!” Brit yelled over the rain.

“And when does that happen?” I yelled back.

He bowed at the waist and offered me a hand. “Would you like to dance, Ms…what’s your last name?”

A laugh burst free. “Evans,” I told him, still smiling.

His position remained bowed with his hand out. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Evans?”

“What’s your last name?” I asked.

“Conworth.”

I gave him an overly dramatic curtsy and took his offered hand. “I would be delighted, Mr. Conworth.” And right there on the sidewalk in front of the door to the restaurant, we started dancing.

I was so focused on the rain that I stopped thinking about my feet. In fact, I stopped thinking at all after a minute. It felt too good to not care that the water was cold or that I was dancing in public. It was as though the rain washed away my self consciousness. It was amazingly freeing.

I never stepped on his feet or accidentally elbowed him in the face. Even better, a smile seemed to be plastered to my face, which only got bigger every time I looked at him and saw that he was smiling, too.

***

That first date was a spark that ignited a flame I had never experienced before. I had never had such a great time with a guy, for one, but I also had never been so enamored with him that I couldn’t stand to be away from him. I’d always been so distant with the guys I’d dated, not really caring whether I ever saw them again. With Brit, I wanted—no, needed—to see him all the time. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Our first kiss happened right there, in the rain on that first date. The first time we had sex only happened about a week later, something entirely unprecedented for me. I met his family a month later and he met mine shortly after that. The first time he told me he loved me, we were sitting on the couch watching a horror movie while I clung to his arm. The first time I said it back was about three seconds later.

We became ingrained in each other’s lives like the most beautiful pattern in a hand-woven tapestry. When he asked me to move in with him seven months into the relationship, I gave him an enthusiastic yes before realizing that my past self would have thought seven months was way too early for that level of commitment.

But my current self couldn’t see it happening any other way.

It was raining when he asked me to marry him. We’d been living together for a year and a half at that point and that summer, every time it rained Brit would ask me to dance in it. It became almost a habit to get up when the initial raindrops appeared on the windows.

One day not too long ago, we were dancing and laughing in the middle of a June thunderstorm and Brit spun me, letting go of my hand mid-turn. I spun a few times for the hell of it, and when I refocused on him, he was down on one knee, presenting me with a ring.

***

Dancing in the rain with him now, I get ecstatic all over again at the prospect of marrying this man. He has the same smile as that day, too, so I know the feeling is mutual.

“I love you so much,” I say over the pounding rain. “I can’t wait to marry you!”

His smile shines back at me. “It would have been nice, love. To have more time with you.”

My smile falters as I realize my mistake. My steps slow, my heartbeat quickens. How could I have forgotten? I stop dancing and look at the vacant space in front of me.

***

“How could I have forgotten the ice cream?” I exclaimed while we waited in line at the convenience store. I’d remembered all manner of other junk food for our couch-potato date night, but somehow the ice cream had missed the boat.

“For the hundred thousandth time,” Brit said next to me as I practically hung on his arm. “It’s not a big deal. It delays date night for twenty minutes, tops.”

The door dinged from behind us and a surly looking man in a tarnished leather jacket walked in behind us.

“I just can’t believe I forgot the most important item!”

He gave me a bewildered look. “Hey, cookie dough is the most important item, and you didn’t forget that.”

Leather Jacket Guy walked right past us and up to the counter. Brit and I exchanged glances, but we both brushed it off with a shrug. “Maybe he knows the clerk,” I said.

Brit raised his eyebrows as Leather Jacket Guy began screaming at the twenty-something man behind the counter. “And apparently has beef with him.”

I smiled at him and handed him the ice cream. “Here, my hand is beginning to go numb.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Brit smirked as he took the carton.

“Whoa, man! I already told you I don’t have it!” The panicked voice of the clerk brought our attention back to the counter. He had his hands up and a terrified look in his eyes as he stared at Leather Jacket Guy. It was then that I noticed the gun in Leather Jacket Guy’s hand.

“I’m not leaving here until I get what I was promised,” Leather Jacket Guy said calmly. He pointed the gun directly at the clerk. “No matter what I have to do to get it.”

Leather Jacket Guy’s gaze was trained on the clerk, so he didn’t see the first person in line—a large guy who looked like he could play rugby by himself—leap for him. The two went down on the stained linoleum floor with a thud and began struggling with the gun.

 I clung to Brit’s arm as we beheld the scene in front of us, holding him back when I thought he might join the fray. Brit angled me so that he was between me and the fight then softly told me to get my phone out and call the police.

Before I even had the chance to reach into my purse, the gun went off in a rapid fire of at least five rounds. My instincts took over my body without checking with my brain first, and before I knew it, I’d hit the floor and put my hands over my head. I thought I heard screaming over the ringing in my ears but I couldn’t be sure. I just held as still as possible, holding my breath, hoping this nightmare would be a great story to tell the next day.

Slowly, the ringing subsided and I felt a hand on my back. I looked up, searching for Brit’s eyes, a reassurance that I was fine on the tip of my tongue. The words died before I could give them breath. It wasn’t Brit’s face I looked into, but a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize. She said something to me, but I was busy swinging my head around wildly, looking for Brit. Did he go to help the man wrestle the gun away from Leather Jacket Guy?

No. He wasn’t anywhere near where the two men had fought. Brit lay just a couple feet from where I had dived to the floor, on his back, the ice cream becoming a puddle near the hand he had held it in. His dazzling blue eyes stared at the ceiling without seeing it.

It became obvious to me as my body began to shut down from shock. When that gun had gone off, we’d both hit the floor—I out of instinct, and Brit from the bullet that had gone through his head.

***

My hands are still up, holding empty air exactly where Brit’s should be. I slowly lower them. The storm in my chest returns, nasty as ever and I have to chuckle at the irony. What used to be my favorite weather—the kind that allowed dancing in the rain with the love of my life—is now the source of its counterpart: the swirling thunderstorm of pain, grief, and unbearable, gnawing guilt inside me. If I hadn’t forgotten the ice cream at the grocery store earlier that day, we wouldn’t have been at the convenience

store. Brit would still be alive.

A thunder clap sounds in the sky and echoes in my soul, and I look around me, loathing every rain drop. An agonized, animalistic scream tears from that storm in my chest and into the sky.