The Rain Falls On

Though your eyes are still closed from sleep, the room seems too bright. You open them and look out the window and, not for the first time, think about how wrong the weather forecast had been. Nothing else in this world is predictable or right anymore, why should the weather be? The promises of gray clouds and constant, soaking rain had not been fulfilled today; only vibrant blue sky and bright, warm sun. This was not going to make your day any easier. You had been dreading today for some time, but had no idea just how terrible it would be, or how the presence of the sun could possibly make it feel worse. 

You begin your day with a bitter cup of dark coffee and avoid your phone. You know what kind of messages are waiting for you, and you just can’t bear the thought of them right now. You step out of the safe confines of the steamiest shower you’ve ever taken and don your most conservative black dress. The weather may not be bleak enough to match your emotions, but the things you could control would display the utter hopelessness you felt. Hopelessness and resentment and fear and sorrow and loneliness. As you go about getting ready, you do things mechanically and according to a routine. You must have- after all, how else are you ready to go when you don’t even remember getting out of bed? 

The weather feels unseasonably warm as you step outside into the brightness of the betrayal sun. How many days had you hoped, even prayed for sunny weather and clear skies, only to be let down by c cold and rain? Of course the weather couldn’t be trusted to behave the way you wanted it to. You see the neighbors outside enjoying the day, landscaping their yards and enjoying time with family. A young father picks up a toddler and swings him around, his wife on the porch rocking their newborn. Across the way, your elderly neighbors are sipping iced tea while the man enjoys a cigar on the porch swing. You vaguely notice the peals of laughter and screams of excitement from the neighborhood children playing as you walk to your car. The happiness should make you feel better- normally these sights made you remember the optimism in your souls for things that could be, served as a reminder that things got better- but not today. Nothing will make things better today. 

You get in the car and set the GPS on your phone, again ignoring the notifications from well-meaning family and friends. You feel a pang in your gut as sharp as any punch, and the meager contents of your stomach threaten to reappear as you realize that you have no idea how to get to where you’re going. Breathing gets difficult as your chest constricts but refuses to loosen and tears blur your vision, and it takes a full four minutes for you to steady your breathing and clear your eyes. Normal you would worry what the neighbors must think as you sit in your car for so long, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles but not moving even turn the key in the ignition. Today you has neither the mental stamina nor the awareness to care about such trivial things as the opinions of other people. 

Finally put back together for the moment, you start the car and follow the directions given to you from the sure voice of the navigation system. You vaguely wish, for a moment, there was one for life that would guide you when you couldn’t pull it together enough to do things for yourself. Turn right in 12 days, then happiness will be on your left. Right now, you can’t imagine happiness ever again. A small voice tries to remind you that things aren’t as hopeless as they seem, that things will get better and you’ll enjoy sunny days again. That voice is quickly suffocated by the stronger, heavier things filling your mind today. 

You merge onto the interstate with less regard that you should have. It’s not that you’re suicidal or uncaring for the safety of others, it’s just that today you wouldn’t care if you got ran over by a semi-truck so long as no one else was injured in the collision. The hysteria threatens to grip you again as you realize how far you have to drive- an hour and fifteen minutes. You think for a moment that maybe you should have taken up one of the many offers for a companion on this trip, but there are some things you just need to do alone. How could it be so far away? 

How did you get here so quickly? When did you get off the interstate? What about all the turns and lights and stop signs you surely had to navigate to make it to this parking lot? You can’t see the interstate, so surely you had to make a few turns to get here. You stare at the door and wait while you muster enough strength to get out of your car and walk inside. At least the oddly deserted parking lot matches the feeling of emptiness inside you, even if it is still too bright. 

You’re greeted warmly once you finally do manage to go inside, but honestly, you just want to get in and out of here as quickly as possible. It’s taking every once of strength you can manage to be here, and you want to make sure you have enough resources to make it home before you fall apart again. Sitting in your own driveway unable to breathe was bad enough, but you don’t want a repeat here, in a strange place with people around who might try to offer help that you don’t want but won’t be able to speak enough to refuse. You have the smallest ember of hope that just maybe, you’ll feel better when you finish your task and walk to your car to go home. You’re wrong. 

The sun is still shining as brightly as it has all day when you return home, and once again you curse it’s existence and wish it could be swallowed by the clouds consuming your entire being. There hasn’t been a cloud in the sky all day, and the idiom “happy is the soul that the rain falls on” sticks in your mind. Today is the first day in your life you’ve ever felt that it was a fitting saying, even if it doesn’t strictly apply. 

You collect the plain white cardboard box from your passenger seat and make your way inside, thankful for the only time today that the weatherman was wrong, since you would be devastated if this box got wet. You drop your keys onto the table inside the door and drop yourself onto your bed still clutching the box. You stare at the sun finally receding in the sky and wonder at the dissonance between the weather outside and the hurricane inside you. You sit for a long time, unmoving, still holding onto the box that seems to be the only thing holding you together. Only when the sun is gone and the darkness of the new moon fill the room do you finally allow yourself to fall apart, creating your own personal storm over the ashed remains of one of the only people in the world you truly loved.