As our shouts cleared from the air, I leaned my head against the car window, tears gathering in my eyes. The lump in my throat was simultaneously suffocating me and sinking heavily to the pit of my stomach.
I felt so weak and helpless, crying in the passenger seat of his car again while the outside world rolled by. Everything was just out of my reach: the swirling purple clouds, the wind, and feeling in the air of a storm about to approach and quench the parched earth- him. A brewing storm in his own right. I loved his wildness his unpredictable mood, his jealousy, his indigo eyes that saw only me in a crowded room.
But I hated it. I hated that I was trapped in the eye of a rolling vortex, silent and waiting while he destroyed the world around us and burned all the bridges that lead to the ones we loved. I hated that it was him and me against the world. If we had each other, we didn't need anyone else, right? But I needed someone else. I needed my friends, my cat, my parents- I needed them all to function and Atticus- he was just a storm. He was cold and relentless his lightning flared out and toppled houses and cars. His clouds were brooding and left me feeling trapped under mountains of emotion.
Suddenly a rumble of thunder drew my attention out of the window. I stared mesmerized by a flurry of leaves dragged off of their respective trees by the uncaring and wild wind. A strong urge to get out of the car and head north with no direction clear to my mind washed over me and I could feel my heartbeat quicken.
I glanced over at Atticus, his eyes stoically trained on the road ahead of us. No tears stained his cheeks.
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
He didn’t say anything. The car slowed and I got out, closing the door behind me and walking back the way we had come without looking around. I could hear the car pulling off from behind me.
Ignoring the sound, I pulled out my headphones and scrolled through my playlist as I trudged along the side of the road. Unable to decide on a song, I put it on shuffle and shoved my phone in my pocket.
At first, I couldn’t stop the tears from stinging my eyes. And the more I wept, the more helpless I felt. For a while, I cried with the notion that it would save me from the awful things in life that come; and yet, in the end, I wasn’t solving anything, I wasn’t changing anything. I was just crying.
The first few drops of rain that pattered down on my uncovered head and neck broke me out of my depressing reverie and I raised my head to gaze around me.
The dark grey cloud was right overhead, causing the green of the trees and bushes to appear brighter and surreal.
The world surrounding me was seeping with the smell of rain about to fall and thunder about to shake the earth.
The wind rustled my hair smelling of the oncoming storm and it was exhilarating.
Once again my heartbeat quickened and adrenaline surged through my body.
As I bent to retie my dingy green converse, “Gravel to Tempo” by Hayley Kiyoko starting playing.
For a second I just kept walking, but it wasn’t long before I felt the urge to dance. The tempo of the song crashed through my head and the rain started to pour.
I took a deep breath as my hair was soaked and couldn’t help releasing it in a laugh. Everything but the rain and the beat just felt so stupid. I waved my arms in the air. How could I not see this until now?
I didn’t need him.
No one could tell me not to dance in the rain and spend more nights with my best friend than him. No one could judge me if I didn’t judge myself. And I was through judging myself with the assumption that I had to be the first to find my flaws and pick them apart- and if I did- it would hurt less when others did it.
Right now, everything could just be washed away in the rain. Relationships, responsibilities, regrets, while the rain fell, nothing else needed to matter.
Pushing my wet hair from my face I started to dance along to the song.
I must have cut a striking figure whirling and leaping, now on the tips of my dingy converse like I weighed no more than a sprite, now inches from the puddles, my fingertips slicing through the rain and sending a spray of water for me to dance through in the next second. I reached for empty air and my face clearly showed the pain when my fists closed on nothing.
I took a few steps and my body weighed nothing for a split second hanging in the air with pointed toes and arched back. My feet swept through puddles, sending water flying in the air and drenching my face and hair in the downpour.
I ended up putting “Gravel to Tempo” on repeat and dancing my way back to my apartment in the pouring rain.
There was an old man sitting under an umbrella outside of his door and I nodded to him as I passed.
His eyes followed me as I ran up the steps, a grin plastered to my face.
“Hey!”
I pulled my headphones off and turned around.
“Sorry, what was that?”
He beckoned to me and I jogged closer until I could see his blue eyes. They were bright and seemed to twinkle in the clouded light.
“You were sensational,” he said simply.
I stared at him and then at the ground, my cheeks flushing, “you saw that, huh?” I laughed sheepishly.
He didn’t answer so I glanced back up, but there was no one in the chair. It was empty with the umbrella sagging next to it.
I shrugged and headed into my apartment.
Maybe I imagined it, but the old man's eyes felt piercingly familiar.
The storm broke just as I got through the door.
The wind roared and thunder shook the apartment, lightning ripped through the air and rain rattled down on the roof. Still singing the lyrics and swaying my hips I danced around the kitchen and got dinner for my cat and me.
Later that night laying on my bed and staring up into the skylight, I thought about the umbrella man. There was something odd about his twinkling blue eyes and quaint umbrella. Something, dare I say, magical and fairytale-esque.
I never saw him again, but I have his umbrella; it was left sagging in front of my apartment the next morning.
And I still like the adjective ‘sensational’, it reminds me of the color blue.
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1 comment
I love the feel of the story. The end of something and the start of something else. The old man as a symbol of the dying old way, and the umbrella for a new beginning, I enjoyed this very much.
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