Anything But Rain

(TW: Depression/Violence)

I lay out on my back porch, waiting for the rain to come. My therapist’s words echoed through my head.

“You won’t be able to let go of Alex until you accept that he’s gone.”

“But he’s not! Last night, he-”

“Were you off your meds again?”

A frustrated grunt. Then silence.

“Hey. I know it's hard. Losing a boyfriend can be-”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

I fingered the ring on my ring finger as the smells of rain started to condense around me. Worms came out of the ground. People took their kids inside. It was going to be a big storm. Good. 

“Try… doing things that he doe- did. Things that he did.”

Alex loved the rain.

My grass lay uncut, tall with a gentle breeze blowing through them. The leaves fell off of my trees, quietly.

Rain started to pelt the trees in the distance.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking and-”

He bent down to help me pick up the papers that had scattered out of my backpack with a grin.

“I’m Alex.” His voice was enchanting.

The wind picked up, the grass danced faster, and the trees started to sway.

The memories assailed me now. The way he could light up a room with a smile. The way he always made sure a part of our bodies were touching. The way the light reflected off of his black hair, how his face always got red when I made fun of his glasses.

Pieces of grass were picked up and tossed about in the wind. The trees groaned.

How he would hold me tight in bed, his black leg hair pressing up against mine. They way he would mutter things about me while he was asleep, or the way that he would gently wake me by kissing my neck and ears. The safety I felt when he enveloped me in his arms. 

That safety was gone now.

A car careened off the road down the street and ran into a pole. Its drivers got out to inspect the damage.

The way he would savagely defend me from anybody, even my parents when they had kicked down the door to the apartment we had bought together, guns in hand. The way he completely disregarded his own safety, mine the only thing on his mind. The way he batted my mom’s gun out of her hands and walked off not one, but two bullets pounding into his skin. The way that he knocked my dad out with one punch, picked up the framed picture of us holding hands in front of the statue of liberty, and placed it back where it was. The fear in his eyes as he asked me if I was okay, even though he would later need surgery. 

I balled my hands up into fists. The wind howled.

“I now pronounce you -” Thunder boomed in the distance, as a single drop of rain touched my face. “Man and-” The lightning struck some tree in the distance, sending it toppling down onto the power lines. The rush of a body hitting the floor and the thud that it made surged through me then. My stomach tightened up into a little ball. 

The way he made me breakfast every other monday. It was almost always badly burnt, but I loved it. The way he picked me up and threw me in the air when I got my diploma in psychology. The way he caught me, and spun me around, my legs wrapped around his waist. The way I would catch him looking at me and he would quickly turn away, even though we slept together.

“NO!” I screamed, my eyes making their own rain. I prayed and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that He would make the rain stop, make the pain stop. 

Then, it did.

CRACK-THOOM

The ground infront of me was split by a lightning bolt.

Then another.

And another.

Soon it was raining lightning and sound.

I lay in the grass, waiting for one to strike me.

The way he cried when he got the diagnosis. The way he threw his computer at the wall when Child Services wouldn’t let us adopt. The look in his eyes as he wrote his will. 

My house caught aflame, but I didn’t care.

When he still, through the tornado of grief that was his last months, managed to gather all of our friends and have them all trick me into thinking that I was just going to the movies. The way he had bought every last seat in every theater and knew that I would wander into each one, gazing with wet eyes at the compilation of memories that he had made. 

The ground around me was carved out by the sheer force of the lightning, and yet I was untouched. 

When I got to the end of the hallway and there was a sign - Future Memories: Closed for Cancer. When he walked out from behind a false wall and whispered, “I love you.” The way his voice shook when he said “All these moments should have happened.” The way I turned to look at his gaunt, pale, beautiful face. The way he cried when I caressed his face. 

When the storm of lightning stopped, I was on an island of dirt and concrete. People came out of their intact, wet houses, looking very confused. A cavern opened up inside of me.

“I love you, more than the sun loves the moon. More than the sky loves the stars. I love you more than either of us will ever know,” he got down on one knee. “And I would love it if we could spend our last moments as one.” Words wouldn’t come. I blubbered, tears streaming down my cheeks. I was a very ugly crier. He knew what that meant. I tore into so many small pieces as he slipped the ring I was fingering now onto my finger and kissed me. “Never lose hope. Without it, I’ll probably end up seeing you again soon. And if I do,” He kissed me again, “we’re getting a divorce.” 

“I’m taking the money.”

He laughed, and kissed me again and again.

I stared up at the sky, and prayed that it would rain. 

It did.

I melted into the grass, tears turning the dirt to mud.