The Rain

It hadn’t rained like this in a while. Mary would know.

Water thundered against the roof above Mary’s head like the deafening noise of hooves on hard-packed dirt paths. Her grainy apartment window created a small source of light, struggling to survive in her darkened apartment. After her dusty lamp fizzled out, Mary made no move to light a candle. She thought it unnecessary, preferring the faint yellow glow of the street lamps and the red and white lights travelling down the roads below.

The murky sight of the city through the haze of pouring rain seemed to fill her with a melancholic calm, a welcome distraction from the feeling of nothing.

Nothing. Such a sad concept, really.

Nothing has nearly always been a result of Something. Nothing doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. Something has to exist prior to the reign of Nothing. In order for the stifling horror of sheer Nothingness to extend its infinite tendrils and utterly consume Something, that Something needs to exist.

Mary’s cold, bony hands gripped the frayed hems of her faded shawl and shakily pulled it closer across her thin form, her eyes, grey as the rumbling sky above, never leaving the window. She doesn’t mind The Nothing, really. It was better than thinking about The Something.

And yet, the mind is a cruel and torturous being. It caused her to tear her eyes from the entrancing pathways of the tiny rivers on the glass and gaze at the dusty shelf in the corner of the room, nearly empty save for a thick scrapbook. If it were not for the darkness of the room, the scrapbook would be the brightest object in Mary’s apartment. She managed to get rid of everything else.

She couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

Mary rose to her shaky legs, clutching her shawl, her eyes never leaving the book lying abandoned in a wasteland of dust and cobwebs. She tried to ignore the way her withered heart thudded painfully in her chest at the sight, seemingly growing more intense the closer she crept towards the shelf. Still clutching her shawl close to her chest, Mary stopped and stared at the scrapbook. Its sunny yellow cover seemed almost mocking, and Mary couldn’t help but let out a sad, wheezy chuckle at the irony. It had to be yellow, huh.

Deciding that she had claimed victory over this one-sided staring contest, she slowly reached out her shaky hand and brushed her fingertips against the slightly rough leather cover, revealing more of its true color as her fingers paved a path through the film of dust. The once vibrant yellow has faded with years and the leather had begun to crack off in places, but the pink binding seemed to hold the thick book together. The corners of Mary’s wrinkled lips twitched downward as her heart spasmed. Really, did we have to make all of the colors so…

Closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath, Mary gently placed both of her hands on the sides of the scrapbook, and after a moment’s hesitation, peeled it off of the shelf, leaving behind a crisp dark rectangle amongst the dusty wood. She studied the cover a little longer. It was simple in terms of design. Messy and colorful letters drawn with various markers sprawled across the top of the cover, spelling out Our Family. A small family of stick figures stood underneath the title: a small girl, a slightly taller boy, a woman, and a man. Mary’s gaze fixated on the drawing until she could feel the joints in her bony legs groan in protest.

Snapping out of her daze and wincing, she shuffled back to her leather recliner and sunk into it, hearing it let out a familiar squeak under her weight. She kept the book on her lap, her hands resting on its cover gingerly, and looked back through her window. Breathing in a deep, shaky breath, Mary slowly opened the book. She flipped to the first page.

She stared. A photo of a young girl stared back.

The girl was sitting on a swing and smiling brightly at the camera, her wild blonde curls restrained under a black headband. Mary felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the sight. For only being nine years old, the girl was such a nice young lady.

The room was suddenly full of white light. Mary looked up at the outside world again. The sky continued to rumble, faint flashes of lightning lept from the blackened depths of the sky, electric cracks blaring seconds later. She had forgotten about the storm.

The young girl huffed, folding her arms over the arm of the recliner and resting her cheek on them. “Storms are scary.”

Mary smiled softly, her eyes never leaving the storm. “They can be, Jules. Lightning is dangerous. You need to be careful if you’re outside during a storm. But you know, there is a way to find out how far away the storm is.”

Julia lifted her head from her arms and stared up at Mary, her big blue eyes sparkling. “Whoa, really?” She smiled widely when Mary nodded and began to jump in place, her curls bouncing along with her. “Tell me, momma, tell me!”

Mary chuckled at the girl’s excitement. “Well, all right. First, we need to wait until we see more lightning.” The two sat in anticipated silence for a few moments. Then, they saw white streak across the sky. Mary began to softly count aloud. “One...two...three...--” The sky rumbled with such intensity that Mary felt her chair and the floor beneath her slippers quiver. Julia jumped at the sound, her small hands clenched and eyes wide. Mary smiled, continuing to admire the water pouring down the glass of the window as she explained, “When you see lightning in the sky, start counting seconds until you hear the thunder. The number of seconds you got to is how many miles away the storm is.”

Biting her lip, she looked back at his mother with glistening eyes. “Three miles is pretty close…” she stammered out.

Mary’s smile softened. “Don’t worry, sweetie.” For the first time in their conversation, she turned to Julia. “Mommy will keep you…” She trailed off, staring at the arm of her chair.

The young girl was gone.

“...safe,” She whispered into the empty room.

Mary’s heart spasmed in her chest as if it was struck by the lightning outside. She closed her eyes, slowly and carefully taking a deep breath. She looked back down at the book.

The young girl stared back.

She flipped the page.

Mary was then greeted by the face of a boy, no older than ten.

The photo was taken at a boy scout award ceremony, and the young boy stood stiffly tall and proud, seemingly attempting at having a serious face, but his eyes were full of joy and excitement and his mouth was quirked up in a small smile. She breathed a small laugh at the boy’s expression, feeling her eyes begin to burn. Now that photo was a few years before--

“It isn’t good for you to stay up so late, ma.”

The teenager looked down at her, leaning up against the side of the chair.

Mary sighed exaggeratedly. “Since when did you become a doctor, Mike?”

Michael chuckled in response and shrugged. “Never have been. Just wanted to check up on you, ma. You sure don’t like getting up from this old chair here.” He patted the side of the leather recliner for emphasis.

Mary laughed. “Now Mikey, you make it sound like I’m lazy. What a cruel thing to say to your poor mother.”

The teenager rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

The two looked out the window together in a comfortable silence.

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” Michael added, running a hand through his mousy brown hair, his voice becoming more staticy the more he spoke. “I called to say that dad realized that there was some issue with the oven or something. So I’m gonna go help him out. Just wanted to let you know. We’re all excited to see you again, ma. Love you.”

The blood drained from Mary’s face and her heart went cold, whipping her head to face him and reached out fearfully. “Wait, Michael, don’t--!”

She was met with only her chair.

Mary’s hands began trembling uncontrollably as her breathing began to increase. Tears began welling up in her eyes. Blinking them back and trying to control her breathing and heart rate, Mary was startled by another flash of lightning filling up the whole room.

“Honey, breathe. You’re having another attack.”

Mary’s heart froze at the voice she heard from behind her. Strong arms wrapped around her neck from behind and she felt a stubbled chin rest against the crown of her head. “Shh shhh, I’m right here.”

Mary’s shaky hands reached up to hold the man’s arms. “Jack...thank you.”

She felt Jack chuckle. “You don’t need to thank me, Mary. I’m here for you, and always will be.” He slowly removed his arms from his wife and walked around the recliner until he was in front of her.

Mary stared up at him in shock. “I...I can see you…”

He smiled softly, tucking a strand of grey and thinning hair behind Mary’s ear.

“The fire wasn’t your fault, honey.”

Mary burst into tears as her husband pulled her into a tight embrace. He whispered soothingly into her hair as he rubbed her back. “Your flight was delayed, there was no way you could have gotten home in time. That business trip of yours was important. Please don’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s not fair to you.” He pulled away and wiped a tear from Mary’s wrinkled cheek. “I love you. No matter what.”

Mary blinked, causing more tears to stream down her face.

The man was gone.

Wiping her face with her shawl, she placed the scrapbook back on the floor, clutched her shawl, and pulled it around herself again.

Mary looked out the window.

It really hadn’t rained like this in a while.