A Storm
Here's a story. It's... eh? I don't know...
Alt. Titles: First Rain, Something Wet, (and more for my own amusement) Fat Toad
Every evening I take the same route home. I lock my desk at 5:15 and carry my briefcase in my left hand. I cross one main street at the corner of Lexington before weaving my way through an advanced, under appreciated maze of alleyways. I've yet to cross a night when the Backstreet Bluebird was crowded, but even on the slowest of evenings the middle table is always full.
This evening has proved to be no different. It is a slow night again, no other outdoor table has been touched, but as usual the eccentric stranger has settled in for a treat.
I'm intrigued by his figure. He sits there every night without fail and always seems to be alone. We've yet to speak but I still grow a faint sense of comfort every time I see him. He cuts a strange line to be sure, one I've yet to conclude whether it is attractive or not, but the stability of his presence is what warms me. He doesn't seem as though he would care what I decided about his appearance anyway.
He's from a family of wealth I'm sure. His suit has never been worn by another man and the sleeves are as crisp as an apple. There are shaggy curls in his ebony hair but some of them have been flattened against the back of his head. I always get the impression that he has just awoken although his soiled dishes say he has been sitting there awhile. He has dined long after the streets have grown dark and the wait staff has become rather anxious for him to leave. Surely they have families at home whom they wish to embrace; I can even imagine that the cheeky, little dish-boy smoking in the alley has himself a worried mother tutting over his dinner that’s gone cold. I chuckle in sympathy as he heaves another heavy sigh. I readjust the bag in my hand and step to move away, a slight bitterness on my tongue reminding me that once again I'm leaving as a silent coward.
I make it to the corner before a strange wind stops me in my tracks. The air has been heavy and hot today, squatting in the dark alleys of our town like a fat toad hiding from the sun. This sudden gust is cool and abrasive, a surprise attacker that rips at my coat and over fills my nostrils. My eyes water with the blast and I'm forced to stop and wait for it to pass but as it does, my lips break into a slow smile. I know this wind. This wind brings the smell of rain. A storm is coming, a surge of summer weather that will come barreling through our labyrinthine streets and usher in the start of a wet season.
I quickly turn back to the shop. My unknown neighbor has yet to move from his chair, but it would seem that he believes himself to be in a bed. A somewhat distressed waitress stands over him as though she fears his slumber is really the sinister kiss of death. She hovers for a moment with her hand just above his back before she jerks it away and sends a pleading look to her coworkers cowering in the doorway. She is surprised when her savior comes from the other direction.
"Has his bill been settled?" I ask as I step into the light. Although my voice is soft, the girl jumps and wrings her hands. She splutters for a moment then seems to be calmed by the smoothing of her hand through her bangs.
"Ah, y-yes, sir. His lord-"
I nod and step forward abruptly to cut her off. Any details I prefer to ask of the man himself. She seems to lose her voice as I bend to lift up the drowsy man’s head. I lift one of his eyelids, checking his pupils in the orange light of the street lamp, but he brushes me away with the mumble of a tired child. I smile, amused and endeared, and wait for him to settle back down. I try to urge him from his seat by taking his arm but he allows his appendage to be limply lifted away while he himself remains firmly in his seat. I sigh and push my glasses back more securely into place.
"Come on, old boy," I urge gently. "You can't sleep here."
I receive no more resistance, but he also gives me no aid. I struggle with tugging his limp arm a moment more before giving up with another sigh. Out of the corner of my gaze I see that all the cafe staff has gathered to watch from the open door, but the fact is only a slight annoyance. None of them are possibly more than two years out of childhood; gawking is in their nature.
I can feel the wet wind playing with my collar again and I am struck with a slight sense of urgency. Forgetting the gaping adolescents, I conclude that it is time to introduce force to the situation. I haven't lifted much since my university days so I puff a little at first, but with only some shallow struggling I manage to heave the fallen gentleman from his seat. When his arm is wrapped tightly around my shoulders and his feet are firmly upon the ground, I ask that the ogling girl hand me the brief case I left upon the patio in my struggle. She scrambles to do so and returns it to me without a word. I thank her with an odd air of dignity that makes me chuckle inside before I awkwardly shuffle my companion off into the night. All eyes of course are still upon us as we leave, but I ignore them until my companion smiles with a slurred laugh.
I can't help but smile too. "What?" I ask.
He licks his lips and his eyes flutter as he speaks. I notice they are the gray of a stone. "They must think us insane."
I hum contemplatively and turn my gaze to the stars. We've woven our way into the dark between lamps and on either side of us the buildings seem to tower on forever. "Perhaps we are."
One cool, steely eye regards me warily. "I've seen you before," he interjects.
"I walk this way every night," I reply.
He waves his hand in a sweeping arc that passes from his feet to mine. "Surely not in this manner, or truly you are mad."
I laugh warmly and shake the hair from my face. "No, perhaps not exactly this way."
I dare not turn my head but I catch a smile on his face as he admires my features from the side. Something fluttery makes itself known in my chest as we continue to move in silence. Eventually he grows satisfied with his fill of looking and turns to watch our progress. We are almost to the nearest street and as I watch, a heavy toad hops past in the light of a lamp post. I smile to myself and hear my companion squawk as a fat raindrop splatters against his face. Another lands upon my nose and I hold my gentleman a little tighter. As the falling water picks up speed and slips along my skin, I thoughtfully part my lips. A new taste spreads itself across my tongue and suddenly the bitterness in my mouth is so much sweeter. I worry my lips for a moment with my slippery tongue before the gentleman speaks up.
"I'm glad you've found me," he whispers sleepily,"it's nice to finally go home."
His words have no sense, but to me it's the meaning of the rain.
I smile to myself and look down at the ground. We don't talk any more.