Rainy Days

Now that the writing bug has bitten me again, I am determined not to lose my momentum. I am currently working on my next short story called, "Rainy Days" that I would like to introduce here. This is a work in progress, even I don't quite know how it will evolve or end YET; at this point, I'm just trying to get it OUT. For my own accountability, I plan to present the next installment of the story each Wednesday afternoon until the story is complete. Feel free to comment and/or critique (keep it constructive, please). This is a draft, so parts of it may not be polished; I plan to pretty it up later. Please enjoy!

Rainy Days

I love rainy days!

I know that makes me a little different from most folk. Rain is typically perceived as bringing trouble or at least, inconvenience. Things like traffic jams, unnecessary accidents, and short tempers are associated with rain. The thought of rain is confronted with dread. Sistas worry about their hair, while the bruhs get mad because they just cleaned up their ride. I can hear Ms. Peebles despairing of it in “I Can’t Stand the Rain.” The Carpenters complained about it in,” Rainy Days and Mondays,” and you can still hear Johnny Nash exhaling in “I Can See Clearly Now.” They represent the general consensus that rainy days suck. Not me.

Rain. . . it works for me.

Rainy days remind me of all that is good and clean. Aside from the more obvious benefits of helping things to grow, putting out fires, and curing drought, rain replenishes me. The water offers endless opportunities for renewal and growth. On rainy days I can dream. I can make up my own ending to the story of my life.

On rainy days, I remember my purpose. I remember what love is. I remember the dreams and plans we made for our life and our future. Some of our best sex happened on rainy Saturday mornings. The rain created the sweetest intimacy and intense sexual energy. All petty arguments, annoying habits, outside pressures, bills; they were all washed away by the love found in that cocooned intimacy and space brought on by rainy days.

Rainy days allow me to remember the beauty of my baby boy's eyes and his heartbreaking smile. They bring gentle echoes of his laughter and his joy as he demonstrated his newest acquired skill. On rainy days, I allow myself to briefly recall his scent that was a mixture of the summer sun, chocolate, and his dog Chuckie.

Oh yeah, on rainy days, I remember all of that.

It is on sunny days, that the pain of loss returns. Those are the time that I remember that I now sleep alone and it is on sunny days, that I remember that I will never see my little boy’s smile or hold him against my body ever again.