Rainy Days

by A. S. Kelly

  The guy comes towards me and starts talking to me, taking me by the arm and shaking me from my trance. I snap out of it, but my senses are confused and my mind isn’t able to elaborate quickly enough. The only thing I can hear is: Jesus, are you stupid? And that’s when I feel those arms around me again. I let myself be squeezed and delicately moved aside.

  “Get your hands off her, now!” says the newcomer.

  “Hey, friend, calm down. I was just trying to—”

  “Don’t try to do anything. Don’t touch her, don’t look at her and especially, don’t talk to her ever again in that way, or else your mother won’t be able to recognize your body. Have I been clear?”

  The guy raises his hands and sits down again, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

  “Everything okay?” the man who’s rescued me says.

  I turn my head slowly and nod. Everything happened in just a few seconds, but in my head I see distorted images and I’m not able to follow them, I can’t stay behind it.

  Behind all of it.

  His arms slowly slide away from my shoulders and I suddenly feel uncovered, vulnerable.

  Empty.

  I’m a shell, a fragile, dilapidated, scratched up seashell that you could never hear the sounds of the sea from.

  My emotions get the better of me. My hands start shaking, followed by my arms and I sense the humiliation as tears run down my cheeks. I feel suddenly alone, as if around me there was nothing, as if everything has vanished and I am sitting on the guard rail of a bridge with my legs dangling into nothing.

  I can feel someone caressing my face, drying my tears. He takes me sweetly by the arm away from the coffee house, leading me by the waist and walks me over to the other side of the street. He walks with me, holding my weight and I’m not able to tell you for how long; he helps me sit on something wet and it’s only then that I realize I’m in a field, on grass that’s wet from yesterday’s rain and that the park is in front of the bay.

  And I lie down and instinctively close my eyes when the sun hits my eyelids. I breathe profoundly until my muscles start to relax and I feel a sense of calm return to my whole being. I straighten out my body and start to ruffle my hand on the grass, which in addition to being wet, is also cold.

  I don’t care if I’m completely wet by now, and I don’t care how I got here. The only thing that does matter is that I feel safe.

  As I play with strands of grass, letting them slide through my hands, I feel them, his fingers on mine. Slowly, they emerge through the grass and onto my fingertips, and I stop, and wait—wait for something.

  For anything.

  There is such a slight caress in my palm, such a delicate movement that it’s difficult to perceive, but my skin senses it, and it transmits the signal to my brain which, although badly reduced and a bit lightheaded, is able to understand what’s happening.

  The heat from his touch radiates through me starting from my fingers, branches off to my arm before arriving in my chest, finding refuge there where nothing ever takes root.

  We stay like this, for minutes that pass into hours, perhaps days or years. I don’t know. My head is a mess and I’m not able to think of time passing or the sun that’s decided to play a joke on us, being overtaken by the clouds, who now release their freezing waters and soak us.

  And still, we don’t move. We let the water fall on us with no problem at all, and I finally feel my mind free and light.

  I feel.

  I feel alive.

  And I start to laugh, without reason, because that’s how I am.

  And I can feel him looking at me. It burns me and creeps into my mind where I have nothing other than nothing.

  I don’t turn my head and exchange a glance with his.

  My laugh dies out slowly and is transformed into an open smile aimed at the heavens, even if truth be told it’s aimed at someone.

  And I know he knows it.

  6

  Liam

  We stay there in silence for at least a half an hour while the rain doesn’t let up, even for a minute. I am completely petrified, by the cold, from her nearness, from her fingers next to mine.

  Life. That’s what I feel as I sit next to her.

  I feel life returning and running in my veins, my muscles, my mind. And in my heart. I feel like I’m still here, even though the other things have disappeared before my eyes in just one night. I feel and I’m afraid, because I shouldn’t have gotten close, I shouldn’t have interfered in her life. I should have remained at a distance to assure myself that nothing could happen to her.

  Now I should protect her, like I didn’t do that night.

  That’s what pushed me to interact with her: my instinct to protect. When I saw that idiot going after her, I just got up and went. Just the thought that someone would dare to try and hurt her takes my breath away.

  Nothing can happen to her.

  Ever again.

  And now, now I’m here lying down with her in the cold wet grass, I feel that I’m making a mistake again, that I shouldn’t be here, that it’s so damned wrong. The situation is getting out of hand, I’m losing control and I cannot lose control. I cannot permit it.

  And despite this, despite the fact that I have an unstoppable desire to hightail it out of here as far as possible from this contact, it’s the only place I’d want to be and should be in this instant, where everything seems to have meaning.

  How is it possible that something so completely wrong can be the only thing that allows me to feel something again?

  And then she starts laughing. She laughs and laughs, shaking me from my confused state.

  I am immobile, defeated by the desire to turn and lose myself in her green eyes, or to run away from her and from this torture that has bitten into my chest, reminding me of my guilt and my pain.

  She continues laughing and giggling until she lets go of my hand. And I feel suddenly lost again, and in a tenth of a second, I realize I don’t want to feel that way in future.

  Slowly, I turn towards her and slowly she calms down. She doesn’t look back at me, she remains with her eyes closed, facing the heavens and with a smile on her lips, and I know, even if she won’t turn and face me, that that smile is for me.

  I need it, for Chrissake, I need it more than anything else in the world.

  Take away everything, withhold the air, but don’t take away that smile or I won’t be able to open my eyes tomorrow. I need it for myself. I need to see it on her lips constantly, to remind me that life goes on and that she’s still here, that everything isn’t lost, that I can still do something.

  For her.

  I can do something for her.

  And I don’t know how, but I feel my lips that until that moment had been locked in a straight line, fold just slightly upwards into a sort of grin.

  I understand that this is my way of smiling and that I haven’t done it since that night, before the beginning of the end of everything.

  Rain

  I stop in front of the pub door. I look at my watch and I realize I’m over two hours late. I’m agitated and awkward. I keep my face down, eyes on my feet which I continue to sway my weight on, hoping to employ a few minutes of his company, before he turns his back and walks out of my life.

  “Well, thanks,” I’m able to say miraculously in one breath. Not like it was a big deal, just two simple words, direct, immediate.

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, looking around with the air of someone who can’t wait to get out of there.

  I know I probably shouldn’t and I’ll probably screw it up, but I decide to try it nonetheless.

  “Would you like—”

  “—I can’t.” He interrupts me right away. “I have to go.”

  I didn’t have any doubt.

  So I nod and try to push the door open to get in, but it’s been one of those days, and my muscles are just not responding to my commands and the numbness in my arms leaves me with little coordination.

  “Leav
e it,” he says, and I turn red immediately, feeling the tears creeping into my eyes.

  “Th-thanks,” I repeat, but this time it doesn’t come out well, and I stutter in front of him, damn it.

  He seems not to notice, pushes the door and holds it open for me, while I pass through it, disappointed.

  What was I thinking of doing? Inviting him in, so he could see for himself how pathetic my life is?

  I turn around one last time to give him a bitter smile.

  “Well, b-bye—”

  “It’s Liam,” he tells me. “Liam O’Reilly.”

  “Nice to m-meet you, Liam O’Reilly,” I say almost without hesitation. “I’m Rain. Rain O’Donovan.”

  “Rain,” he whispers, and I can barely hear him. “Like the rain from the sky,” he continues with a grin that looks like a smile he’s trying to hide. But I see his smile, bright and luminous like the sun that insistently tries to break free from the grey clouds.

  “Li-like a rainy day.” I smile back with my lips, with my face and with all of me.

  “Well, see you soon, rainy day.”

  And he goes away quickly, while I remain glued to the doorstep, unable to go in or to let him go.

  I follow him with my eyes until he gets to the stop light. He waits a few seconds for the green and then disappears around the corner. Resigned to him leaving, I walk in and find myself in front of Aaron, who, inclining his head slightly, scrutinizes my face, and I imagine that I’m an open book.

  “You’re late. I was worried about you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And who—was your friend, there?”

  I reflect a minute before taking a big breath and reply. “No one.”

  No one. I repeat in my head and my heart.

  It was no one at all.

  No one worth remembering, no one to take note of.

  And yet, at my first opportunity, I run home and go to my room. I dig through the cassette in my desk and find a fuchsia post-it note—one of the ones I hadn’t wanted to use yet, those destined for the events you hadn’t planned on, those things that leave a mark, something I really don’t want to forget.

  I get a pen from the drawer and write with my not-so-clear handwriting. I tear off the paper and head for my closet. I make a bit of space between the other post-its that I’ve started since I came home and I attach it.

  There, in the middle of all of my thoughts, between the yellow, the green and the orange ones.

  Liam O’Reilly.

  7

  Liam

  I walk her back to the pub. We walk side by side without saying a word, keeping our eyes in front of us. Every once in a while I take a quick peek as we quietly make it to our destination. I’ve gotta slow my decisive stride to not get too far ahead of her and embarrass her. I wouldn’t want her to feel uncomfortable after everything that happened today.

  In front of the pub she tries pushing the door open, but has some difficulty. So I give her a hand and with my shoulder I shove it open, letting her pass by. She smiles at me and goes in, then stops, uncertain.

  She says tentatively: “Would you like to—”

  “I can’t,” I interrupt before she can continue. “I have to go.”

  I don’t have to go anywhere, there’s nothing outside the perimeters of this fucking place. Everything that’s important to me is right here in this moment.

  “Liam, Liam O’Reilly.” I introduce myself, afraid and yet hoping she’ll connect my name to someone else. But it doesn’t happen. For her, I’m some stranger she just casually ran into.

  And I’ve got to fix that.

  Then she speaks, a few lines that break my heart and make my knees go weak:

  “I’m Rain. Like a rainy day.”

  I’d like to run away from her as fast as I can, but in this moment I feel weak, cowardly and without identity.

  The way she pronounces those few syllables opens a chasm in my heart that I will not be able to heal.

  I feel impotent.

  Guilty.

  I walk away quickly without turning back, because I know her eyes are there, watching me.

  I go, fully aware of the enormous damage I’ve provoked and knowing I opened the spiral she has latched onto, grabbing with its nails onto my heart.

  So I leave, but in a way I remain there, because my eyes are in hers and I have no intention of turning back now.

  I leave, but I remain there, because my soul is entirely in her hands and doesn’t want to go back to the darkness of its shelter in my body.

  I go away, but not completely away, because all of her has entered into me, invading itself directly under my skin.

  Rain

  “So, tell me about this new mysterious savior.”

  “There’s not much to tell and then, it’s not very mysterious either, seeing as how I know his name, don’t you think?”

  Erin has dropped by to chat to me even though it’s her day off. She’s been working here at the pub for about six months, and she’s practically the only person I go out with. She’s the only one who doesn’t embarrass me and doesn’t know the me that I used to be.

  “Okay, alright, we know his name. Isn’t there anything else you can tell me? Besides the fact that he’s got a chest like a closet, and blue eyes.”

  “Well, I think he’s a musician and…” I’m not able to finish the phrase, because someone is at the door, which is right behind Erin.

  “What is it?” Erin tries to ask, while I sink into the silence.

  Aaron comes in, followed by Jay who picks us out right away. They stop by our table, before Aaron makes a gesture with his head behind him. My eyes dart to the person at their side, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Liam is coming towards our table. He’s wearing the same jeans he wore in the morning and the same sweatshirt that barely contains his impressive chest.

  He waves at me and I acknowledge his greeting, trying to take a few sips of my drink, but I’m lucky not to choke on it and I end up coughing a bunch and spitting on the table.

  I’m a disaster.

  “Everything okay?” Aaron asks me, giving me a pat on the back. “This is—”

  “—L-Liam,” I complete the word, shooting him a quick glance.

  “We already know each other,” Liam adds before sitting down in front of me.

  Aaron scrutinizes us for a few seconds, his gaze resting a bit longer on Liam, then he shakes his head and sits down next to him.

  Before I can open my mouth, someone calls me from the counter: my break is over. I go to get up and Erin stops me, smiling gently.

  “I’ve got this,” she tells me.

  “But today is your day off.”

  “Well, I didn’t have anything better to do,” she says, squeezing my arm and winking at me.

  She walks away and joins Keith, a guy that helps us out a few nights a week behind the counter. I watch her for a few minutes until I get up the courage to turn and meet Aaron’s eyes: I can feel them on me.

  There’s a huge commotion and yelling that make me wince and Aaron jumps to his feet, followed closely by Jay.

  “Excuse me, I’ve got to go limit the damages and kick that guy’s ass,” he says, probably referring to Keith and then they go, leaving Liam and me alone.

  I sigh and shake my head, not believing I’m alone with him.

  “So, you work here?”

  I nod, finishing my drink in a few sips.

  “Can I take you someplace else?”

  I smile. “Well, I should be the one to do that, seeing as how I work here,” I say without any trouble.

  “But now you’re not working, are you?”

  “I-I was on a break, I was just saying hi to a fr-friend,” and the miracle of speaking normally does not repeat itself this time.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “A Coke pl-please.”

  “Coming right up.” He smiles at me just slightly, before getting up and going to the counter, and I’m grateful Patrick isn’t
there to serve him, because he wouldn’t be happy to see me with a man.

  I watch him move slowly through the crowd, excusing himself and setting his elbows on the counter, waiting to be served. His back is to me and I take advantage of the chance to look at him. His body is like a statue: well defined and robust with large muscular shoulders. He’s got short reddish hair, a long unkempt beard in the same color and I think to myself that even from behind, he’s something to admire.

  I sigh and plant my elbows on the table, putting my head in my hands. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t look at him and more than anything else, I shouldn’t get any fancy ideas.

  A guy like that would never go for someone like me. Why hurt yourself by imagining what can never be?

  He takes two glasses and turns around, walking towards me. I pull myself up instantly and sit there like an idiot, staring at him with my lips semi-open and my heart in my throat.