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And the Rain Falls (Formerly
What can I say? I thought this new title better fit the direction of the story and had better marketability. As for the rest of the piece. Most of it is EXTREMELY unrevised and needs a lot of work, admittedly, but the basic ideas are there.
I. The faces of saints dripped tears as rain pounded on the panes of stained glass in the cathedral, beneath the saints stood a priest delivering the eulogy at my brother's funeral. The cathedral was nearly full; the cold stone walls radiated the intense popularity my brother experienced in life. Echoes of the priest's words filled the emptiness of the large arched ceilings on the cathedral as attendants sat in rapturous silence. Every so often a murmur would go through the crowd. 'He was such a good young man. So humble. So kind. Why does the Lord always take the good ones?' The pews—capable of holding hundreds—were nearly full. My brother's smile and disposition had made him popular; surviving cancer had made him a hero. I was there for convoluted reasons; I loathed my older brother—Dirk—with all of my being, but I also knew that Rachelle, his fiancé, would be there. She was sitting in the front row beside my parents, and I had chosen the very back, leaving rows upon rows of pews full of people I had never seen in between the casket and myself. The priest stood at the pulpit and told us about how Dirk had lived a good life. How he had been a just and morally upright man. People murmured their agreements. I watched the back of Rachelle's head rather than listen to the priest give me a brief summary of my brother's life. Her brown hair was still cut short, very short, so that it gave her a boyish appearance. Every now and then she disappeared when people shifted their weight because they grew uncomfortable or tired. After the eulogy a line formed to allow people to pay their final respects. People recognized me as Dirk's "Little Bro" and allowed me to cut in front of them in line until I was standing directly behind Rachelle, catching scents coming off of her hair as she moved from side to side. My parents were at the front of the line; my father was silent and composed, but my mother was draped over the coffin sobbing about the Lord having stolen her baby from her. I watched with cool detachment. My dad reached over and picked my mother up by the shoulders and started to carry her off. Rachelle stepped forward next. She touched her fingertips to her lips then rested her hand on the casket and whispered to Dirk. I stepped forward and looked at his closed casket. If the cold lifeless face of Dirk Grier had been staring up at me instead of the blank round wood of the casket I would have felt much better. I wanted to see Dirk's smiling pale face surrounded by comfy velvet, flowers, and stained rosewood. A line was building behind me. I rested my hand on the coffin for a second. I couldn't help as my fingers curled up into a fist, then I walked on.
Outside the rain fell in sheets, obscuring vision, soaking clothes, and creating an overall atmosphere of misery. I lit up a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, I blew out and watched the smoke disappear in the mist of the rain. The door to the cathedral creaked open and Rachelle stepped outside. "You know, Dirk hated the fact that you smoked." She opened up a small black umbrella and held it so that it covered her head and some of mine. "You can come underneath." I stepped beneath the umbrella and next to her. A large black faux fur coat covered her slight frame, but I was close enough that I could feel her body. I tried to move away from her without being obvious. I ended up merely shifting the weight from my left foot to my right. "Miserable weather," I said. She nodded without saying a word. "It would have meant a lot to Dirk." "What?" "You coming today. You and him got along so badly he figured you would probably miss his funeral." I would have if it weren't for you, I thought. "He always talked about you, you know." "No I didn't. You doing anything tonight?" She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "Why?" "I don't want to spend the evening alone," I said. "I guess I can talk for a little while. Do you have a car? I came here with your parents." I opened the car door for Rachelle and watched as she managed to make ducking inside an old 1983 Accord sensual. Walking around the back of my car I fought the urge to dance in the street and instead lifted my head to look up at the sky and smiled. As I breathed in the last puff from my cigarette I took it out of my mouth and tossed it into the gutter. It sat there for a moment, simply floating, then flowed down and slipped into the storm drain. It was a good day. I climbed into the car and after five attempts got the engine to start. "Did you want to get something to eat or?" "Dinner sounds good. I can pay my way." "Pizza?" "How about real Italian?"
The plate of fifteen dollar spaghetti stared up at me; steam swirled off of the top towards the dimly lit ceiling of the restaurant, fans turned about, pressing the air back down, and created an ominous feeling and a sense of heaviness. I carefully raised my fork then stabbed into the middle of the plate of spaghetti, curling it into a tight ball, I picked up the spoonful and fed it into my mouth. I wasn't paying to much attention chewing and gagged as unchewed spaghetti fell down the back of my throat. Rachelle reached across the table and patted me on the back until the attack subsided. "Trouble chewing?" I turned a bright shade of red and hid it by glaring down at the spaghetti. "Were you in the car with Dirk when—?" "No. Dirk was always a very cautious driver when I was with him. He always told me he had to keep his angel safe," Rachelle said with a sad smile. "I knew that he was much more reckless when I wasn't with him though. I told him to be more careful." I nodded. I had first hand experience of Dirk's driving skills, or lack thereof. Trying my hand at another bite of spaghetti I asked how she was holding up. "Good," she nodded to herself absently. "Yeah, I'm doing good. How are you?" I was wonderful, but that was not a good response. I took a long drink of water and answered, "I've been better." –which was just vague enough to be true. The ceiling fans forced me into my chair and we finished our meal in complete silence. The check came and I was glad that Rachelle placed twenty-five dollars on the table and insisted. I added my twenty next to hers and quickly slid out of my chair, extending my hand to help her up. "Wanna watch a movie or something at my place?" "Sure."
I pushed the door to my apartment open and then moved to the side so that Rachelle could step inside first. My small studio apartment was trashed; the mattress in the corner was covered in dirty and clean clothes, the table I ate at was covered in old pizza boxes along with old—and a few molding—pieces of pizza. I had left the window open this morning and the floor near it was soaked, and the rest of the floor was coated in garbage from fast food restaurants. "Sorry about the mess," I apologized. She shook the water from her umbrella and rested it against the wall. A frown crossed her face as she looked at the room, but she said, "It's ok, Dirk wasn't always neat either." Rachelle began to poke through grime, moving garbage into piles and tossing migrating clothes back onto the bed, then she started to cry. "Are, are you ok?" Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought to myself, does she look ok? She gestured that she wished to be left alone so I backed away. I dug out a garbage bag from beneath the sink of my small kitchenette and used my feet to sweep all the garbage that littered my floor into a pile. It took quite awhile. By the time I had the floor cleared she was done crying. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized. "No, I understand, want to watch a movie?"
"And?" Jeremy asked. I stared up at the ceiling fan from Jeremy's bed, my eyes followed the whirling blades, my mouth blew smoke towards it. "And? And we watched a movie, then I took her home. End of story," I told Jeremy and finished my story of last night. It looked like Jeremy was completely focused on the video game he was playing—oblivious to anything other than the glowing monitor which flashed explosions and the consequential booms from the speakers—I had learned not to fall for that façade. "Dammit!" he cursed, slamming his mouse down. Spinning in his chair to face me he said, "First off: don't smoke in my bed; it's bad enough my room reeks of cigarettes. Leave my sheets alone. Second: what did you think was going to happen? Her to pounce on you?" "No, not really—" "But it's what you hoped would happen." Jeremy sighed and took a deep breath. "Mike, it wasn't a good idea to cling to these—I'm not even going to call them feelings, I honestly think they're even more shallow than that—impulses of yours when your brother was alive. Now that he's dead you really need to just let this go."
II. Dirk had decided that I needed to get out more often when I was eighteen and waiting through the summer pause between high school and college. "You're either working or sitting at home moping around on the computer and video games. We're going out tonight," had been his exact words. "Does a club sound good?" I didn't respond. "Yeah, this'll be fun; just the two of us getting out and hitting the town. Finding some ladies. Yeah." Outside of the club was a massive like of people. Dirk walked right up to the front and gave the bouncer guarding the entrance a hug. "How's the woman?" "Still nagging the hell outta me," the bouncer answered with a chuckle that made his muscles bulge and ripple. I felt hideous and obese; especially wearing Dirk's old clubbing clothes, which barely fit. "Is it okay if my little bro comes in with me?" The bouncer looked me over. "Dirk— " "—Come on, Rick, he needs to get out." "Look at him." I felt like the fashion equivalent of rotting meat. "Here," Dirk said holding his hand out and winking at me. Rick shook my brother's hand and I saw the bill change palms. My brother led me inside and I asked him, "how much?" before my senses were assaulted. I was cast into a darkness that was interrupted by flashing strobes and colored dots of light which darted across the room. The sickly sweet smell of human sweat left the air humid, hot, and stifling. "Hm?" "My god," I panted. "How can you breathe?" "Practice," Dirk laughed. "You wanna be the D.D.?" "Huh?" "Driver. Do you want to be the designated driver?" I was considering how much fun it would be to drive Dirk's Camaro when he decided, "Nah, I'll go sober. You need to loosen up." I was lead along the edges of the room until we came across a set of stairs being guarded by yet another muscular man. "He's with me," Dirk said to the man who was barring my way as he looked me over. "He looks twelve," and under his breath added, "and fat." "He's old enough; it's okay." We walked past the man and up the stairs. Dirk patted me on the back and reassured me, "It's ok, Dave's just a bit of an ass and takes this job too seriously. You can't take anything he says to seriously." I looked at my protruding stomach and nodded. At the top of the stairs was a bar surrounded by a balcony overlooking the dance floor. Dirk walked up to the bar tender and flashed his swoon-inspiring smile. "Hey, Jenna, having a good night?" Jenna, who was still hot for obviously being in her thirties, turned and rested her elbows on the bar, framing her hanging cleavage and pressing them together so they were even more impressive. "Not bad, not bad. A good night for tips," she winked at me, "like the view?" I quickly turned away and focused on people on the dance floor. "Hey, leave the little bro alone." "Aw, I'm sorry. I thought it was cute that he liked my tits. Same thing as usual?" "Nah, I'll take a Jack with Cola. Three quarters Jack, please," Dirk said with his smile charming for all it was worth. "No girly drinks?" Dirk laughed. "How many times am I going to have to tell you? A Cadillac margarita is for anyone with fine taste." " 'Kay, Girly-man, one Jack and Cola coming up." Dirk walked up and leaned against the banister with his back facing the dance floor next to me and placed the drink on the banister in front of me. "Get this down and we'll have some fun." "I'm underage." "And under fun. This'll loosen you up a bit." I sighed heavily, but took a deep swig of the concoction. I was immediately coughing and gasping for thick, hot, disgusting air. "What the hell is this?" "Whiskey and Coke." "It tastes like shit." "Just drink it, you're gonna need it. We're dancing next." I looked out at the dance floor, the glass was cool in my hands. I plugged my nose and put the cup to my lips, then threw my head back and downed it all at once. I nearly gagged. "Oh, God! That's awful!" "Good alcohol tastes terrible. Wanna try the dance floor?" "No." "Jenna? Can we get another?" After I had three of those disgusting things down I wobbled back down the stairs, clinging to the banister and Dirk to keep from toppling down the stairs and breaking my neck. On the dance floor there was no oxygen, just body odor, perfume, and cologne. It was horrible. Short skirts, tight jeans, and revealing t-shirts left men and women grinding sticky, sweaty skin against sticky, sweaty skin. Through all of this Dirk led me--stumbling and falling against people--to the center of the dance floor where he convinced me that drunken dancing attracted women. Something about displaying confidence. I moved around out of sync to the music while Dirk slid gracefully to the rhythm. Like a parting sea the people moved and I saw her. Wearing a short black skirt, a neon pink tank top and a long white fishnet shirt; Rachelle was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. It wasn't that she was incredibly thin or had a chest bigger than Jenna's, it was the confidence she radiated. Her hair was short, only an inch of brown, and she moved with such certainty and grace. I was overwhelmed. "Dirk," I slurred, "Dirk, let's dance with her." I pointed at Rachelle. Dirk supported me as we moved through the crowds of people towards Rachelle and her friends. I was still hanging on Dirk and suddenly feeling very queasy as we approached her. "Hi!" Dirk said in an overly chipper tone. "I'm Dirk and this is my little bro Michael. He thought that you were beautiful when he first saw you, and I have to add that I definitely agreed," Dirk gave a self-deprecating smile and shrug as he looked down towards the floor, "but now I'm just being foolish." She smiled at Dirk, who was now looking into her eyes, "That's nice, I'm Rachelle." "I don't think I feel so good," I moaned, then vomited onto the dance floor. III Twenty-six days before my eleventh birthday Dirk went in to get test results from the doctor on what everyone expected to be ulcers. I stayed home in order to work on birthday party invitations. Dirk walked out of the house believing he had some ulcers and just need to cut back on the spicy food; he came home with terminal stomach cancer. My parents spent several hours fretting over my brother, making sure he was situated and comfortable in front of the television. My mother spent five minutes building what looked like a pillow fort around my brother and tucking him in under layers of blankets. Once they were certain he was situated they went to the church to get the priest's council. When my brother heard the garage door open he got and tossed my mother's five minutes of work onto the ground and walked to the front window. Peeking through the curtains he watched them drive off. He walked back into the kitchen and pulled out the large box of matches that my mom kept beneath the sink. He then tucked them into his pocket while walking out to the garage and getting the gas can that sat next to the lawn mower. He walked out the side garage door and around into the backyard. In the middle of the lawn was a pear tree my mother had nagged my father into planting two years ago. Dirk circled it once, then twice more covering the trunk with gasoline. Once the gas can was empty he tossed it aside, stepped back, and lit the tree on fire. After watching for a few minutes with a look of intense interest, he pulled out a garden hose and put the fire out. I had watched all of this with a mix of awe and horror. "Don't worry," he reassured me, "Everything's going to be okay." My parents never said anything about the tree.
9:20 PM
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sick