It Pours

by C D Cain

  Her eyes had grown from their usual bright green to an almost hunter appearance. Maybe that was what sent us on our tumble to the water. I had opened my eyes. The promise of her lips against mine was too much to take without seeing the woman who was dangerously close to deepening an innocent kiss. I’d felt the wave in my belly with the nervous anticipation I had once felt long ago with Sam’s lips so close to mine. It felt good. It felt damn good to feel alive again.

  My weekend vacation had come to find me wishing to burst from the shell that had encased me. Burst from its borders and tear down its walls to feel a woman’s touch again. It was what I had begun to recognize and believe was the void I would not feel any other way. Yet this time it wasn’t Sam’s touch I yearned for so much but rather the woman whose shoulder rested against mine.

  “I feel like that sometimes.”

  Mo kept her head braced against the wall. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were closed.

  “That building over there. Half standing. Half falling apart. I feel like that sometimes.” I breathed in deeply. “Most of the time actually.”

  She fixed one eye onto the shack across from us. I followed her gaze with my own. The kudzu vines had all but overtaken the structure as they grew up one side, over the porch, and onto the rusted tin roof. The right side of the porch and roofing had given to the weight of the dense compounded leaves. It sloped to that side which caused the wood planks to lay low to the ground. Somehow the noxious weed had spared the small clearing between our feet and the building. Yet its coiling vine was virtually uncontrolled over the top of the brick wall as it trailed like a blanket across our shoulders.

  “How so?”

  “Like I’m smothering. Like there’s this weight of everything smothering the air from me and growing over me so fast that I can hardly take in a breath. Life isn’t much different than those leaves. I mean, look at it. Thick, velvety leaves like large clovers with these racemes of purple flowers shooting up all over the place. It’s pretty, right? Beautiful even. Just like life. It can be beautiful, parts of it anyway. But in essence it can still smother you. Shade you in the conformity of it all until you no longer grow. Until you wither and die. Not ever leaving its shadow.”

  I didn’t dare look at her straight on but instead kept her in the corner of my eye as I waited to see how she would respond. I was taken back at how I had opened up to her to express something raw and previously hidden deep within me. I couldn’t stand it if she made fun. She wasn’t this emotional woman. She didn’t open up to express anything. Why? Oh, why did I say all of that crap? What had I expected her to say?

  She bit the corner of her lip, shut her eye, and raised her face to the let the sunlight bask over it. She sat still for what seemed several minutes. The rapid, raptor-like call of a woodpecker was almost deafening in the silence between us.

  “Meredith.” Her voice was soft. “Meredith Ohlen. That’s where Mo comes from. It’s my initials. I shortened it after I saw the not so pretty side of life. After I felt what you described.” She shifted and rolled her shoulders as if trying to release the tension from them. “My father, the last of the Ohlen’s, was killed in an offshore accident when I was sixteen. It was their mistake. A work order had been removed when an inspection threatened to shut them down for a few days. A loss of three days was too much money to lose. So, they improvised.” She kept her eyelids closed but I saw creases form in the corners as they tighteneded. “There were four men killed that day. The families of the other men filed a lawsuit. It never went to court. Let’s just say it was a hefty settlement. One that allowed me to pay off a not so up and up lawyer to keep me out of the foster care system.”

  “Foster care? What about your mother?”

  “My mother.” She paused.

  Her eyes remained shut. I heard her voice in my head when she told me to close my eyes. When she told me to close my eyes and block out the sight of the world so I could see the feelings within me. This must not only be what she tells me to do but also what she herself must do.

  “My mother wasn’t exactly what you would call a mom. The doctors told my dad it was postpartum depression. I could give a flying fuck the medical term they wanted to give it. She left shortly after I was born. He tried to stay home and not work offshore but he could hardly pay the bills. So, when I was about five he went back to drilling. I’d stay with whatever girlfriend he was dating at the time while he was gone.”

  “What about your grandparents or any other family?” I was anxiously trying not to sound shocked or give pity to my voice.

  “My parents weren’t what you’d call good children. They were both wild, always in trouble and hard to handle. They split from their families before either one of them graduated from high school. He grew up eventually and got his GED. Apparently, she never did. He used to tell me the only thing right in this world she ever did was have me.”

  The creases at her eyes tightened even more. She rolled the back of her head across the brick wall.

  “Anyway Mr. Shifty Lawyer Man set me up in another state where no one knew me or my father. It wasn’t hard pulling it off for two years. I kept my grades up, my nose down, and out of trouble. No one was the wiser.” She opened her eyes to look at me. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. At eighteen I chose to live like the other side of that building. Free. Nothing growing on me. Nothing weighing me down. Hence Mo. Short and sweet.”

  I was dumbfounded and held speechless as I reveled in what she had shared with me. I found myself wanting to touch her and hold her close to me in comfort. Something told me she probably wouldn’t want to be held...not right now anyway. I could sense she was rebuilding her strength and a physical comfort would only hinder its progress. Yet beyond those last few words, I knew little of her or what her wishes would be.

  I heard a series of woeful, hooting calls above the nature’s chatter. No doubt a mournful dove was perched beyond our reach. Its song was sad as if yearning to feel something else, maybe anything else. The lyrics of it brought me to Sam—the times wasted with her. The underlining sadness I had not been able to escape. The loss of appetite and recognition of beauty in anything around me since she said her good-bye. The unspoken words I wish I had shared. The touches I never felt because of my insecurity and questioning of right versus wrong. The dove held them all in its song. Mo sat there with her head against the wall and her eyes closed, seemingly unfazed by the lyrical call.

  The touches I never felt.

  I heard the tearing of roots being pulled from the soil as I slid my hand across the grass toward Mo’s. Once our fingers touched, she immediately opened her palm to mine. I sat quietly letting our fingers mold into one another’s.

  Different and not the same.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” I said softly. “I’m not sure if you want me to say anything.”

  “Yes, do that. Don’t say anything. It was over ten years ago and not really something I want to talk about in detail. Not right now anyway. Not with this.” I felt her hand squeeze my fingers tighter. She turned her head and looked at me. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  I let the sun wash over my face, felt its warmth and the growing warmth of the palm held within mine. “Yes, it is.”

  “I say we live in that. Live in that one and only fact of the here and now.”

  I returned her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  She ticked her head to the side. “I mean live in the beauty of today. You’re not that building over there and I’m not Meredith or Mo. We have the rest of the weekend to be who we want to be with someone who pretty much knows nothing of who we really are. You don’t have to be anybody but the Rayne sitting next to me. No past. No future. Just now. Free to do what you feel without wondering about the next day or week. Not having to wonder what it all means. We take this time and ask nothing of each other beyond this weekend. I’ll be me without labels or history or pain and you’ll be you in exactly the same way. How’s that sound?”

 
I let her words marinate within me. A weekend to be no one I had previously been or designed my future to be. A time to be exactly what I felt without excuse or explanations. A couple of days I could spend not worrying about labels or the pain they may cause.

  “You mean something like a total brain shut down?”

  “Yes, a total brain shut down.” She smiled and used her other hand to tap my forehead. “If you think it could even be possible with that brain of yours.”

  “I don’t know about that but I’m sure for giving it a try.”

  “Done.”

  I reached over my shoulder to pluck a kudzu leaf from its vine. “How exactly do we do this?”

  “There aren’t rules or steps. We just do it.”

  Rubbing the velvety leaf between my fingers, I thought of what she was saying. Two days of not being me. Not think of home, Charlie Grace, Grant, or what the future holds of me. Not think of the one who still held me captive with thoughts of her sun-kissed blonde hair as it fell over her blue eyes. I thought of Mo’s hand within mine and felt a flush of guilt wave over my stomach. Did I feel guilty for wanting her next to me or did I feel guilty for letting Sam enter my thoughts?

  “You know it’s okay.”

  I looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever you thought of. Or I’m beginning to think, whoever you thought of just now. It’s okay. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. I won’t judge you or them.”

  “What makes you think I thought of anyone?”

  “Come on. Give me some credit. Whatever you just thought about puts so much sadness in your eyes. I’d have to be blind to not see it.”

  She reached into the kudzu brush and dug out a small stalk of purple flowers. She held it between her fingers. “We can talk about it if you want. We can ignore what I just said about leaving it all behind us and you can tell me about that sadness. Whichever one you want to do. I’m a pretty good listener.”

  I forced a smile.

  Mo pulled her hand from mine and placed her fingertips over a purple flower. “She wants to talk.” She pulled the flower from its stalk. “She doesn’t want to talk.” She pulled another one. “She doesn’t want to go on an escape with me.” And another one. “She wants to go on an escape with me.”

  I put my hand over hers. “She does want to take an escape with you.”

  She smiled with a girlish expression. She tossed the stalk over her shoulder “Excellent.” She rubbed the material of her shirt between her fingers. “I still need to dry. How about you?”

  “Definitely. Plus…” I returned to relax my back against the wall. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

  She slid her hand underneath mine to intertwine our fingers again. “Perfect. It’s a gorgeous day.”

  Her bass clef tattoo caught my attention. I followed the trail of musical notes around the wrist of her arm with my fingertip. “Tell me about music and what it means to you.”

  She moved her finger in slow circles around my fingertip. “It’s everything to me really. It’s what feeds my soul…makes me feel alive. I can find a lyric or beat to match any mood I’m in. I can let it get me out of that mood or intensify it for me. What is the one thing you can turn to whatever mood you’re in and it’s automatically better in some way?”

  I thought for a moment. “I actually had this conversation with Jazlyn. She told me to find my thing. That go to I searched for no matter my mood.”

  She laughed. “Hers is architecture. That girl loves her some buildings.”

  “She totally does.”

  “And have you found it. Your thing?”

  “Yeah, I have. Think I always knew it was water, but it clicked with Jazlyn talking to me about finding it and then going to the beach. Walking along the shore with the water running over my feet. Sailing with my hands trailing along the sides of the boat. Standing out in the waves with you. I got it then. It’s water. My thing is water.”

  She smiled. “I can see that in you. Now why? What does it do for you?”

  “It does like you said. I hear it. Like you hear music. I hear water. I can hear it washing against the wood of a dock, or the side of a boat or hear waves crashing against a shore and I feel calm. I can let my fingers dip into it and feel peace. I can watch it as it ripples and have not a worried thought in my mind. It makes me happy.”

  “And there’s your rhythm. There’s your music.”

  ***

  I floated along the stream and listened to the flow of the current as it cascaded off of the rock into the deeper pool below me. My fingers twirled in the water as they rested off the sides of the float. The sun filtered through the covering of the tree limbs and warmed my cheeks. I was at peace and happy as I stared into the sky above me. I watched a leaf carried among the wind’s breeze. It fell to and fro along the wind until it came to tickle my lips. I brushed at it but the tickle continued. A giggle arose from my lips and seemed to be joined by another’s. I opened my eyes to see Mo holding a blade of grass inches from my lips. She was laughing.

  “Hey sleepy head. I think we’re dried out now.”

  Sleepy head? Wait. What?

  “Did I fall asleep?”

  “Oh yeah. You were out like a light.”

  I was mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s so rude.”

  “Please. You fell asleep. It’s no biggie.” She shrugged. “Now, the drool on my shoulder is something entirely different.”

  “What?”

  “I’m joking.” She touched her fingertip to the bridge of my nose. “Although I think you got a bit too much sun and that I’m not joking about.” She stood and extended her hand. “I guess it’s time to head back.”

  The walk back to her bike was quiet but not in an uncomfortable silence sort of way. I was relaxed with her. I didn’t worry about having to watch my expressions or my words. I had no worries of hurting her feelings or saying the wrong thing. I simply followed her footsteps along the path, took her hand when she offered it, and a few times when she didn’t. It was us. Two women enjoying a hike in the woods. The closest I felt to being completely free since floating on the bayou with Meems. No excuses. No explanations. I felt entirely comfortable to do anything I wanted without reservation.

  The ride back was smoother without the tension in my body. I sat against her and let my legs cradle and hold her. Little to no distance was left between us. She had given me one end of an earplug with the other kept for herself. The music of her iPod filled our ears simultaneously. Trees flew past us in streams of green mixed with gold and red as the motorcycle cruised along the expressway. The road noise was only heard when there was a break in the music between songs. Strong piano keys followed by a deep seductive voice quickly drowned out the world around me. Her voice drew me in with the strength of the emotion in her lyrics. She sang of a time lost between soulful looks in the mirror. In that time the lines of her face had become clearer, aging her into a new woman. Her voice was pained with the desire of re-introducing herself to a world that would judge and turn their heads to her. She knew they would chew her up and spit her out with the hint of who she really us. Mo’s back fell deeper into me, and I felt the full weight of her against my chest. I studied the small hairs of her neck as they glistened from the sweat beading on her skin. That voice. The voice of the singer filled my ears. Her lyrics pulled at my heart. Pulled at the wall encasing it. She sang of the desire to let her finger rove along a map of her lover’s skin. I stared at the colored skin in front of me. I too bore the same desire to trace the lines of the quarter moon and stars tattooed at the base of her neck. There was nothing else. No road. No paths. Just me. Just her. Piano keys and a voice calling out every feeling I was having with her body within mine. Just the words of knowing the taste of her skin. The saltiness I found there as my lips first touched her neck. The taste of the colored quarter moon at the base of her neck. I felt the deep intake of air as
her back fell and rose sharply against me. She released one handlebar to cup my hand within hers and pull it tighter around her waist. The story of her bones and her was one I wanted to know. Her music had taken me there. I was a part of her thing.

  Chapter

  “So, I know this great little Indian place. It’s a hole in the wall but really good.” Mo stripped her boots off and laid them beside the door as we entered Jazlyn and Violet’s loft. “We can walk from here if you want?”

  “Only if you order. I’m not up on Indian food.” I set my shoes next to hers and thought there was no way I was ever getting the soil out of them after our dip in the muddy stream. “But first I’ve got to shower some of this mud off of me.” My once soft t-shirt made a crinkling sound as I pulled the material away from my chest. “A pleasant dinner date I’ll not make if I don’t.”

  She laughed. “Okay, but I’m next.” She walked into the kitchen. “I’ll grab us a beer. Or would you rather a glass of wine?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I stepped onto the first stair leading to the upstairs bedroom. “I spent the day riding bitch on the back of a Harley. It’s a beer for me.”

  She laughed. “Well, alright then.”

  Ruffled bed sheets reminded me of Mo’s morning interruption as she rushed me out of the apartment before I had time to straighten the covers. Did the bed not bring thought to the way I had felt with Mo throughout the day? The design created an optical illusion of floating a foot off of the floor. There was a small headboard but no foot board or sides. Several times I had started to look under the floating mattress but stopped myself before discovering its secret. It was better to live in the fantasy of the weekend and not know the reality of its design.

  The walls surrounding the bed were plain white sheetrock, except for the one on the right. It was a tinted glass. I had studied the glass the night before. The chrome of the dual shower heads had reflected in the track lighting which shined from the exposed wooden beam. It was a gorgeous room in the simplicity of its arrangement. The only color was a single purple flower in a clear glass vase. It sat atop a bedside nightstand. I wondered the sentimental meaning of it shared by the two women who slept next to its petals. I wondered if my happiness of lying next to the person I loved was merely an illusion as that which was held in the bed’s frame.