(Note: This story won me my first ever literary prize at a writing contest back at the Mayaguez campus of the University of Puerto Rico. The opening line is still one of my favorite lines I've written.)
Of Rain Falling
Rain poured out of
the dark sky as if angels were crying
for the loss of a god. Phillip O’Brien
walked fast. His hands were trembling
and his lips were blue because of the cold.
His thin coat was no match for the cruel winter. The raindrops felt like ice. His
head grew colder. His hat was
soaked. The street was slippery and his
worn Armani shoes didn’t help at all He
almost slipped but he managed to grab a
lamppost before hitting the frozen ground.
Phil swore. He had to get home. He had to get home fast. It was already night and Jan had to be
already anxious. She was always anxious. Anxious about the kids, about the mortgage,
about the bills, about the dogs... Even in their wedding day she was horribly
anxious. Was the cake all right, will
the best man show, will the photos turn up right? Maybe that was why she smoked so much, Phil
figured.
He looked up at
the ominous black clouds that covered the night sky. He could see only one twinkling star showing
in one tiny spot the clouds didn’t cover.
He could identify with the tiny star.
It was hard to keep on shining with all that power against you. Though the star kept on, he did not. And the star was just another star in a
darkened sky. Just one more.
He started walking
again. He took his steps slower to avoid
another close call. As he crossed his
arms for warmth he damned his boss. He
damned him for making him work late without pay, he damned him for stealing his
ideas and using them as his own, he damned himself for not speaking, for not
saying anything. Damn.
He thought about Jean
and the kids. That’s why he didn’t
confront his boss. He needed to work to
bring home food for his family. He
thought about Jenny, the little one. He
thought about how she had run away when he came home a couple of days ago. She had screamed that she didn’t know who
that man was, that she needed her mommy.
She didn’t know her own father.
She was only three. His heart
broke and Jean only gave him a cold glance as she took Jenny into her nurturing
arms. He damned his boss again. Maybe he had to speak. Maybe he had to demand more time for himself,
for his family.
He walked by a bum
that was sleeping on the sidewalk. He
didn’t even look at him really, he felt disgusted by the sight. He just passed his eyes in his general
direction. Poor guy, he thought, so many
people homeless these days, but what can I do?
A car raced past Phil and its headlights blinded him for an
instant. He stopped for a second to
recover his eyesight but then hurried along.
It wasn’t a good idea to spend much time in this part of town at this
time of the night. Too many criminals,
too many addicts. People who were
shadows. People who didn’t exist, that
didn’t matter much to him. People that could hurt.
The rain kept on
coming harder than before and it was beginning to sting when it fell. He looked straight forward and was suddenly
dazed by the curious effect the street lights had on the falling wetness. He drew the scene in his mind. Phil had been an artist when in high school. A painter.
He had painted a beautiful scene for his parents in honor of their
wedding anniversary. It was a green
forest with a blue creek and yellow flowers.
The image faded to the dark grey city that unfolded before him. It was still a powerful image. He mixed colors in his mind to match those
that his eyes were capturing at that precise moment. He had been a painter once. Not anymore.
He stopped. He had to cross the street now. He darted towards the other side without
looking. He never saw the car. The front bumper smashed his rib cage and
made him fly upward. His back broke the
glass in the driver’s side and then he rolled over to the wet pavement. His lifeless body fell to the wet street with
a loud thump. The car never stopped.
As the police were
removing the body of John Doe, officer Smith sat on the sidewalk eating a
sandwich. The rain had stopped and the
night sky was beginning to clear up. He
wiped the stains of watered blood off his ebony boots and took another bite of
his peanut butter and jelly. When he
swallowed he began whistling an old song.
One of the other officers walked next to him, dried a small patch of the
sidewalk with his plain white handkerchief and sat next to him.
“Slow night huh?”
Asked the officer while combing his hair.
“Yep.” answered
Smith. “really quiet night.”
“What do you make
of that?” he said pointing at the dead man sprawled on the floor.
“Either a drunk or
a retard.”
“I think so
too. I mean, you have to be blind to
miss the lights of a car in the darkness of the night.”
“Or be really
stupid.”
Jones took another
bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and sighed. After a few minutes of silence he
said:
“Have you heard
the one about the frog and the drunken man...?”
As the officers’
voices disappeared into the night, a car splashed by. Another car, another person saying: Honey,
look, a corpse! The night went by
slowly. The blood of a man zig-zagged
into a drainage ditch. Water began falling from the sky once again.
Rain poured out of
the dark sky as if angels were crying for the loss of a god. Samuel Rodriguez walked fast. His hands were trembling and his lips were
blue because of the cold. His thin coat
was no match for the cruel winter . . . .
(1998)
