Let it Rain

 

On some days all that there is to do is sit at the window and watch the rain fall to the earth, its mentally taxing, exhausting even. Your fingers restlessly tapping on the window sill, as you watch cars rolling down the avenue, coming to and fro, there in front of you, the ebb and flow of life in the city. Honking horns, cars filled with impatient people just trying to get on with it, red light, green light, stop and go, people walking, some shuffling, down a crowded sidewalk, some with umbrella’s, and still others without, getting soaked to the bone before they even get halfway to where they are going. And there you are at the window watching scene after unique scene, as each unfolds as if it were on a stage. The play of life, there are no second or third takes here, all you get is one shot at it. And then you see the black car slowly roll to a stop, and she gets out and slams the door behind her.

She is angry, animated even, she’s shouting at the unseen driver of the vehicle, and even though she’s standing in the middle of a down pouring rainstorm she doesn’t even seem to notice it. All of her anger, all of her rage, focused on the black car that quickly pulls away, sending sprays of rainwater into the air in its wake. She is now soaked, and for the first time since her arrival the look of anger is replaced by surprise. And for the first time, you begin to notice how beautiful she is. Her long black hair soaking wet falls to her shoulders, rain soaked fabric clings to her perfect figure as she turns away, fumbling with her keys as she unlocks the door and swings it open, disappearing from view. And for a brief moment in time you try to return your attention to the street below, but she won’t leave your mind to wander for long, as you see the curtains in the window directly across from you slowly open, and there she is in all of her glory, scene one, act two.

There are no lights behind her as she steps back into the shadows of her darkened living room, and with almost a sense of childlike curiosity, you wonder to yourself what she’s doing in there. Briefly you manage to pull your eyes away, slowly returning your attention to the street below, the scene is much the same as it was before, people coming, people going, light slowly drifting away into dark, slowly your eyes move back up to the window across the street and there she is again, standing at the window, wearing a bath robe, smoking a cigarette, silently watching as the life scene below plays itself out. She presses her body closer to the rain soaked window pane, and when she notices you noticing her, you draw a deep breath as if you were caught doing something wrong, but when her beautiful lips purse into a seductive smile, within the confines of a second, everything disappears, all worry, all doubt.

You light your own cigarette and slowly exhale, and you and miss perfection take turns moving your eyes away to look at the street below, only to end up looking back at each other, she presses her hand to the steamy window pane, smiling out at you, with her forefinger, she slowly draws out the form of a heart on the pane, and steps away closing the curtains behind her. You catch your breath, shake it off and light another cigarette. Cars just keep rolling by, people are still impatient, and the red lights just can’t seem to turn green quick enough. Some days can just lock you inside, reducing you to a spectator, and other days there just doesn’t seem to behind enough minutes in a single hour to accomplished all that needs to be done. On days like this is all that there is to do, just sit, catch your breath and watch the rain.

~Scratch. A.B.T. copyright © 2009~