Fallen Showers

It's raining today.

People have different views of this phenomenon of nature depending on who they are. Some enjoy the rain and even see it as a fantastic experience. I've heard some such people refer to it as the crystal tears of the angels above, crying from their joy of seeing the world prosper. Then there are those who see it as just another part of life, something they just don't care about. And then there are the ones like me.

I shouldn't say that. I would never want someone to be like me in any way. Not with what my life has been like. So those who have the same views as me. Yes, I'll say that instead. To say that they are like me would be like condemning them to a life full of mistakes and that's fated to fail. But I am by far not alone in my view of these drops that paint my skin with a translucent sheen. I am by far not the only one to simply feel cold, heart-wrenchingly painful memories at the sound of rain.

I wish I could say I had a fond memory of the rain, even a small one. But there just isn't one. It wouldn't matter how long I searched my soul; I would still come up empty. It's a fact of life I despise, yet it is a part of me. Sure, there are many things that I associate with the numerous unwanted memories that plague my mind. But the sound, the feel, the scent of rain…nothing can erase the sinking sensation I encounter each time a shower starts.

While I'm making these senseless wishes, I may as well add another. I wish that I could once look up into the falling rain and smile from a joyful memory. I wish I could say I didn't always have these feelings of despair at the tapping of shimmering drops on the roof. But I can't. To do so would either be to lie or to state the impossible and I don't want to do either.

But the point…yes, the point. That sinking feeling was always there, hiding in the shadows of my soul. Now what I say may be a lie; I'm not all that sure. I am referring when I speak to the memories that I remember. I cannot vouch for those recollections that I've forgotten. Years on end of nothing but shattered horrors can do that to a mind.

So I guess there is a possibility that there were good memories, maybe even happy ones, but they've been shoved so far back that they've been lost to me. I suppose there's not much hope for recovering them.

So they are ignored, forgotten even further when I don't realize it. But it's not hard to see why I have such a shadowed outlook based on the weather when you have had a front row seat to my life.
One of my earliest memories concerning the rain was of my mother. Now, this should be a happy memory, right? That's the way normal lives work. Well, apparently my life wasn't meant to be normal from the very start.

So this memory wasn't the normal, joyful one of a boy playing with his mother or having lunch with her. No. The earliest clear memory was of a boy holding his mother as she lay dying in his arms.
My father was away for something or other, leaving his beloved wife and seven-year old son alone.

It was actually a regular occurrence. With the exemption of the stray bullet that buried it's way into my mother's chest. And as I lay there on the cold ground with her even colder body cradled in my embrace, it started to rain.

I know what you're thinking. It was only one instance, right? Something like that happening to a child would give them a sour outlook on life. It was just a fluke. Funny thing: I thought that exact thing after her death and even continued to believe in those hollow words after my father, my last living relation, my last connection to love, was killed on duty. I still don't know the details, but the messenger wasn't specific as he stood outside of our home with the rain dripping from his hair, telling a teenage boy his father was dead.

A coincidence. I tried not to think of those words, but they were the only things left to provide even a shred of comfort. There was on one left to look into my eyes and tell me it would be all right.
And then I fooled myself into believing not only those words but the idea that things had turned around. Maybe I had encountered my share of disaster and it was over.

I earned a job with the very same company that my father died for. Maybe it was irony that caused me to accept. But it was just as possible I accepted out of desperation. Either way, that's when I met her.

She wasn't unknown to me since she had worked as my father's assistant before his death. But now I saw her differently. I did truly love that woman and thought that love might be my ticket back to humanity. Because when you've gone through everything that I have, not to mention the smaller, unnoticed disruptions to my life that threw me further into despair, you start to think you may not be human anymore. You get to the point when you feel nothing.

But that love…I did believe that it might have been my salvation. The only thing that I didn't want to accept was the fact that she always spurned any affection I directed toward her. I never understood it when I'd look into her eyes and she would say she held no feeling for me. It always confused me because every time I would see pity and sadness in her gaze that she never explained. I didn't want her to pity me. I wanted her to love me.

Even when I resorted to my last choice, when I told her I wanted to be with her always, the sky didn't fail me. Let's just say that it almost tore my heart in two as I stood there, the rain plastering my already water-laden uniform to my skin, the ring falling from my hand as she walked away.
Things were different then. I didn't go to her wedding for two reasons. One, it wasn't me would spend the rest of their life with her by their side. And two, I didn't have the heart to venture outside and brave the storm raging outside of my window.

But I still remember the vivid traces of lightning burned into my eyes as I fought my way through a different storm for her. I had lost her a year before, but the lingering feeling of love is a tricky thing to get rid of. I might have given up on having her as my own, but I would have probably given my life for her if she had asked. I had heard about her pregnancy months ago and it was hard not to go and try my best to comfort her. But it was the news of an almost fatal fall she had experienced that sent me to her.

There was always one lesson I tried to force myself to adhere to but failed that day: one with problems as severe as mine shouldn't try to help others. It took a bullet to my chest to understand that lesson and drive it in so deep that it would take years to break free from it.

The one thing tracing through my mind then was that I was reliving my mother's death. There I lay, my body limp on the cold floor with darkness hovering on the outskirts of my vision. And there, as my hearing faded to nothing, was the pattering of rain echoing in my ears.

I could have sworn I was dead. Frankly, by then I hoped I was. But I'm just not lucky enough for that, am I? Instead, the rivers of water were still slipping down the grimy windowpane as I forced myself to accept that I was indeed alive.

The memory of thunder shaking the stone walls is still a little too fresh in my mind. I still resent that sound. It takes me back to the last time I saw her, saw the man who has caused half of my misery. I still resent every time I hear that echoing crash, the image of a key being thrown at my feet flashing through my mind each time. I fell asleep to the sound of rain that night and truthfully, I hoped I would never wake, if only never to hear that sound again.

It's probably needless to say that my hope doesn't count for much anymore. And it's probably even more needless to say that it was raining when I last walked out of that building in new company. And lo and behold, I saw another person who meant something to me killed under a cloud-bound sky, the shining drops mixing with the tears of an angel to wash away her crimson blood.

Any clear-minded person would have given up in one way or another. With all that tortured my mind, any normal person would have either gone insane or just brought it all to an end. But for some reason unknown to me I have remained sane, if it could be called that, and I have yet to bring death to myself.

It might have something to do with these new companions of mine. And it might have something to do with the feeling that I am needed in this world. It might be a number of things, but I'm not about to question any of them. And if retaining that feeling means never explaining my melancholic, sometimes even downright depressed behavior when it rains, so be it.

It was a month ago that I left my self-imposed prison and stepped back into the gentle rainfall. Today is April thirtieth. And there's a small shower washing over me, the cause of all this reminiscing.

“Vincent?”

The questing call is almost lost in the delicate pattering of the rain, but I still hear it plain as day. I know they are all waiting for me, a knowledge that gives me the slightest feeling of elation. It's almost a foreign concept to me anymore, but I still welcome it.

The rain is cool as it slides down my face, the clouds breaking slightly for the sun to peek through and illuminate the falling drops into molten crystal. It's something I've only ever heard of: the sun and rain appearing together as if the burning globe were crying. Until now.

Golden rays dissolve into shimmering raindrops as they trace paths down my upraised hand. I have had an entire lifetime without my sun-soaked April showers. Maybe I can finally move on, away from those memories that darken my soul. Maybe it's time for the flowers of the awaiting possibilities to bloom and brighten my life in the afterglow of a sun-shower.

Besides…tomorrow is May, a new month and a new chance to fix the tattered remains of my life into something I can be proud of. I can hardly believe it, but I can't deny the smile that creeps onto my face.

And it's raining today.