she remembered the rain

Before they departed for the funeral it rained, heavy drops lashing the rocky drive along the edges of the parked cars even as the sun shone eerily in the distance. As quickly as it began it stopped a few minutes later, the water that cascaded a few moments earlier down Young Street rising in curling waves of steam.

The heat mingled for some minutes with the smell of the wet earth, the departing storm moving rapidly eastward as the water that had pooled on the ground slowly retreated into the thick clay. But by the time they departed with the old woman to drive to the church the sun shone high within a sapphire and cloudless sky, the sudden cloudburst all but forgotten.

After the funeral, she remembered the rain rather than Lassie Boy’s sallow features in the puffy satin of his coffin or the caramel tones in Cee Tee’s voice when her middle child delivered the eulogy.

She remembered the rain after they returned her home, Lassie Boy’s death strangely forgotten, the sound of its gentle patter echoing like a sacred promise in her thoughts. Walking into the kitchen, she remembered the rain even as the sun shone brightly through the window above her sink. Surrounded by uneaten food that well-wishers had left behind, she uncharacteristically failed to offer it to her guests, the room and its contents utterly absent from her thoughts.

Looking up in confusion the present moment came as something of a shock. She lifted her hands nervously to her lips when she noticed the food. She could not remember if she had come into the kitchen to heat up a couple of the dishes, or if her guests had already eaten.

Stepping into the dining room, she paused, her eyes wandering helplessly around the room till they noticed the dark and empty table staring longingly back, her fingertips reaching out to softly touch its glossy finish in answer.

But the house was heavy with labored sadness, the emotion in the surrounding atmosphere stabbing uncomfortably in her belly, her hand gesturing weakly, trying to wave the feelings away.

Are you alright Mama? Jay Dee, her eldest son, asked unexpectedly, wrapping his arm gently around her tiny shoulders.

The food in the kitchen forgotten, she answered with a distracted Uh huh, still wondering why she had entered the room.

The present moment irretrievably lost, she began to move backward into the past, her disconnection to her surroundings more effective for time travel than any fictional machine a writer might invent. Unable to remember Lassie Boy's death, instead she recalled his traumatic birth, and the long days and nights in the weeks that followed fearing that each labored breath might be his last.

Life moves strangely, does it not, dear reader? A baby lived who should have died and once grown to mature manhood died when he should have lived. Who can comprehend even the smallest part of such a mystery?

But the old woman was not alone traveling through time that day. Her mournful home seemed to brim with memory, a pained look entering her son's eyes as he recalled his old man whipping Lassie Boy’s bare buttocks for trying to play outside during a summer squall.

Still reddened by the marks left by his father’s large hand, Lassie Boy hiked up his pants and bound out of the house and back into the rain. The old man hollering in outraged pursuit, the consequent whipping once he caught him became the most painful memory of his older brother's childhood.

But the two whippings were not enough, the little tike leaping from his father’s arms before his tears had even ended, something drawing him into the terrible flashing night, the raw power of the storm cruelly beckoning. He could not know how his daddy feared for his health; he could not know that his life was an even greater miracle than the terrifying thunder crashing above their heads.

The third whipping did not stop him either … but it stopped his old man, something snapping inside, his raised hand abruptly turning to cover his eyes as his own tears began.

It was the first time his eldest boy ever saw him weep, the sudden illumination of his daddy’s humanity both distressing and deeply moving.

His father carried Lassie Boy out onto the porch where he could watch from its safety as the sky raged and wind driven mists coated his skinny arms and legs and wet his bedraggled hair. Even when the thunder roared and the trees shook with terror, he felt no fear, his dark, piercing gaze widening in awe.

Lassie Boy’s will to live was a hunger burning brightly in his belly, his frail husk bravely bearing it like an endless, raging fever.

Do you think that love is the key to truly redeeming one's existence? We who knew him did. Love gave him a second chance when no other magic could have saved him.

A small and slender man, the warmth and power of his embrace and the press of his lips on the neck was evidence of the strength of his affection and love. Lassie Boy had his old man's wit and lust for living, but his mama was owed the greater claim: he inherited her heart, loving without out regard to societal norms or native intolerance. He cherished and treated as equals all who entered the sphere of his potent life-force just as his mama always had.

His revery abruptly ending, Jay Dee remembered where he was and squeezed his Mama’s shoulder to let her know he had not forgotten her. But old woman's thoughts stubbornly clinging to the remembered energy of her skinny, brown eyed Lassie Boy, she failed to notice his grip even once the memory of the morning's rain returned to her thoughts. Pressing her fingers nervously over her dark skirt she stepped toward the sitting room, her son pulling his hand awkwardly from her shoulder.

Pausing in the archway between the rooms in slight confusion, the shared sadness meeting her caused a brief intake of breath, unspoken feeling chasing the heaviness in the atmosphere like an invisible eddy of wind, the unfolding silence in response to her appearance briefly suspending her sense of time and place.

The consequent emotion came as something of a surprise – robbing her children of the impetus of speech. Not from a lack of coherent thoughts or even an inability to communicate sadness or loss, but from something residing so deep within that its arrival at the door of consciousness struck them all briefly dumb.

The lone sister’s eyes reddening with tears reinforced the melancholic silence, random fragments of the past tumbling out of their memories like a storm racing across the sea, the fondly remembered with the hurtful, the grandiose with the simple and others the unadorned tales pluming the depths of the simple folk they came from and who in consequence they were.

Certainly, it was only a passing moment, the old woman’s son wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, the seconds ticking away with unnatural languor, much longer in the telling than the actual experience of it, the prolonged silence an unnatural state for the talkative folk gathered together in that room of all rooms.

But for the stillness, the sound of the porch glider creaking softly in the breeze might not have penetrated the surrounding walls and given the moment renewed life – the ghost of its long dead master unexpectedly returning to hold court in the cool and quiet of the evening, the ashes of his cigar glowing in the remembered darkness.

The sound of the glider unconsciously drew the sibling’s minds to a like gathering a decade and a half earlier when they were five instead of four, their eyes gazing at one another with somber expressions that did not require utterance to be understood.

Imagine a moon lit blossom unwinding in the shadowy darkness, dear reader, and you have a rough idea of the essence of what Lassie Boy spent his life chasing. Master the moment, and life unfolds in all its visceral and sensuous glory; master the moment and your spirit might ride on the back of the wind; master the moment and you might uncover the secrets of existence in a single drop of dew or the haunting song of the lark.

But the old woman, her head briefly held to her son’s breast remembered the rain, its distant tinkling fingers moving so gingerly that the resultant music was almost too gossamer to recognize, its beauty enriching the surrounding silence rather than drowning it, the ephemeral sounds transporting her to a place she had never before experienced, the remembered drops speaking a language her heart understood even as her thoughts were mute with incomprehension, some hidden and powerful spark bringing it to pulsating life.

Pulling slowly away from her son’s grasp, the old woman clutched her elbow with one hand as the other reached nervously for her mouth, her head shaking helplessly with age, something in her forlorn appearance at odds with the comfort of their surroundings as Cee Tee’s heart was privately breaking, the image of his mother seemingly lost in her own home cutting him to the bone.

But as the old woman’s head continued to shake, something in her expression finally interrupted her children’s private thoughts to confront the awkward stillness of the extended moment. The natural urge in a family who loves conversation to fill the air with sound growing stronger, they began to reconnect as an astonished embarrassment filled their faces with unexpected mirth, the eldest, Nonnie, exclaiming, Why … have you ever heard such a thing! as each began to nervously chuckle, the old woman smiling as her head continued to tremble and nod.

Jay Dee placed his hand on her shoulder caused her to start. Mama … why don’t you set a spell?

Oh, I’m fine here, she answered with a pale smile, I need to get dinner started d’rectly.

The youngest, Koot, sat up in the lazy boy with sudden irritation, Mama, he admonished her, We’ll take you out for dinner tonight … don’t trouble yourself.

Her voice rose excitedly, It aint no trouble!

Mama! Nonnie scolded, her face a mixture of concern and righteous indignation, I won’t hear it!

But the old woman thoughts no longer registered in the present, her mind drifting backward into a hazy vision of a long-forgotten field of flowers, the soothing sound of the morning rain still pattering against imagined windows as she struggled to bring the distant memory into focus.

A flickering apparition appearing in her mind's eye, she recognized the diminutive figures of her three oldest children holding white lilies in their hands as they bent over a dog lying in the hole they had scraped out for it. Poor, sweet dog, she whispered, even as something within the memory seemed out of place.

Well, the eldest brother said, if we’re eating out, maybe we better get goin’.

But as they gathered at the door to leave, the scene finally came into complete focus. She remembered the baby boy she held in her arms as they said their final goodbyes to their old dog.

Wait, she interrupted in a plaintive voice. Where’s Lassie Boy?

Mama, Jay Dee answered with reddened eyes, He died.

Why didn’t anyone tell me? she asked, a look of profound hurt abruptly transforming her features as tears began to brim in her eyes.

Her children exchanged uncomfortable glances before Jay Dee’s wife answered gently, But Mother … you were with us this morning at his funeral.

With a shuddered Oh, she lifted her hand to her lips, trying to remember Lassie Boy's pale face within the open casket and her final, whispered goodbye. Her voice filling with anguish, she cried out - I can’t call it! her children’s eyes welling, I can't call it!

She stood mutely in the open doorway for several moments before moving in painful slowness across the porch, a katydid’s rasping song mocking her lost memory in the falling darkness. But when she finally stepped into her eldest son’s car the old woman remembered the rain.