rain

Part One: Here comes the rain

A young man sat reveling in the darkness of his living room. He was slumped in a tattered, yet cozy leather chair pulled close to the fire. He lazily swirled his scotch as he thumbed through case files. He paused for a moment to take in the sound of the pouring rain. He laughed to himself a little at how cliche the evening was “a dark and stormy night...”

He liked these rainy nights, though. The pattering of raindrops drowned out his own thoughts and especially the chaotic night sounds of the West End. He liked his cozy little apartment, for the most part. Sure, it bordered Sacramento’s shadier side, but when you deal with shady folk, you have to be accessible. The life of a PI is never dull, but  lately always dark.

He also appreciated the access to the speakeasies, or blind pigs, depending how nice the joint was; they were a great place to meet the sort of clientele he worked with. People looking for something. People loose-lipped, lost, and pockets lined with cash. People who spoke in whispers. People who sometimes paid with booze. Sacramento was notoriously unsympathetic with this whole prohibition nonsense and living near the West End meant people openly traded and smuggled and paid in liquor.

He sipped his scotch. “This whole prohibition thing will never last,” he thought to himself. “Almost too bad.” He got a lot of business from the bootleggers and folks who lost their jobs when the two largest vineyards in the area closed. Bootleggers...they didn’t trust each other. He was constantly being hired to follow one or the other, giving information to whoever bid the most for his services, or provided the best alcohol. As for the other folk, they tended to get mixed up in transactions of the less reputable variety to help stay afloat. Good for business, but getting a little old and kind of depressing. Lucrative and lonely, being a man in his line of work. There was a time, he remembered, back before all of this. He got out more, saw friends, had a life. That ended some time ago...when she left. wicked little succubus...

He was ripped from his introspective downward spiral by a knock at the door. Uncertain whether it was his imagination, he hesitated. Not that he wasn’t used to clients coming to his home in the dead of night. He just wasn’t expecting anyone to brave this particular storm. So he waited. The knock came again, this time more insistent.

Begrudgingly, he lifted himself out of his chair. Careful to not set down his drink, of course. Late night visits often necessitated his rich, smoky beverage of choice. He shuffled to the door and slowly opened it.

A young woman stood at his door clutching her coat tight around her with one hand and a small suitcase in another. She was drenched. Fair skin and brown hair soaked with a mixture of storm and tears, her expression was a blend of hopefulness and sadness. And her face, well it was one he hadn’t seen in some time. Not since... well, anyway. He was surprised to find himself feeling rather happy to see her. She was a friend once. Back before the craziness happened in his life, driving him to a world of shadows and solitude. Back before his wife left and his connection to the real world shattered. The young woman at the door had once been a dear friend, in fact.

Through tears, she explained herself, pulling him once again out of his own thoughts and into the presence. “He’s gone.” she said, frantically. “He left, and with him he took my life. And,...she was with him. I’m sorry to come here like this, but I needed my friend. You said when we last spoke that if I ever needed anything...”

“Of course! Please come in. You know my home is always open to you. It always has been,” he found himself saying. Words that needed to be said. A comfort that needed to be offered. He guided her into his living room and sat her on the floor closest to the fire, and her suitcase on his worn chair. “let me grab you some towels and a warm drink.” He disappeared for a moment while the young women sat forlorn near the fire. The light danced along her face as the warmth slowly returned to her body. He returned with a pile of passably clean towels and a blanket that had soaked up the sweet stench of cigars. He wrapped them around her. Without saying a word he walked to his decanter and poured her a warm drink. Or rather, one that would warm her to her bones...and hopefully calm her enough so that she could tell him her whole story. At least what he hadn’t already pieced together at this point.

He handed her the glass. She took it, confused at the smell. He explained...”well, you know what they say about prohibition here in Sacramento: If you can’t find a drink, you’re dumber than a halfwit.” She giggled and took a sip. He hadn’t seen that smile in some time. The sight of it made him smile back.

“Now,” he said. “I’m not sure exactly what I can do for you. Normally my services are to track people down or learn secrets. You seem to know not only what happened, but also the parties involved.”

“it’s not that,” she said. “It isn’t really any of that.” She took another sip and grimaced, the smoky flavor hitting her harder on the second sip. “My life...I just don’t know. He left and stole it and I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing. I don’t want that back, not ever, but I feel lost. Something is lost...is it me?” The young man sighed and sat down next to her. “I know how you feel. I have felt that way myself, lately.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. Not really sure how to handle such emotional pain. He looked into her blue eyes and just saw sadness. Sadness that just made him want to fix the world. Still not sure what exactly to do, especially because he was now confronted with his own demons of the past, he rubbed her arms and said, “you seem really tired. why don’t you get some rest, and we can talk in the morning?” She nodded. He guided her to his room, that was somehow miraculously in decent shape. At least it wasn’t embarrassing. He handed the young woman her suitcase and said “you can sleep here, II will stay in the living room tonight, and until we can find you more suitable accomodations” She smiled a tired thank you and hugged him long and tight before closed the door.

He slowly walked back into the living room to sit in his chair. He closed his eyes, and eventually sleep came, greeting him with a tumultuous flurry of memories.

Part Two: A new day

The man awoke to some rustling noises in his kitchen. Slightly disoriented, he slowly remembered why he was in his chair and who was probably in the kitchen. He got up and walked over to the small room the passed as his kitchen and saw his friend making tea. How she found the necessary items in that mess...he was unsure, but grateful. Somehow she had gotten up before him, straightened her hair, and changed into a clean dress, all without waking him. Or maybe she didn’t sleep at all, he thought. She looked exhausted.

They exchanged good mornings and then otherwise silently settled down to a small table for morning tea. By the second cup, they started chatting. He asked her to tell him all the details she knew about her current situation and why she felt she needed help finding her life. He searched the kitchen for a notebook, he left them in every room just in case, so that he could take notes should he deside to take the case. As she explained her story in greater detail, it became apparent that he was somewhat involved...at least his most recent past was somewhat involved.  that succubus had managed to ruin yet another life, he realized. Perhaps helping this young woman, his friend, may bring him resolution as well. Besides, he missed his friend and all of their conversations from a life long gone. “I’ll help you,” he said. “This will take a lot of talking and research,” he added. She nodded gratefully.

He added, “I could use your help, too. I lost my path some time ago and haven’t quite found it yet.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, “we will help each other heal. that is what friends do.”

From then on, every day, they talked. They talked through their pain. They shared stories. They endlessly poured over maps and talked about people and places, searching for where their lives had gone off track. For where their paths had gone astray.

These conversations continued for months. They talked about the past. Shared memories. good ones, bad ones. “Remember that when... .” Sometimes there was laughter and sometimes there were tears. They sat at the kitchen table, or in the living room, or by the window and listened to the rain while reliving the stories of before, while the pattering of the rain outside punctuated each high and low note, as though it were somehow a part of their own private cabaret.

One day, their chatter turned from past to present. Suddenly less tired and sad, their conversation changed its tone. “I haven’t been out in ages,” the young woman suddenly realized. They were sitting in the living room, lounging around with piles of books, one of the many ways they hid from the outside world. The young man suddenly sat up. “Are you up for somewhere I’m sure you’ve never been?” The young woman returned his question with a very interested expression. “Oh....?”

The young man stood up, walked to the door and grabbed their coats. “It’ll be a new experience for you, I promise. You’ll have to be quiet about it, but don’t be put off. We are going out for drinks.” The young woman followed him to the door, “I should probably be against this, but this seems like a fun way to break some rules...our living situation is already so questionable...so why not?”

“I have to warn you, this is a little bit of a dive,but I think it’ll be a great way for us to get out of the house and have a little fun. have you heard of a place called a blind tiger?”

***

A few hours later the two returned back to the apartment, laughing and talking, and just a little sauced. “so, you go to see a ‘circus animal’ and the bartender just hands you alcohol?” The young woman said laughingly as they came back in the door. “What a silly way to get around the law.” The young man replied, “I thought it would make you laugh. We’ll go to a nicer speakeasy next - I know one with a dress code. Then you can dress up a little and dance if you want. I have a friend with the password.”

Part Three: The rain has stopped.

And so the days went. The pair spent the week hard at work but the weeknights and weekends were for fun. Sometimes they went to symphony among the respectable, threw parties for the less reputable, and sometimes they donned darker clothing and headed out into the night for some prohibition defiance. The conversations over tea turned from “what ifs” and “what was,” to wants and hopes. To the now and the future. Sadness turned to laughter. And shared dreams led to better understanding.

The pair continued on in this fashion, finding happiness in each other’s company. Pain of past wrongs in their lives dulling and losing the sharp edge. No more whispers that that evil woman or heartless man, the lies and the cheating and past transgressions held little meaning beyond the fact that the pair wouldn’t be enjoying their time so much now had they not happened.

The friendship continued until one day, they found themselves sitting at the kitchen table, silently drinking tea, much like that first morning after the young woman came in from the storm. They held their teacups in both hands, drinking in the aroma and warmth of the liquid and allowing it to slowly reanimate them from a long week. Both minds wandering in the sleepy stupor of utter happiness, when they looked up at each other over their tea and were overwhelmed. Their eyes locked and they both came to  a silent, sudden realization. That life, the one that they had been searching for so desperately had been here all along. They had been sharing it together. Their value, their goals, their fun, their feelings, this whole time. Eyes locked, they saw each other for the first time. What they saw reflected in their eyes was not just of friendship and laughter, but something a stronger, something bigger, something deeper. Love. It had happened, and neither one could put their finger on exactly when. But there they were and they both knew, they belonged together. The life they were looking for was already there. It was theirs. It was their path, and one they would walk on together, forever. These feelings and realizations washed over them without either ever saying a word.

“You hear that?” She asked. “No,” he said. “The rain...it stopped.” He stood up and took her into his arms, enveloping her in a warm, loving hug. “I believed that it stopped some time ago,” he said, just before he kissed her for the first of many kisses.

My dog is a pretty pretty princess

My dog has recently decided that she is a pretty, pretty princess and I need to invest in a grooming table.

Yesterday, I came home from work and settled into a routine I haven't had for awhile because her coat has been so short: daily brushing. I haven't brushed her in a few weeks, actually. I grabbed her brush and started grooming her while she stood on her bed. Usually she is pretty good, but this time she started wrestling with me and trying to take the brush. A game, perhaps?

Apparently not. She just didn't want to be on the ground. I pulled the hair out of the brush from the first round and walked toward the kitchen to throw it in the trash and start again (determined to wrestle her into submission).

She followed me, prancing along in her perfect little poodle walk. While I was de-furring the brush, she hopped right up into one of our pub-height chairs. She just sat there, pretty as a picture with her stupid smiling face just looking at me. I walked over to her, ready to pull her down, but her tail started a little wag. She closed her mouth and gave me this, "I'm ready for my royal treatment. Love me," expression. I figured, "okay fine, I'll brush her up here."

Perfectly behaved. She turned her head right and left and cocked it at the right angle so I could brush her face and behind her ears. She didn't try to get the brush or wrestle, but she did have this look of bliss on her face. She stood up when I needed to brush her hind legs and belly and sat and gave me one paw at a time for her chest and front paws.

I don't even know. Apparently she refuses to be groomed on the floor now, but I am not complaining because it's easier for me. I can't wait to tell the groomers.