Summer Rain

XXXV ~ In the Quiet

{Roman Candle- Dry The River}

...In the sea of love that sees no tide, when the clutching fists of time will survive, my love never burned that bright, but I know a sign when I see you, it darkens my doorway when I need you...

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              Time becomes the enemy of those who have not yet accomplished whatever it is their hearts have driven them to do. They become lethargic and restless, a paradox of waiting for the end, lost in the breathless home stretch of the marathon of unfinished business. The glimmering details become a haze of moments stuck together.

             The long summer nights were nearing an end, and yet the sun clung to the sky waiting for me, it seemed, to find a resolution in all I had learned so far and all I had been warned to stay away from. Its rays constantly reminding me of the imminently approaching days when its rays would be faint and almost invisible, no longer resting on my skin as forcefully as they had.

             In the melancholy breeze that was few and far between in those last remaining, vivid, earth-shattering and utterly heart-wrenching days, when I did not heed my Father's advice and did not sit and twiddle my thumbs, I found that the world was a place that did not make much sense. That even the worst people could live the best life, and even the best people could struggle to claw their way out of the worst.

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July 26th

     A quiet lull had descended over the club since the night when my Father's eyes had overflown with years of soaking up any emotion. It was the kind of quiet that was noticeable and irritating. The kind of quiet that made me want to make noise to prove that I could hear something. It was painful to listen to the quiet, and my restless hands wandered to the postbox every day, waiting for a response from Juilliard. Every day I would come back empty-handed, my heart growing heavier and heavier with each fruitless journey.

     As my family attempted to work out the routes and paths less travelled in an attempt to salvage the broken pieces of our family, I found myself on the outskirts, fearful of being sucked back into the unhealthy regime I had lived in for all of my life, losing the progress I had made with fighting my way into freedom thus far. The family would spend lunches together at the cabin, helping and trying not to make everything seem perfect. There were bumps and missing pieces along the way, and although I was sceptical that this tactic would even work, I enjoyed our lunches together. They were peaceful and helped me forget about how I disturbed the quiet.

     I may have come home empty-handed from the post box, missing the letter from Juilliard which would leave me sullen and somewhat hopeless, but various other envelopes had taken to being passed through my possession. Envelopes of secret importance that screamed out obscenities in my mind, but I passed them on to Elliot, whose hands shook as he took hold of the paper secrets. His eyes bore the guilt of every smile we had shared, every touch, every kiss, every moment in his presence, which had led to me doing his boss's bidding, like a puppet unaware of the consequences of my forced and stringed actions.

     Tim would find me in the quietest moments, his movements like a panther's and his suit as black as their fur, when my heart would beat out of my chest so loudly like a drum, it would beckon him to me, knowing I needed something to occupy my hands. His mouth would be silent, but like a snake charmer, his eyes would hypnotise me, and I would find my way to the envelope's next destination. My fingerprints had burned into the paper of various envelopes, at least a dozen by that time, and yet each time I felt Elliot was finding my presence agonising, a painful sight.

     Could I have told Tim where to stick his envelopes and constant summoning? I suppose when I look back on it, it's easy to say what I would do now, but in those moments, when things didn't seem so simple, so certain, so assured, I found it the only way to make sure my Father kept his job and that Elliot was safe from the wrath of Tim who I knew had a boiling rage that lay under his cool, crisp exterior.

     I was a messenger, yet I felt guilty all the same.

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               "Knock knock, me again," My converse shoes stood flat against the wood of the small porch steps of Elliot's cramped little cabin, the smell of his cologne fresh on his skin wafted out to me as Elliot pulled his shirt on and began buttoning up the sleeves. I held another envelope in my hand, thick and wadded with dollar bills, enough to pay for my college tuition twice over.

    "Thanks." Elliot snatched it off me gruffly, his eyes not meeting mine.

    "You're really going to have to tell your boss to find another minion because I'm leaving in a few weeks and he doesn't seem like the type to do his own dirty work, so you know, tell him to put an ad in the paper or something." I couldn't believe how flippant I was being. Still, I suppose the anger rising inside of my chest with every repetitive trip to Elliot's cabin, a walk that once filled me with a tingling of excitement about seeing Elliot, that now angered and annoyed me, not because of Elliot. Still, the precarious situation in which I had found myself, was the reason my anger was being vented through the sarcasm I threw like weapons. I sounded like my brother and that what was worrying me. "Wanted: cryptic bastard's evil minion. Must be willing to be blackmailed. Apply to Tim Beaumont." I laughed dryly, leaning against the frame of Elliot's open door, watching him rush to get ready for his shift, his eyes bleary and ringed with dark circles, as though he hadn't slept in a few days. He barely even registered I was still there.

     I nodded, mostly to myself, realising he was too busy even to muster a response and turning on my heels, I prepared to leave.

    "Ava?" He called after me.

    "Oh, so you can speak?" I spoke, turning back around. He was buttoning the last few buttons on his black shirt, his pocket filled with the envelope. This was becoming a habit I never thought would occur. How did we get from dates and nights of lying on the floor of his cabin, candles spread around us like our being together was something spiritual, ethereal, something holy, to being co-conspirators in what was likely some dodgy dealings? Life gets in the way I guess. Reality sets in.

    "Don't get mad at me. I'm sorry for being an ass." He surrendered.

    "What's up with you?" My shoulders shrugged.

   "Nothing... I just haven't been sleeping well." Clearly, I thought to myself. "Listen, I need to talk to you." His voice lowered, and I watched as the blue in his eyes darkened, a sight that sent chills through my spine. Something was wrong.

     Not that everything was right (was anything right at this stage?) but in the silence that had descended upon my life, it was the spark that I knew meant the quiet was coming to an end.

    "Now?"

    "Not here." He was skittish, his eyes glancing here and there, paranoid.

    "Then, where?" I pressed him, wanting to get back to the cabin, scared I'd miss lunch with the family.

    "My haven. Just get there for 8." He never waited for a response but left me standing on the empty path with nothing but a weight in my chest.

      I knew exactly where he wanted to meet me. He had taken me there on our first date. I wondered to myself if he knew that where he took me on a seemingly romantic evening would be a precursor to our secret meetings? I wanted to close my eyes and drift back to the beginning of Summer and start this mess all over again. But then, would I not still fall for him? Even my rational mind could not dissuade my heart from knowing the answer. No matter how many times I could relive that Summer, I would never change the reality of falling in love with Elliot Black.

     A foreboding sensation had overcome me, a feeling that that something bad was going to happen. I didn't know what, but I knew that something was coming.

     A new wave was about to hit, and it was ready to take us all out.

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