What Comes in the Rain

I'd like to talk about something with you, if you don't mind. You see, it's been sitting in the back of my head for quite a few years now, festering like an open wound. I've tried just about everything I could think of to cure myself of its presence; meditation, exercise, therapy, painting. Anything, really, with even the slightest chance of erasing all that happened during those three nights I spent in the woods with no one but an english bulldog to keep me company.

It's all a matter of public record. It's over and dealt with and has been for years now. And yet... and yet these memories, these experiences, they persist. They will not fade as I hoped they would. I find myself dwelling on a past that should be forgotten in those unoccupied seconds, minutes, and hours that make up the day.

I want to talk about it. You're the only one I know who'd be willing to listen, to believe. Maybe it would help. I don't know.

It was sometime during those early days of June, 1998, that a good friend of mine asked me if I would be interested in house sitting for him. Well, his parents asked me. Him and I had just finished high school and we were both still living at home. I was on good terms with his folks and that relationship was reflected in his request. Their request, really.

They had planned a brief vacation to a nearby town but they were in need of someone to hang out at their home and tend to their pet bulldog, Terry. This family, they were good people, but they weren't trusting and neither were they sociable. They didn't have a whole lot of resources or connections in terms of people they knew, which is what ultimately brought David, their son and my friend, to call me on that day.

The pay was $200 flat for the time they were asking from me. They offered to stock the pantry and load up the fridge with whatever I wanted, which was mostly soda, chips, and canned chili. At eighteen, I'd never had a job before and, as you can imagine, my finances were pretty limited. $200 was nothing to sneeze at back then and I'd be damned if I was going to say no to easy money like that. Besides, Terry and I got along great. The 15th of June through the 18th were the days they wanted me over. With school all wrapped up and no immediate plans, I had all the free time in the world. I said yes.

My mom drove me on out. I didn't have a car at the time, so I was stuck in that weird limbo of having to constantly ask others to give me rides. She was all too happy to do it. Mom was good like that. I arrived at about, oh, maybe two in the afternoon? David and his family were loading the last of their things into their hatchback when we pulled in. They handed me the key, gave me instructions on working the TV and all sorts of stuff like that, and then they were off. Mom helped me unload my stuff into the living room where I'd be sleeping. David had offered his bed, but I never liked sleeping on mattresses that weren't my own. The couch suited me just fine as far as I was concerned. Terry's bed was out there too, which made it easier on him. Within a half hour my mom had left too and I was alone.

I suppose I 'ought to give some context surrounding the home. The house was not in a nice little suburb as you might imagine. Where I grew up, we had this little town about a half hour away by car known as Brittleton. I say "town," but really it was more of a modern hamlet. It had a post office, a small grocery store, a gas station, and that was it.

All the homes out there were isolated and very few of them were within much proximity to each other. Some people liked that, some still do. When you go way out there into nowhere, where the air is so fresh and quiet, it's to easy to understand why.

The space was one reason I was excited when I was asked to house sit, the outdoors suited me well. I'd be able to crank my music as loud as I wanted and receive not a single complaint, except maybe from Terry or the birds and squirrels.