Rainfall

The clouds began to roll in. "Oh great," I screamed internally, twisting my body onto Tristesse Avenue. It seemed as if everything was crumbling before me recently. Like the temple of Dagon collapsing by Samson's recovered might.

My thoughts of despondence growing more with every step. Dancing quicker if I picked up the pace. A pity party. Loathing myself even more for indulging into the despair. "Keep moving," rang in my head. A moment of bold declaration dispersing the mists, if only for a time. The concrete on the sidewalk had shifted into a more intricate cobblestone. I stopped, knowing where I had arrived.

The city cemetery and its megalithic wrought iron fence staring at me upon looking up. It had only been four months since the funeral. I slowly began to walk once more to face the spot where Justin now rested. For the first time I laid my eyes on his headstone. The engraved epitaph burning into my mind to replay forever, to haunt me whenever, like a ghost.

As much as a cliché it may be, Justin was my rock for the longest time. The greatest friend, especially during the rough years of adolescence with its angst filled discoveries and hurdles. He was only twenty-nine years old when he was taken from this world. How I needed him now. "Keep moving," once again beckoned me to step forward. The voice inside firm but more gentle than before.

The cobblestone faded back into the grey slab of baron concrete. The atmosphere growing as grey as the industrial stone beneath my feet. My pace quickened trying to beat the forthcoming rain. The forecast had lied to me, promising more time before the deluge would fall to complete this final task beforehand. Nothing but lies.

Crossing to the left now onto Ouvrage Street, vibrations of other people became known. Today's journey up to this point had been void of any other physical presence. The hustle and bustle drowning out the thoughts of sorrow once more. Perhaps Petula Clark was right in the words she sang. A feeling of comfort amongst the never ending carousel of people on the second busiest street in town.

The various boutiques and establishments beaming with life. All except one. A reprise of anguished thoughts circling once more. The Winding Staircase's windows filled with the empty darkness stared back at me. The well loved bookshop where I escaped reality as a child and also my former source of income now gone. Five weeks and still no sign of hopeful prospects from the dozens of applications sent in. The age old question of what am I going to do constantly in the forefront of every waking hour.

The owner, Carol Phare, is one of the most cherished members of this small city. She is well past the age of retirement and deserves to do whatever she desires in her golden years. Still the feelings of anger and betrayal swirled about inside ignoring the rightful thoughts of justification for her actions. She wants to spend time with her grandchildren and great grandchildren who live two states over. I do not hate her for that reason for I long to also be part of something to resemble the family unit.

"Keep moving," whispered into my inner ear just as the wind started to pick up. Bouncing and dodging the other pedestrians was almost becoming a game. My gaze placed firmly on the ground to avoid making eye contact with any other living soul. The rustling of leaves now overpowering any artificial sounds of the lively street opening up to the town square.

An invisible tidal wave of heart break hit before I could glance up at the ancient oak trees. There in the center, the heart of this city, resided the grand Victorian gazebo. The stark and stable whiteness against the movement of green shades revealed its elegant beauty. A place of great pride for the city with most community events taking place in and around the monument of craftsmanship from times past. However, the charm of the gazebo was now replaced by the deceit of love's kind words.

Over two years ago at that enchanted hour of midnight in the middle of this almost sacred place, my first and former boyfriend, Connor, uttered, "I love you beyond words." A phrase echoing similar words said by a thousand eager voices falling on the ears of a thousand hopeful and yearning spirits at this destination of love.

Those words at the time romantic now empty of meaning. A shattered promise realized when ten days ago he declared he wanted to see other people. Two days after that bold proclamation, I knew it was more of an affirmation of something he had already been incorporating into his life. I saw Connor holding hands with someone else coming out of the movie theater. I could feel the tears starting to swell. Pushing them back, invoking the noises of artificiality to drown out the ones from nature and painful nostalgia.

"Keep moving," the phrase now with a stern voice, wanting me to complete the mission. However the sadness still floated in my head, for the mission today is to collect the last of my things from Connor's apartment. Now heading to the right from the town square onto Paradis Boulevard, the wind subsided but I knew the rainfall would shortly be upon me. A few steps more and there it is. The beautiful Beaux-Arts structure and its classical ivory color taunting me, reminding me I was now cast out of heaven. The fallen angel with no wings to carry me from the drudges that life has been throwing at me.

Upon the steps had been placed one of those brown cardboard boxes of infamous connotations involving corporate dismals. I didn't know what to think or feel. Relieved for not having to walk through the building to be reminded of the past or angry for not being allowed back into the fancy abode I once called home. Home, that word making me contemplate my current situation. A blunt wakeup call of reality. I am homeless and without work. The acquaintance I was staying with for the moment, permitted me two weeks and time was running out.

The weight of the endless parade of negative ideas and recollections pushing me to sit on the steps beside the box. "What even is in this box," trying to think of things I may have left behind. I opened the lid. The contents inside being a mundane assortment of artifacts from a previous existence. An old sweater, a pair of barely worn shoes, a scarf, a necklace, a bag filled with toiletries that could have been discarded and a large envelope. The envelope being the only thing not to bring back memories. It's sealed and my name printed, not handwritten, on the front.

"Odd," I though to myself. I haven't ordered anything in the last month trying to be frugal thanks to my lack of income. I picked up the bulky package and began to tear into the tan parcel. A black notebook revealing itself from the torn shell. A note, also printed, was stuck to the cover reading, "for the next chapter." Is this a parting gift from Connor? It feels almost like a jab, an arrow to strike me while I'm already down. I flipped through the notebook revealing there is more than just blank pages inside. Amongst the binding, between each page had been placed a $100 bill. My eyes widening and heart racing at this bizarre occurrence. "How much is in here? Who placed this money in here?" I began to pull the bills from between the pages. Counting with excitement after each flick of the page to the next. Minutes passed as I kept grabbing at the green papers.

"198...199...200. Two hundred bills, that's $20,000," exclaiming with glee to myself. My eyes began tearing again. My mind in disbelief and questions growing with every second passing while I sat in bewilderment. "Did Carol leave this for me? Is it a long lost gift from Justin? Or the work of some stranger," all the questions amongst the others racing through my brain. I closed the notebook to see the note once more. "For the next chapter," as if it were a divine facsimile those words melted away the tension and departed all thoughts of sorrow. A deep sigh of relief came forth as the first tear fell. Along with that first tear so to did the first drop of rain fall from the sky.

"Keep moving," once again pronounced in my head. This time a joyous tone to the utterance. A symphony of voices in harmony ushering in a revelation of joy. The rain began to fall harder with every drop. Each drop cleansing away the troubles I had been carrying. I smiled for the first time in awhile. I picked myself off the steps with the money and black notebook in hand. Walking in the rain I thought to myself, "Now where to go from here?"