Chasing Rainbows

Furiously lashing out against the windowpanes the fat droplets fell in an unrelenting torrent. The low grey clouds darkened the room but Oliver made no effort to light a candle, let alone find one. Another blackout… the third one that week, he should call someone about it. Still, he sat in the semi-darkness, grey light filtering across his face accentuating the hard lines around his eyes and mouth. 1

Another sip of whiskey. Another click as the grandfather clock’s hands moved. But only the sounds of the sky’s anger reached his ears. Sounds of anguished fury twisting their way into the cottage and winding their way around him, taking him to places he didn’t want to go. 2

Oliver ran after her, through the sheets of heavenly tears and across the long cliff top grass. She looked like a goddess soaked in rain and sun, consuming every inch of his attention as she twisted in the half-light. She was beautiful in everyway, even her scarred cheek, he loved it, he loved everything about her. Jesus, how did she manage to look so graceful with her heavy knitted sweater clinging to her skeletal arm? Twisting and dancing in the pools of sun and rain, and searching for rainbows. They were always chasing rainbows. Her eyes as grey as the storm clouds searched his as she stumbled and caught herself again. Laughing. That strange laugh, somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. Coughing thickly, the noise strained and worn out.3

He jumped as lightening cracked the sky with a thunderous roar and the room danced in eerie illumination for a moment. Rubbing his eyes he pushed away the memory. Pushed it away as far as he could. The scent of musty damp wood and grass leaked through the windows still and caressed his memories. He tensed and with a clumsy clink of glass poured another whiskey. Sweet, dark liquid trickling into the glass, sounding like the rain that rushed down outside. 4

Wait. 5

Chamomile. Soft and lingering, he caught the scent of chamomile and honey. Her scent. Hers. Oliver choked on a brief, premature sob and forced it back down, pushing it further away. He knew she was still here. Hiding in the brown, crumpled pages of Don Quixote or behind the winter coats in the closet searching for Narnia. Or outside, dancing. Making the rain seem like an exquisite and rare thing. 6

He had to get away. He couldn’t stay here with her memories but he knew he couldn’t escape her, not in the rain. Oliver burst out of the front door and into the unrelenting cascade of water. It kissed him, embraced him and loved him. It clung to him desperately begging him to stay. 7

Over by the gnarled, dying cherry tree a flash of dirty blonde hair curling in the rain and marble-white skin knocked his knees from under him. Sweet earth caught him in the soft velvet of rain-watered grass. The chamomile and honey suffocated him. Her cough. He could hear her coughing. But she couldn’t be breathing. 8

The rain and the tears tore at his face as he howled into the sky, giving all his grief away. Begging with her to take him away. Begging. Just begging. He couldn’t be alone anymore. The rain whispered to him, secret things. She was in the rain. He knew it. The wind rasped a squeaking gasping melody and the light floating of coldness embraced him. 9

Oliver opened his eyes to sky as the torrents of water slowed and lightened to see the loose, pale rainbow wavering against her eye colour. Waves hissed against the cliff below him and sweet rain left one more lingering kiss before disappearing into the sky to sleep. A smile as faint as the colours streaked in the sky touched his thin lips and he sat up to watch the electricity flicker back into life through the cottage window. 10