Heavy Rain

112210

  “Hi” says the voice at the other end of the line. It’s instantly recognizable and thus confusing. I open the door of the study and look out at the empty apartment. It’s dark and quiet and perfectly still. 

  “Grace?”

  Her silence confirms it.

“Grace where are you, I thought you were-“

  “In the next room

  “Yeah,”

  “I’m not.”

  “I can see that,” I say, cushioning the phone between my shoulder and my cheek “Where are you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “What?” I ask, checking our bedroom too, in case this is some sort of joke. Grace isn’t much of a prankster, “Why? Is everything okay?”

  “We can’t be together anymore.”

  There’s a deafening silence across the airwaves. I look to the window and can’t believe it’s actually raining. How cliché I remember thinking. At this point the news hasn’t even begin to sink in.

  “What.” I don’t even ask it, I just say it. What. Only the horizon burns scarlet now, a darkness descending upon the city. My insides hadn’t begun the betrayal I would grow accustomed to. The self harm of organs twisting agonizingly in inexplicable pain. They hadn’t caught up to what my brain was quickly realising. A siren wails past the apartment and the blues bounce off adjacent buildings, careening into the night sky and illuminating the haze of rain as it crashed down upon Illinois. I hear the nose reverberate through the phone and realize quickly where she is.

  I stumble blind to the window and pull back the curtain, squinting through the downpour at the call box on the corner. There’s someone in it.

  “I have to go,” She says quickly, “Tell Libby I said goodbye,”

  “No, God damn it stay right there,” I yell, the first wave of emotion and realization finally crashing out of me, “this isn’t fair this isn’t right just stay put Grace.”

  “No, wai-“ she begins but I’m gone, flinging open the front door and hopping down the stairs barefoot two at a time. I know she won’t wait. I’m still in my pyjamas – I hadn’t changed out of them this morning. I had locked myself away in my study, intent on finishing yesterday’s article no matter what. I take the last five steps at once and hit the ground floor running, pushing out of the door to our building in a mad dash and getting soaked through in seconds flat. I blink against the rain. The callbox at the end of the street is empty.

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~ by Joseph Blame on November 22, 2010.

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