Do You Remember the Rain - by K H Simmons

Photo by reza shayestehpour on Unsplash

Do you remember the rain?

I remember the way it used to drip through the trees. The birds would huddle, eyes hooded against the grey. It used to gush out of the gutter when it was over-filled and tumbled like a waterfall in front of the bedroom window. We used to love just laying there, entangled in each other’s arms listening to it pattering against the window panes. I remember you telling me you could lie in my arms and listen to the rain for an eternity. We used to walk in it feeling the chill as it ran down our necks, you would laugh and run, your head tilted back feeling the water strike against your face. You said it made you feel alive. I told you it was you who made me feel alive.

We dreamed that one day we would build a home by the ocean so we could watch the sun rise from its depths each morning. We could splash in the surf and dry with the sand against our backs, my fingers entwined in yours. I often dream about it, what it would have been like. Now I sit in this empty house and I remember the rain, and the touch of your skin is just a ghost glimpsed in the shrouds of sleep.

The wood groans in protest around me as another rush of wind threatens to quash the structure's existence. I huddle deeper into my blankets willing myself to sink into a restless sleep but as much as I urge it on it will not come. I struggle to get up; everything seems to hurt these days. I shuffle to the bathroom and gaze into the remaining shards of a mirror, layers of dirt are encrusted on my skin. You wouldn’t recognise me anymore. I’m thin. I remember when you used to make fun of my tubby belly, you would poke it and I would tickle you. I smiled a grim smile through the beard as the faint echo of your laugh taunts me through the darkness. You would never let me grow a beard, you always said it prickled your face when I kissed you; you would laugh and push me away until I shaved. Without much hope I turn the tap but the sink remains dry. I try to wipe away some of the dirt from my face using the corner of my sleeve but that too is to little avail.

Do you remember when we took Lulu to the forest? She just gazed in wonder up at the trees at first, then she ran and jumped in piles of leaves just to hear them crackle. We tried to show her the squirrels, but she kept screaming with laughter and scaring everything away. She was so happy. We were so happy.

This forest is nothing like that one. Perhaps it was once, now it’s all dry bones and scattered memories. There’s a village not far from here, I’ll make it there by noon, hopefully there will be something left. It’s painfully slow going, it’s like my body just doesn’t want to function anymore. You’d say I’d gotten old. I wish I could just lie down in the shade of some big old tree like we used to and watch the patterns of the sun through the leaves. You would tell me how that single old tree was the means of survival for hundreds of different creatures; I would smile and call you a geek. There are no leaves here and all the creatures are gone.

The heat is overwhelming, I try to avoid going out during the day, at least there’s no one else to be seen through the haze of the morning. I will need to find some shade before the sun reaches its peak though. I quicken my pace despite the protests of my aching body. You’d think that the wind would be a welcome relief from the heat but it is scorching and lashes me with dust and broken twigs until I’m sore and I can’t take anymore. Then I glimpse the first rooftops through the dead branches. I hurry onward my stomach growling in anticipation of the possibility of food. It had once been one of those picturesque villages you saw on postcards, with neat gardens and trimmed rose bushes. Now the gardens were dead, the skeletons of roses crackled in the wind.

The shade of the first house was a welcome relief. My skin prickled where it had been scorched. You would have scolded me for not remembering sun cream, believe me if I could have found any I would have lathered myself in it every day.

Floorboards creak beneath me as I tiptoe through someone else’s memories. Picture frames coated in dust decorate the mantle, their subjects long since gone. The cupboards are bare, picked clean apart from some cleaning products. The pipes are dry. My stomach growls in disappointment. The bed looks comfy despite the dust. I shake my head, I can’t give up.

Stepping outside again is like stepping into an oven. Sunlight glares off the white bark of the trees. The carcass of a car lays in the next driveway, its paint cracked and peeling. The door is jammed and I have to give it a shove to get in. The bang seems obscenely loud in the deserted village. I imagine you next to me, giggling like children as we sneak around. I step inside alone, rubbing my shoulder where I jarred it against the door. The dust skitters away from the worn leather of my boots. The skeletons sitting around the dining table are just watching in silence as I pick my way through their cupboards.

There’s an old tin of tuna gathering dust in the far corner of a kitchen cupboard. I pull it out eagerly. Long ago I stopped checking the dates. I used to hate tuna. I remember when you used to make yourself a sandwich and I jokingly would tell you to eat your cat food in another room. It’s amazing how quickly you stop caring when you’re starving. I don’t remember the last time I ate. It’s dried out and sticks to my mouth as I struggle to produce enough saliva to swallow. I force it down and all too quickly it’s gone. It’s not nearly enough, but there’s nothing else to be found.

Outside the sun is beating down. The house cracks and groans as it expands in the warmth. I make my way upstairs to check the cistern for water. Bone dry. I find a north-facing bedroom, marginally cooler than the rest. It belonged to a child. A little girl judging by the dolls house in the corner. Lulu had one just like it. Do you remember her face that Christmas when she unwrapped it? It wasn’t the biggest, or the best, but she adored it. She played with it all day, ignoring all of her other presents. It was even a struggle to get her to come for dinner. You always made the best Christmas dinner. When we’d finished we’d lounge on the sofas and watch a cheesy movie, bellies full, basking in the warmth of the wood stove.

I jolted awake, uncomfortably hot. My mouth stuck together, lips cracked and throat dry. The voices of my dreams retreat into the shadows as the sun slides down through the sky. My joints crack in complaint as I get to my feet. I check outside out of habit. There used to be people, dangerous people, just trying to survive. I don’t remember the last time I saw anyone else though. It was a relief not to always feel like there was a gun at my back though. You always saw the best in people, you would give them the chance to show the kindness in their hearts. I wished I could believe you, I wished I could have given them a chance, just so I could have had someone to talk to. I talk to you, but it’s been so long since you talked back. You were simply too good for this world. I didn’t give anyone a chance to prove either of us right, I just ran and I kept on running until it felt like I was the only one left breathing on the corpse of the Earth.

I make my way downstairs, past the skeletons and out into the driveway. I peer into the car, the baked interior holds no hope. Each house is full of memories and empty of food. Someone has been here already and picked the place clean like vultures feeding on carrion. I was too slow. As the sun sinks below the horizon and the heat becomes bearable, I sit on a bench at the edge of the village and stare through the trees. The road winds through them, buried by dust. I don’t know where it leads. Since you’ve been gone, I haven’t known where it led at all, only that I had to keep following it. I sighed and forced myself to my feet. I should wait until dawn, the cold of night could be just as deadly as the heat of the day. The road was calling me though. The dead boughs of the trees crackled in the breeze as I wandered beneath them, following the rough outline of the road.

Once the sun had vanished, the temperature fell quickly and soon I was shivering as the silver moonlight lit my way. I wrap myself in a blanket from my bag. My legs are aching, begging me to stop. I know I can’t though, not here. Shadows dance through the trees. Lulu jumps in piles of dry leaves, the way they crunch makes her laugh, it’s a whisper dispersed by the breeze. I put my head down and carry on. My fingers go numb where they are gripping the blanket around me. I glance back, but the village is gone. All that’s around me is the silver-lit bones of the trees. Despite it all, it’s breathtakingly beautiful. Like trees in winter, only without the sparkle of frost. You would have grabbed my hand, pulled me into the trees and danced beneath the moonlight, your hair flicking in the wind, your eyes alive with silver fire.

By the time the grey light of dawn comes, my toes are numb and my legs tremble with the effort of keeping me upright. I know the road is nearly at its end. For a while now I’ve heard this dull roar, I thought it was the wind at first. Now, as the grey light spreads across the sky and spills through the trees I can see where the road ends. The trees come to an abrupt stop. There’s a shallow cliff that stops them. The road ends in what might have been a car park, now it’s just a flat area of dead grass and dirt. The steps that lead down are cracked and covered in layers of sand. The roar comes from the sea. It stretches out as far as the eye can see. Waves rumble up the beach and I know this is where I am meant to be. Perching on a stone bench atop the cliff, I slowly peel off my shoes. My feet are blistered and worryingly cold. Still, I kick the shoes away and carefully step down the steps and onto the cool sand.

The sun breaches the horizon like it is emerging from the sea itself. It drips gold into the inky depths and its warmth spills over onto the yellow sand. I look up to where I left my shoes, feeling the sun caress my skin, I imagine this is how it should feel. This is where we will build our home. We’ll have french doors that open into a little garden where we can have an apple tree and Lulu can play on the swing. There’ll be a little gate, painted white, which leads down the steps to the beach. We’ll walk there every day, perhaps we’ll get a dog - a Labrador that loves to play in the water. Lulu will make sandcastles while we paddle in the waves.

I stagger down the beach to the water’s edge, letting the waves wash over my feet. The water is warm, almost hot. It tingles and stings against my skin, but I push the feeling away. The salty tang of the air does little to help the dryness in my throat, yet I love the smell, because you do. Every morning you’ll open the windows, breathe it in and smile. I’ll kiss your neck and pull you back to bed for a while. We’ll have barbecues in the evening and dance in the sand. Lulu will explore and find adventures in the rock pools. And when it rains we’ll sit on the patio, beneath an umbrella and watch the sea swell. We’ll listen to it pattering against the leaves of the apple tree. Lulu will jump in puddles and laugh and play. I won’t need to ask you if you remember the rain. We’ll make new memories.

I find myself lying in the sand. I don’t know when that happened. The water is washing over me and the pain is gone. The sky above is blue and the sun isn’t harsh yet. I smile as I reach out and feel your hand against mine.