I could hear it falling on the roof. The small "tink". That tiny knock that water droplets make to tell you that they are here. My ears, and eyes, wince open. I pull my covers tight over my neck.
"Where is my thunder?", I ask to the Rain God, in particular.
"Where is my partner?", I ask to no one, in particular.
I can tell someone has heard my mind asking questions, silently. I can hear the measured beating of my dog's tail. Beating on my mattress like a small bass drum. I roll over. The beat goes into double time. Peering out of my covers. His ears go back, and I can see the smile on his face.
BOOM!!!!!
There is my thunder. There is my noise. There's nature with my alarm clock. It's too early, when you know that your sleep hasn't even gone past four hours. Who cares? You have done more with less. Tis my life. The slow slap of my feet on the hardwood, seems to run in time to the now hurrying beat of the rain. It has gotten larger, and now sounds like one hundred tin drums.
Coffee, bacon, eggs, and jazz music try to cure something, that I try to forget ails me. My hands are empty. They used to be wrapped around a feminine thigh. My table is empty. Where there was once two plates filled, and two cups of energy, there is but one. My house has a silence in it that has become uncomfortably settling. The random ins and outs of women has slowed. My choice. The late night amalgamation, of knocking passer bys, has stopped. My choice. The Saturday morning phone calls of hurried energy, urging my presence, has become extinct. My choice.
I take my time. I take my breath. I take my vision. I take my abilities. They are mine. Mine, solely. Yet, in the back of my head, in a small little crevice, hidden from everyone. Hidden from myself. She sits. She sits here on this couch. She has a plate full of bacon and eggs, and a cup of coffee. She is urging me to hold her hand. She is laughing at my eyes welling up, over a story conveyed over the old wooden console stereo. She is prancing around, making my dog gesticulate wildly. She is different, in all her shapes and forms. She is simultaneously love and regret. She is simultaneously happiness and anger. She is simultaneously life and death. She is simultaneously a lover and a stranger.
The rain comes harder. My blinds open, and I'm in nothing but my underwear. I have no shame. She knows this. They all know this. The multitude of public stories told in mixed company has always been proof. I don't care who knows my faults. I don't care who knows my triumphs. I just care if she walks next to me. She doesn't. She hasn't. It wasn't her.....their choice. In the end, I provide the final push. I'm good at it.
"You're a smiling little fucker this morning, aren't you", I say to my bacon begging mutt. Someone has to smile enough for the rest of us. I can only stare. I can only stare, listening to the rain, and to myself. My breath and brain are working in synchronicity. I am sorry.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and you are on the other side of the world, listening to some band I've never heard of.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and you are half the continent away, enjoying a vast urban landscape with a family member you would never let me meet.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and you are across the state looking at a sunset that the rain is forcing me to miss.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and you are on the hip side of the city, wondering how to sleep longer due to the tin roof, rain combination ringing in your ears.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and even though you are a mile away, know that when you sleep, I dream of you more than I want to.
I'm sorry I pushed you away, and even though you might be in my bed, know that I'll never hold you tight enough to fear losing you.
