Behind Eyes Closed

‘Have you ever wondered what it would be like, if we were a molecule of water?’ she asked me. I shook my head, looking down at our reflections in the puddles as they quivered with each drop of rain that hit them. In my hand was a wet cigarette, soggy with its unfulfilled destiny, and in her hand was an unopened umbrella. 

The rain was unrelenting. We walked on nonetheless.

She took my hand in hers, with the one that was umbrella-free, and with the umbrella she gestured expansively. ‘We could see the whole world. We could fly with the clouds, swim in the rivers and streams and lakes and seas,’ she said. I smiled and nodded. I hadn’t seen much of the world. It would indeed be good to travel. I hoped I left the rest of the cigarettes at home.

She leapt, trying to reach for a couple of leaves that drooped lowest from a tree. I glanced down at the footpath, wary of stones that jutted out or of missing pieces that betrayed the gutters underneath to the eyes of the world. I could hear water gushing, meandering, indifferent to the path it couldn’t choose even if it wanted to. It flowed to wherever it could, from high to low, from full to empty.

We found a bench. It was painted green. Its metal peeked in places, black as night. We took a seat. She put the umbrella aside and put her head on my shoulder. We watched the clouds for a while.

‘Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to kiss in the rain?’ she asked me. I kissed her. She tasted of strawberry chap stick. She tasted like tears. She tasted like the sun appearing between darkened clouds.

After a while we got up and walked again. The rain seemed a little hesitant then, a little uncertain perhaps, as so many endings began. Leaves hung down trees like a sodden green beard of a giant. Our clothes were soaked through. My shoes made squeaky noises. We didn’t know where we were going and we didn’t care. Her umbrella lay forgotten on the bench.

I looked at her, her long dark hair plastered to her face, and felt strange for having thought of forgotten things. She looked at me with brown eyes so dark were almost black. I put my hands into the pockets of my jeans.  

‘Have you ever wondered what it would be like, if you were someone else’s dream?’ she asked. I clutched my wet cigarette tightly, my chest ached, and there was a lump in my throat. I heard her words, I felt them, but try as I might, I couldn’t understand them.

I hoped I left the matchbox at home but I knew somehow that I would never know. She looked at me, with tears trickling down her face. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that when she came back I would be there, but suddenly I realized I didn’t know if I would. How could dreams know?

She closed her eyes, and all was light.