After The Rain

White people, white blank people strutting their stuff staring at me with indignity. The white people being shuttled from bus to bus from place to place, the maghony ground scrubbing the crevices of my feet.

Her dirty blonde hair in my forebrain, and a forest green couch being my resting place, instead of the shy cold ground. The rain, pelting the grass like firecrackers. We ran out of the rain and into her place. I barely knew her, her name and her voice were newly familiar. I stared at her, smiling in the dorky, I like you too, way what's your name? Can I kiss you? way we all know the one. She stared at me, smirking, eyes cast downward shyly. We settle on the soft couch, behind the crumbling door, above the library in college in the rain. I tilt my head and look at her once more. This girl, this woman has intrigued me from the first day. I knock my eyes back up at the ceiling, the shadows outside cast a dim pallor over the candle-lit room.

Yes. I answer. Kiss me. She does, and I return the favor, cradling her shoulders in my warm hands.

I take off her shirt, and she removes mine, but I stop her from touching me any further. No, I say. I just want to look at you. Can we talk first?

She nods, suddenly just as wary as I am of taking this any further. We know our names, but nothing more. We landed in the storm, vaguely aware of the approaching ruin. We took shelter in her room, and now it's all moving too fast for me.

I've never been with anyone. I confess. And now I feel like you're the only person I ever wanted to be with.

I shrug, and fail to hide my seeking eyes from her reaction. Her hazel eyes glint in the light, and she scoots closer to me.

She strokes my hair, tangled knotted, black. She kisses my temple, and lays gentle hands over my trembling body.

It's all right. she murmurs. We can just hold each other.

Somehow I find it easy to listen to her voice, as she strokes my breasts. The sexual tension which has so long been a part of our friendship, has, for the moment, vanished with the remnants of the rain.

The slow burn her touch ignites in me I ignore.

Tell me where you grew up. I hiss. Tell me why you're in class with me, not at some great university.

She tells me, and the words land like bullets on my flesh. 18. Drop out. No money. Rich friends who she nags to take her skydiving. Poor grades. Depression. No laughter. No love.

Her tears fall on my eyelashes, and I sit up to wipe them off her face.

I hold, my hands forming figure eights on her back. The connections I make even in the most intimate of moments always amuse.

It's okay, baby. I whisper. You can cry. Cry all you need to.

Eventually she stops, sniffling. I release her, and stare at her glistening eyes.

I kiss her forehead, and feel the salt dance on my tongue.

I love you. I whisper. I love you. I love you. The saltwater dissipates, and my touch has grown more fevered.

Are you sure?

Yes.

I've always been sure.

Always the rain, slanting against the windows, crackles of thunder interrupting our conversation.

The white lancing against the windows frames us against the evergreen trees, as we both lie down on the couch.

Entry is quick and passionate. Save the love for later.

Afterwards, we lie coupled, silently listening to the rain.

Her hand trails down my stomach, and I arch to meet her.

Is this what it's like? Is this how it feels? I ask.

She grins, and gestures at to the window.

Listen. Do you hear that?

I pause, and listen.

The rain, it's stopped.

She is satisfied.

That's how it feels.