Hollywood Rain

Hollywood Rain by Alex Mugford

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. 
- As You Like It, II.1

         I walked into the park and there he was, sitting on a bench by the pond; just like always. I'd usually find him feeding the ducks but a cold breeze made the water lap viciously against the shore. The sun shone brightly, save for a few clouds which occasionally blotted out the sun. A nearby oak tree cast a dark shadow over James and the sight of him made me shiver. He wasn't wearing a coat and each gust of wind felt like razor blades. His head was down as I came up behind him.
         "No ducks today?" I remarked. His head turned around quickly.
         "Jesus, you frightened me." I took my place beside him on the bench.
         "Sorry, old friend."
         We had been coming here for the past five years, give or take, as each day bled into the next. I guess that's how life is in a retirement home; eat, sleep, talk about your kids. James and I? We didn't have any. All we had to talk about was the brief time we had spent together as kids and tell each other stories of the years we were apart. Just as we finished high school, his parents had decided to move across the country leaving both of us without a best friend. Imagine my surprise, 60 years later when I would find him at the very same retirement home as myself.
         "The ducks must have gone south," he said. His voice was like the water, getting colder by the day. Even the sun couldn't make it warm again no matter how hard it shone.
         "How are you, James?" I attempted to make conversation. "Aren't ya cold?"
         We had excellent conversations, always taking every opportunity to catch up. We would talk about anything; from how to make a good steak to who was the best Roman Emperor (which we always disagreed on). He was a quiet man to begin with, but once you get him talking he can go on for hours. His eyes lit up when he told me stories of the things he'd done. Two deep lines stretching downward from his nose told me that he had smiled often. His hands always moved when he spoke, as if he was conducting an orchestra. He had a different gesture for every emotion, like rubbing his hands furiously together when he got excited or putting his hand on his chin when he was in deep thought. And to my amusement, he threw up his hands every time I disagreed with him. But now, his hands were slumped in his lap.
         "I'm fine, for the most part," was all he said, his voice lifeless and monotone. "And you? Where is your cane? Legs feeling better today?" he nodded towards my knees. I looked down and moved my legs back and forth without pain.
         "I...I don't know...," I stammered. How was I walking without my cane?
         "Oh well," he coldly said.
         The thing about James and I is that we never got personal. Sure, we'd talk about how we felt about certain things like politics, what's in the news, and so on, but never the real stuff; like life and passion. Our conversations were always a few steps above small talk, but not deep enough to be heart to heart. So when I glanced over at James and saw tears, I became alarmed. My chest tightened, my stomach turned.
         "Have any regrets, Edward?" he finally said. I was startled at the question and didn't say anything at first. I just stared at him with a perplexed look.
         "No," I finally managed to say, "Not really."
         "I definitely do," he quickly replied. I was in foreign territory. What do I say? I felt like I was awkwardly talking to a stranger.  He must have felt my loss for words because he continued talking.
         "I never flew a kite. Ever fly a kite?"
         "When I was a kid, I guess."          
        "You're a lucky man." I didn't find a place to reply, although I wouldn't have known what to say anyway.          
"Ever see a sunset on a different continent, Edward? God, I bet it’s beautiful. And different." He was smiling now and I could finally see the James I knew.
         "Come to think of it, I bet the sunset from my back porch is just as good. Hell, even better." He closed his eyes as if he was conjuring an image in his head, like he was painting a picture with his mind. Each memory a splash of paint, each brush stroke another day.
         In his painting, James would be back in his home where he'd walk through the fields, letting the tall grass run through his fingers. At the edge would be a forest with a beaten path that he often walked. James paced himself at first, walking in reverence, never forgetting to stop and listen to the singing birds lost somewhere up in the trees. The patchwork of leaves cast delicate shadows on the forest floor and they moved like an ocean tide over his face. Past the forest, through the green and brown, would be a splash of blue paint in the distance. Barely visible and like a mirage, a pond, as calm and content as we were. The water, an incredible myriad of blues, twinkled in the sunlight as it reflected the sky. When James came through the forest, he would see me sitting by the pond, patiently waiting for him to arrive.
         It's funny how life brings you right back to where you started. The only difference? The pond in front of us right now wasn't as calm as the one in our memory. The one at our feet threatened to pull us under.
         James opened his eyes slowly as if the memory had slipped through his fingers. "Oh how I'd like to go home, Edward. I wish they'd just let me go home," his voice quivered like a leaf and his smile instantly faded. I was burning to ask the million dollar question. Why was it so hard for me? This is James we are talking about. James, your childhood friend. Say something, say anything!
         "Are you ok, James?"          I finally managed to say, but he ignored my question as if he didn't even hear it.
         "How about death, Eddy? What do you make of that puzzle?" he said coldly.
         "Death is a part of life," I said. "It's the one thing the entire world has in common."
         "Well said," he admitted. "But I'm thinking about it a little differently. I'm asking you to really think about it. I'm talking about the fragility of humans. I'm talkin’ about decomposing flesh, six feet under, lifeless bodies, food for worms, eternal damnation, heaven and hell," he quickly rhymed off, counting with his fingers.
         "Are you asking me if I think there's a god?"
         This put some life into him. He turned his body towards me and started talking with his hands again.
         "No, I'm not talking about God," he said. "This is beyond him. Way beyond. I'm watchin’ my hands move and I think to myself what source does this energy come from? What makes my eyes process what they see? What makes our brains live, think, carry out emotions? What is this biological force? And what takes this away?" he quickly said. He must have seen the look on my face.
          "I don't expect you to understand," he looked defeated and turned back into his original position; eyes front, hands down.
         "Where is all this coming from, James?" I asked. He turned his head to look at me like I had asked him a disgusting question.
         "That's exactly the question I'm asking you,” he looked away with tears in his eyes. I was at a loss for words again. He sat quietly for a minute; I guess waiting for the emotion to pass. He breathed in and out, each exhale a sigh, each inhale like he was swallowing swords.
         "The cancer is back," he finally said. "They can't do anything for me this time. It's here to stay."
         "Jesus Christ, James," was all I managed to muster.
          "They give me six months," he said as my heart galloped. "We're old, Edward. Disgustingly old. It makes me sick to look at myself in the mirror."
         "Now don't get like that," I told him. "We both lived long, wonderful lives..."
         "Have we?" he interrupted. "I've never felt as useless as I do now. Unfulfilled doesn't even begin to cover it," his hands swept out in front of him as if he were erasing a chalk board.           
"In the eighty-three years I've been on this earth I have not accomplished one god damn thing. Don't you ever feel like you've missed some big opportunity somewhere down the line?"
        "Well of course," I said. "But I don't dwell on it. I can't let the things I haven't done ruin the things I have done."
         James let out a long sigh and brought his hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes like he had just woken up, and then ran his fingers through his thin white hair.
         "I don't know what I'm sayin', forget everything I said," he whispered in one long breath. I opened my mouth to speak but I stopped myself. I had something to say but didn't really know how to say it. I looked upwards, maybe to stretch my neck, maybe looking for an answer. James must have seen me looking up and he did the same.
         "Looks like it's gonna rain," he casually said. I took notice of the clouds and there were large patches of blue sky; it certainly didn't look like rain.
         "You sure?" I said.
         "Yeah. Definitely. Looks like Hollywood rain," he said rubbing his chin.
         "Hollywood rain?" I questioned.
         "Remember Gene Kelly?"
         "Sounds familiar," I searched my memory, attempting to recollect where I heard that name before.
         "Fifties movies," he hinted.
         "The actor, you mean?"
         "Gene Kelly, the actor," he confirmed with a nod. "And what's one of his famous dance scenes?"
James always did this. Testing me, making me figure things out for myself rather than just plain ol' tellin' me.
         "Singin' in the Rain?" I said. He nodded again.
         "The rain in that? That's Hollywood rain. Machine generated rain. It's that heavy rain that falls in sheets and drenches you in seconds. In the movies, the rain didn't stop until the actors finished the scene, until the director was happy with the performance and called 'cut'."
         "Oh," I said, oblivious to his metaphor. I looked up. "I still don't think it’s going to rain."
         "Well you best hope it does. If not, then I'm through."
         "Through?"
         He paused for a moment which seemed to go on for an eternity. His voice was like a child’s, as scared and innocent as a boy who didn't want to go to sleep yet; like he would miss something spectacular while he slept. I guess that's not so far from the truth, really. James was scared as all hell, and he couldn't make any sense of it anymore than I could.
         "I'm not finished my scene yet," his voice quivered with hopelessness. "I don't want the rain to stop. I want it to keep on commin' down. I want to feel it on my skin and taste it in my mouth."
         There was a long pause before I could offer a reply. His words still rang in my ears and the more I replayed the last few minutes in my head, the more I knew in my heart that his words were empty and insincere.
         "I don't believe the things you said earlier, the things about living an unfulfilled life and such. Don't believe a word of it," I told him.
         "Is that so," he said not looking away from the pond. "I don't believe it either," he admitted. "Although I do have one regret." I motioned for him to go on.
"I regret not stayin' around when we were kids. We could have had some real fun."
         I looked at him and all I could think about was how much I would miss him. I was quiet at first; allowing the feelings build themselves up then tear themselves back down again.
         I finally said, "It’s okay, James." I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "At least you came back."
         He looked over at me, his lips pursed together, trying to hold themselves from quivering. James nodded, and then returned his attention to the pond. That’s as honest as we would ever be.          
Our silence brought emphasis to our surroundings. Children were playing behind us, screaming wildly and smiling. Runners rushed past us, their lungs filling with air. A man played classical flute somewhere in the park, his fingers effortlessly moving along the keys, always knowing which note was next. I couldn't see him but I heard the music and that brought me comfort. To our left, I heard the wind rustle the leaves of an oak which reminded me of the one James and I had frequently climbed as children. I closed my eyes and let it whisper memories that I had long forgotten. Deeply etched in the side of the oak were the remains of some forgotten love. 'CP + AM' was carefully carved into the bark, outlined by a heart. I couldn't see them but I knew they had been there, that they existed, and that brought me comfort.
         As I breathed the air, I could smell the freshly cut grass around the park and the lilies planted along the pond's shore. I could hear the gentle lap of the waves as they hit the rocks not far from our feet. A bird cooed as he made the short journey from one tree to the next and I could feel it all around us. I did not know what 'it' was, but I felt something inside me. Like a burst of energy just waiting for a release. I felt excited, invigorated, like I could jump up and scream, but...
         But my legs weren't too good these days, and the pain suddenly crept back into my mind. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. I don't know how long I stayed like that, but it felt like a life time. I opened my eyes and closed them over and over, each time everything around me getting darker and darker, in and out of consciousness, under some dismal influence.          
         Then something awoke me, as if a familiar hand took hold of me and shook me. My entire body tremored. I leaned forward, wiping a drop of water from my eye. Slowly, I became aware of what had brought me back from my momentary lapse. I felt tiny splashes of water on the back of my neck which caused me to shiver. When I looked at the pond, I noticed the waves had ceased. The pond would have been a sheet of glass if it were not for the thousands of rain drops that riddled its surface. I looked around and there wasn't a soul left in the park.
         "James, where did everybody go?"
         The rain drops came harder now.  There were dark clouds that engulfed the blue sky and the pond danced with every drop of rain. My clothes became heavy with water and I felt the cool rain beat on my head in rhythm. The water collected in large drops at the end of my nose. I heard the rain fall through the trees like a thunderous applause, and when the drops hit the ground, they threw up mud like falling bombs.
         "Looks like you were right about it raining, eh?" and I laughed. I laughed until my ribs hurt. I raised my arms up in the air and let my head swing back, laughing like a mad man. My body was like a tree and my withered hands were its roots, feverishly devouring the rain. On my tongue it tasted like honey and I licked my lips with relish. Each drop bounced off my face like a symphonic cymbal crash and they trickled down the cracks in my face like a waterfall in a desert. It was simply beautiful.
         I put my arms back down and relaxed my body. "James," I said, "this is amazing!"
         "What is amazing?" a voice came from behind me. My head turned around quickly.
         "Jesus, you frightened me," my heart erupted in my chest. 
         It was a woman dressed in scrubs. She had a name tag that said "Ruth" and "Green Meadow Retirement Center." In one hand she was carrying an umbrella, and the other, my walking cane.
         "How did you get here without your cane?" she asked me. She smiled sweetly and her blue eyes shone from under the umbrella. Our hands touched when she handed me my cane and they were smooth as a child’s. She stood next to me and shared her umbrella. The rain poured down all around us and I no longer felt it on my skin.
         "Well?" she said, "how did you get here without your cane? Not feeling any pain today?" and she laughed.
         There is that question again. How did I get here?
         "I....don't know," I finally managed to say.
        "You don't know how you got here?" and she laughed again. "Who were you talking to?"
         I looked around the park and there was no one around. No children, no one playing the flute, no runners, bikers, dogs, birds, and no ducks. I glanced over to where James sat and his seat was empty. I stared at the bench for a moment, watching the rain bounce off the old wood. My mind slowly unclouded and I finally felt a shiver, as if my body had just awakened. Like a lightning bolt, a sharp pain raced down my spine and I felt that familiar numbing sting in my legs. I started to shake.
         I tried to bring back those memories I had moments ago. Those same memories that James would paint when his eyes were closed. The memories of me sitting on a rock next to our pond and James calling me from somewhere in the forest. James would run the last ten meters of the forest, his legs pushing him as fast as they would take him. I'd hear his feet crunch the leaves beneath him and he'd tear off his shirt. He'd run past me and up the slope next to the lake and jump. He would hang suspended in the air for a moment as if gravity never existed and then come crashing down, lost somewhere beneath the waves. When he came back up, he'd be laughing wildly. "Jump in, Eddy! Jump in!" I got up and did the same. I closed my eyes so I could feel the cool water rush over my skin. We would float on our backs, letting the water lift us up, and we'd stare at the clouds as they passed overhead. My head bobbed above then below the water line, then it plunged below, and all I could hear was the muted sound of the surface. As if it were light years away, I could distinctly make out the sound of my name, someone calling from far off in the distance.
         "Edward! Edward!" I slowly opened my eyes. "Come on now. Let's get you back. Everyone is worried sick about you. You know you can't leave without telling anyone. Come on, you'll catch your death of cold." Ruth put her hand around my arm and motioned for me to stand up. I took my cane in one hand and she steadied me as I stood. My bones screamed like rusty hinges and I winced at the pain. Ruth and I walked side by side heading out of the park.
         "Can we visit James before we go back?" I asked her.
         "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Edward. You're soaked to the bone. Everyone is waiting for you. We almost had to call the police."
         "Please Ruth," I stopped walking and turned to her, "Please." She stared at me for a moment and finally said, "Okay James. Okay," and nodded as we slightly changed direction.
         We walked along the path in the park, Ruth helping me the entire way. The rain still poured down and there was no one left in the park save for a few fools lucky enough to get caught in the down pour. Ruth and I came to the edge of the park then walked down the street a few blocks, past my retirement home and finally to our destination; to everyone's destination.
         We stopped and I turned to her and said, "I'll take it from here."
         "You'll get soaked!" she said. "Let me walk with you."
         "I'm already soaked," I said. "Besides, I'd rather it this way." She looked at me and smiled.
         "I'll wait here," and she let go of my arm.          
         I gazed up and saw the vines hanging down, tightly gripping the old brick wall. As if orchestrated by some unseen conductor, the rain endlessly drummed upon my head as I stepped out from under the umbrella. I looked back at Ruth and smiled, then slowly pushed open the cemetery gates.