Raining Angels

         A man sits alone with his head bowed and hands folded. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers repeatedly. “Please, please, please, save her, save her.” If anyone got close enough, they would be able to smell the vodka hidden in the raw depths of his breath. “I couldn’t. Ice cream is expensive. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His wet eyes are closed tightly. His throat is aching but the tragic nature of the situation makes him apathetic of his pain. His cuts and bruises mean nothing to him. He imagines himself holding her one last time in his arms.
         She walks quietly into the room. He didn’t notice. He never notices her. She feels so alone. She listens to the quiet rain splattering like paint on the building. She stares out the wet gray window wishing he was crying for her. But that love is so far gone. “How could you do this?” she suddenly bursts out. “How could you steal her and just leave?” He looks up at her wet cheeks and the way her eyes crinkle in disgust at his presence. “Why did you do this to her?” For the first time, he notices how skinny she is, how perfect. Her eyes sparkle with hatred, anger, and betrayal. “How could you do this to me?”
         “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He whispers pathetically. He closes his eyes once more, for a long time. The time seems to pass slower than the rising moon. “I was drunk. I wanted her back. She’s mine too and I love her.” At this, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was shaking her head, refusing to allow him any sympathy.
         He looked down at the swirling red patterns on the dirty floor, ashamed. The spiraling pattern was his path to self-destruction, his addiction. His dirty life had absolutely no purpose. His soul remained unloved and his heart remained unappreciated.
         A young nurse walks in with a clipboard. The two look up in hopeless agony. “Dryer family, can y’all come back here with me?” she mumbles in a southern drawl. The family sitting in the corner of the waiting room stood up and walked toward the nurse.
         She begins to cry. With her arms crossed, she turns her head and looks through the screen out the window as the cold tears flow to her mouth and the rain streaks across the glass. The man rests his head in his hands and closes his heavy eyes.
         The old doctor drifts into the quiet room. The beads of sweat falter on the exhausted doctor’s forehead as he looks at the floor. For a moment, he pauses, knowing that this is the end, the death of their dignity, integrity, power, wealth, happiness, and sanity. The look on his face said everything the couple needed to hear. He sighs.
         “Not my baby girl! No!” The young mother sobs in endless anguish. She slowly falls to the floor, terrified, terrorized by his silent words. She couldn’t bear to hear the tragic essence of his voice. She covers her face and breathes horribly. Her throat aches and her eyes are dry as she heaves in a desperate attempt to revive her daughter. She looks out the window and is comforted by the rain. The angels are crying. She’s not alone.
         And the rain continues on.