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On the Street by Robert Leach |
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The rain had been falling steadily my whole life. It wasn't about to end, nor did I expect it to. The temperature was mild, and the drops of rain, as always, were very cold, each one sending small bolts of awareness to my mind. I was standing outside of the coffee shop. The heat from within was at my back as I faced the cobblestone street in front of me. Each stone glistened with a gray hue, shiny clouds stagnant in a sky of cement. Thunder continued to roll down each road and alley, the flashes of light preceding each sound wave. My shoe was acting as a dam for a small stream headed directly for the gutter. Small leaves, dead bugs, and countless unidentifiable wrappers and paper products built themselves a wall around my heel. Even through the varied sounds of the local atmosphere, I could make out the sharp tapping of my accomplice's freshly shone shoes on the damp stonework. As he passed me, he muttered something both incomprehensible and distinctly unimportant. And as quickly as he came, he left, down the street and into the downpour. I adjusted my hat and stepped underneath a nearby streetlight whose glow extended no further than the immediate area. I kicked a pebble, which made a small splash as it bounced its way into the empty road. The streetlight blinked off to save some precious energy, leaving me in the darkness to ponder the night's happenings. Stepping under a nearby awning, I shook my hat free of water. I smelled the cool damp air, exhaling clouds of white vapor, which drifted quickly away. I then leaned against a closed flower shop and watched the streams of water pouring from the cloth overhead. The sound of the water above me reminded me of something from years past, yet I couldn't remember what, precisely. I began to walk down the sidewalk, my hat safely back on my head, protecting it from the droplets of water that had managed to meander underneath the cover the buildings provide me. I passed by several shops. First a toy store, then a bookstore, then a bar. All, of course, were closed. I detected no life around me. Everyone in the city was indoors, either sleeping or silently drinking. My accomplice had gone wherever he goes between our awkward, albeit interesting, meetings. I then approached the city walls, which have always towered above both me and every other thing, living or non-living, within them. They were, as they are now, built from solid brick; reaching up to heights unknown. All I could do was gaze up into the rain, water falling into my blinking eyes, and seek out the top of the wall. The clouds hid from me the answer I sought. I began to follow the wall around the city. There are no houses or buildings against the wall, so I had an easy time of it; that is until I reached the divider line. The Divider is the section of our illustrious city that is physically divided in half, with neither half accessible by the other. It is possible to see onto the other side, but it's usually an act of futility as the transparent wall only gives access to those buildings and structures nearest the viewer, no matter what angle you use. I, myself, have never seen any action on the other side, but I have heard tell of several people who have seen something. Usually stories of blurred movements, sometimes a figure in the distance looking back. As I stood there, rain dripping off my clothes, my accomplice came up from behind, startling me. He didn't say anything, he just looked at me in much the same way I gazed at him. He then pointed through the glass-like material. I saw what looked to be a man, walking off in the distance. He was pacing. That man, dressed in a dark suit and tie, was completely soaked, dragging his unopened umbrella along his side. My accomplice came up next to me, fogging the glass with his breath; my visual contact with the man on the other side was blurred. My accomplice then turned and walked away, after having sketched a few random letters in his temporal breath stain. I moved to the side to continue watching the suit on the opposing side of the wall. He continued pacing, back and forth. At last, he threw his arms in the air, accused the sky of something or other, then fell to his knees and wept. After about 20 minutes of watching that huddled mass of flesh, I became weary of the display, and started for home. The streets were sweet with the odor of the rain, and my recent visage soon dropped from memory, now focusing on my softened shoes, wet with the night's downfall, tapping away at the stonework beneath me. I passed the warehouses, devoid of anything save the rodents and insects that assuredly have taken up residence since the last owner moved out. The nearby train passed by with an authenticating horn, alerting all those in the area to its presence. I was tired of walking, tired of standing, tired of being awake. My home was nearby, but the park bench was nearer still. It looked comfortable enough, as will just about anything at that time of day. I didn't feel comfortable enough with myself to lie down, so I sat up. My eyelids grew quite heavy, and blinking was a chore that no other could match. My last blink lasted about 17 hours, for when I reopened my eyes, I was lying down on the bench, the rain pelting me in the face, darkness overcoming the city. I was completely renewed, I decided at last to forgo my homestead, and head for the nearest tavern. With any luck, my accomplice would be there, and we'd discuss matters of the gravest importance whilst nursing various alcoholic beverages. It would not be so. I opened the door to one of my more frequently attended pubs, only to find the place devoid of all life. The air inside was cold and stagnant. I sat on a barstool, the cold moving up and down my spine as I touched the surface of the bar itself. This place was suddenly so foreign, so distant. I couldn't imagine the warmth and humanity that was only recently there, but no longer. Every time I moved, noises that I took for granted suddenly became such sounds that could wake the gods from deepest slumber. I had to get outside again, into the rain, something moving, something alive against my skin. I move towards the exit, my joints aching to the point of madness. The door opened, and revealed a hallway, stone, dark. I traveled down it, my footsteps reverberating towards an unseen destiny. The torches that lit my path sent macabre images racing across the walls, but I didn't mind these as long as there was a modicum of warmth and motion nearby. I saw, then, the end of the tunnel, a simple, flat, gray wall of unknown material. As I approached it I saw more and more its plainness. It was simple and nothing deterred it from being so. I ran my hand alongside it. Even though I knew I was marring it with my touch, I had to acquaint with it, explore it. It was ugly in its perfection, and I had to feel it, sense it, more. As I was touching it, the wall began to crack, imperfect seems running away from my fingers, climbing vine-like up and through this single unit of perfection. It crumbled. It turned to dust. It blew away with cold draft, taking the light from the torches with it. Rain touched my face, cold, wet, full of life. My nerves went off at once as my entire body convulsed with a pleasant shudder. It was dark outside, and inside the pub the light was on, and people were conversing and drinking. I went home. I slept. I am now sitting in a pub alongside my accomplice who is speaking his usual jargon. "The rain doesn't stop, my friend." "I know." "Even when you do, the rain does not stop." I look at him and smile. "I know." "Something that is perfect cannot be marred by imperfection. You did not destroy, you created.? "How did you know?" "When the winds came, they recognized the death of death and the birth of birth. They saw in that unique slab a new perfection." As it had been many days since my odd little journey, I had simply put it off as a simple dream and nothing more. When one knows the world isn't really real, it's easy to be convinced that something is nothing. "I didn't know." My accomplice now stands up and addresses the bar. He has never done this before, and I am likely the only one who will hear him anyway. He points at me. "This man is god. This man sees without seeing and knows without knowing. Treat him as you would perfection." He turns to me. "Thank you for my experience." My accomplice is many things, but never a drinker. So it surprises me now when he goes to the bar and drinks several glasses of beer without coming up for air. What doesn't surprise me is that he leaves without paying. I won't pay for him either. Nobody expects it. I now wonder if I imagined that. I wonder if I imagined everything in my life. I wonder if I've ever even been outside this pub. Tomorrow I will come here and wonder the same things. |
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