Early Morning Rain Storm

Crying. The cat would not stop crying. He was perched right outside the old man’s window. Long whines. Almost yelling like it was being tortured or something. He got up and opened the door to the trailer and the cat took off into night. No sounds. Just left as fast as he could. Ran down the street and under the porch of another trailer. Lightening could be seen in the distance.

The old man turned on the light in the kitchen and looked at himself in the glass. He pulled the curtains back a bit. Hadn’t shaved in a few days. Hair was long and greasy. I’ve stopped caring, he whispered. That’s usually the beginning of the end, he thought. Thunder started to rumble.

Half a pot of coffee sat on the counter from the day before. The old man put the container up to his nose and smelled it. Old. Strong smell. He tasted the cold liquid. Bitter. It was bitter. Poured a cup and placed it in the microwave. Added cream and sugar. Took a long sip. He was pleased. Dogs began barking. It started to rain.

Drops of water hit the kitchen window. Almost like bullets. Tat, tat, tat was the noise of the rain. He watched from his chair. Rain could be seen in the glow of the streetlight. Water poured into a hue of bluish yellow. Amazing, he said. Just amazing, he shook his head.

Storms. He liked storms. He and his wife used to make love during storms. Now he just sat with a cup of coffee. Watching from the sidelines. No longer a player. Those days were over. She was asleep still. Snoring. Farting. Took all the covers. Talked in her slumber as well. A different discussion every night. Spoke to their son who had left long ago. Talked about baking bread. Told her husband to stop and listen, she mumbled. He still loved her.

Sounds of the cat crying returned. It yelled out loudly. The old man fixed a bowl of milk. Waited for the rain to stop. And placed it on the front porch. His job was done. The old man leaned back in his recliner and whispered, Goodnight everyone. Goodnight.

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