I. Rain

The sidewalk was so saturated with rainwater that it had nowhere to go but into the steady river that flowed along the gutter, rushing downhill as quickly as the laws of physics would allow, gushing into the storm drain. Rain had been falling in the city continuously for three days, part of the wettest season it had been since the early 1900s. Cars were regularly backed up during rush hour traffic, and the usual shorts-and-sandals were replaced by umbrellas and galoshes.

The musty, humid scent of rain and earth permeated through the city, and in the background the subtle aroma of flowers wafted above the smell of wet concrete. Clouds hung low and seemed low enough to touch. The vibrant green of the grasses and trees popped out of the otherwise grey environment, seemingly out of place in an urban setting.

Melissa rushed home from a horrible day at work, pedaling as quickly as she could, evading doors swinging open, swerving cars, and inattentive pedestrians. She hated this part of her day. She hated Thursdays in general -- her ninth birthday was a Thursday, and it seemed to have happened as such that her own mother forgot about it.

The rain continued to come down in pails as Melissa got to her apartment building, a two-story beige remnant of the 1920s, essentially a large house converted to accomodate nine rooms of tenants. She ran inside, bike in tow, and trudged up the stairs past her dimly-lit hallway to Apartment 2C.

Inside the apartment building there was a flurry of activity; on the first floor, the tenants were organizing a friendly game of Thursday night poker, while the upstairs tenants were minding themselves as they watched reruns of Friends and ate microwave dinners. In Apartment 2C, someone had left the window open, causing a giant puddle to form across the hardwood floor.

Melissa opened the door to find her entire living room soaked. She surveyed her space, thinking, and sighed.

"It's not toobad," she said out loud.

She closed the window, avoiding the puddle that was now being soaked up by three rolls of paper towels. How could I forget to close the freaking window, she thought, when it was raining the whole day?

She soon realized that she hadn't left the window open.

Melissa then ran into her bedroom and searched her nightstand. "My ring," she said to herself, "where the hell is my ring?"

She found the ring case and opened it. Inside the small, velvet box was a note in lieu of a ring; she took it out and read it.

"You want your ring bacK?" was all the note said.

Melissa's face flushed with anger. "Hell yes, I want my ring back."

Soundtrack

I remember one time waking up to you playing "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera. It was a lazy Saturday morning, and all I wanted to do was sleep in, but you decided that setting the speakers to the loudest volume would do everyone a bit of good. I woke up a little startled, then saw you standing there, smirking, mouthing along to the words.

It was around the time when everyone loved to hate Christina Aguilera.

And then the chorus would hit, and you would sing along at the top of your lungs, and I would giggle under the covers as I rubbed the sleep off of my eyes and tried to wake up. Then you would jump back into bed, give me a kiss, and go back under the covers with me. Your legs would be colder than mine, and we'd spoon to warm them back up.

And we'd hum along until the song ended, laugh at how silly we were being at eight in the morning, and play it again. Then we'd taunt each other about going to McDonald's for breakfast, jokingly at first, then growing more and more seriously until we'd give in and go. You'd always get another sandwich on top of your meal. I would always get another hash brown. But both of us would always get orange juice, since we knew they had crappy coffee.

After eating we'd slump back into bed, turn on the tv, and snuggle, and we'd still be humming Christina. So we do it all over again until the song was planted in our head for the rest of the day.

-----

One of my favorite moments is seeing you tear up as you listened to Kermit the Frog singing "The Rainbow Connection." The song hits the part where Kermit says, "I hear them calling my name," and you looked up from your chair, and told me, "This song is so sad!"

So I kissed you and hugged you and made you feel better, and whenever I'm lonely, I listen to Kermit telling me that someday, we'll find it.

-----

You sang "Bye Bye Bye" at work. You said everyone didn't like it since it was *NSync. And then you told me, "I forget that not everyone understands me like you do."

And it made me happy.

-----

Whenever Arrested Development came on, we'd sit on the futon, and I remember raucous laughter and spilling drinks anytime we heard "The Final Countdown" because we knew something awesome was happening to GOB on screen.

-----

We were hanging out with some friends one night, and we were all just shooting the shit until someone suggested karaoke at Japantown. Three dozen beer cans later, and everyone armed with a microphone, "Hey Jude" rang in the hallways of Do-Re-Mi at two in the morning.

That was also the night that we realized "Sweet Child of Mine" was an incorrigibly long song, thanks in part to the monster guitar solo in the middle, and that everyone singing Radiohead songs in a row wasn't making for a very uplifting let alone danceable karaoke experience.

-----

We rented a car once, a Nissan XTerra, to drive around one weekend. We didn't know where we were going, but we ended up doing the hike trail at Point Reyes and Tomales Bay, and it's still one of my favorite memories in the entire world. We walked along the coastline and saw cows grazing along cliffsides. There was no traffic, just the hint of saltwater at Stinson Beach, and the shade along the Marin Headlands.

On our way home, the entire Beulah album kept us company, and I wanted to let you know how much I fell in love with you.

So I did.

-----

The last time I talked to you on the phone, it was raining, cold, and windy. I rushed to get back inside, umbrella dripping, shoes sopping from the river of gutterwater accumulating outside. We were talking about robots, then about flowers, and then singing.

And you serenaded me with a short but sweet melody, one you made up yourself that lilted up and down, "I love you and I miss you and I can't wait 'til we're together again."

I wanted to cry at how much I missed you.

hiatus.

so long.

apologies.