John Chu: The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere

Gus’s words pummel me no matter how softly he tosses them. My own words scrape my throat. I taste salt and metal when I swallow. Lying then letting the water wash my throat and fill my lungs tempts me as much as pretending Gus isn’t sitting on the bed. Every trip, I decide that I’ll sort things out later. Then I go home and pretend the trip never happened. That won’t work this time. Gus is, if nothing else, a witness and a reminder.

“Fine.” I sit up and stare at the carpet. “Once, I gave Mom flowers for Mother’s Day and Michele humiliated me because flowers wilt and how dare I send Mom something that would die. Michele accused me of ruining her birthday because one year I sent her a card with blue birds on it. Like I knew her parakeet had drowned itself in her toilet. One Christmas Eve, Michele asked me to shave for Christmas day. I didn’t really have any stubble so I forgot. She couldn’t understand why I would refuse to do something to make her happy, especially something so simple, so she ambushed me with a razor. I wish she had better aim. Shaving cream stings your eyes. For weeks people wondered why I had scars around my neck and on my face. Is that enough, or do you want more? Why should I have to keep putting up with her?”

I am so tired. My body won’t stop shaking. Air won’t stay in my lungs. Melted snow pools around my boots. I wish Gus weren’t looming over me. I wish he were in his apartment, or visiting his own family.

Gus sits, mouth agape, for a moment, but if he expected water to fall on me, he’s done a terrific job of not showing it. His arm straps across my shoulders and pulls me to him. He presses a finger under my chin and guides my head until I face him.

Part of me wants to bolt, get into the rental car and find somewhere else to stay for the night. The rest of me knows that’ll hurt Gus and he’ll be too much the hero to admit it. Like screwing up all of my relationships at the same time is a good idea.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with her.” Gus unzips my jacket, then peels it off me. “But are you going to write your parents off too? Say we have a kid, and I’m not saying we should or shouldn’t, don’t you want the kid to know their grandparents?”

“So I’m right and she wins anyway?”

I rub my face. Telling me I’m right is a change. Once, Mom told me everything Michele does to me, she does because she loves me and wants the best for me. Why couldn’t she just hate me instead, I asked. That talk didn’t go well.

“What you mean by winning?” Gus shrugs. He hangs my jacket on the coatrack next to the door. “You broke today. It happens. Maybe some time away from her is a good thing. Tomorrow, we’ll go back and we’ll try it again, okay? If you want, I’ll stick to you the whole day.”

I take a deep breath. It feels like the first time my lungs have expanded in hours. The pine and wet leather assault my nose. “Sure.”

I take off my boots. Melted snow has soaked through to my socks. My feet are cold and clammy. Gus is still standing at the door.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Gus holds a hand up to interrupt me when I ask him to stay. “You don’t want me around and frankly, right now, you’re too wigged out to be good company. I know you’re not angry at me, but it’ll be better in the long run if I leave now while we’re still on speaking terms.”

I’d protest but that would just make his point. Gus turns out the lights before he leaves. The comforter is wet from melted snow. It sticks to my skin when I fall into bed. I curl up into a ball and roll the comforter over me. Buried, I finally start to relax.

This time, I have left the world but it still doesn’t feel right. The mattress ought to be sunk deeper. My arms should be around the hulk of a man who can’t ever admit hurt or pain. I should be immersed in the warmth of his body as he is in mine.

“I love you, Gus.” Now, I just have to figure out how to say it while he’s in the room.

Snow evaporates off the comforter. I’m warm and dry. I wriggle my head out. Flowers and ozone replace the smell of pine. A spring breeze grazes me. I stare at the door in the dark, wishing it would open.

“The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere” copyright © 2012 John Chu

Art copyright © 2012 Christopher Silas Neal