Kissing the Rain

By , Stamford, TX
I open my eyes having been suddenly awoken by something loud and insistent. I raise my head even though there is a terrible pounding there and look around my room to find the source of the noise. I spot my vibrating cell phone on my night stand, and sensing that I’m looking at it, it seems to get louder.
I get out of bed and on unsteady footing head for the phone. It’s a text message.
It’s from Martha, “Where r u?” I start panicking at look at my clock, two in the afternoon.
“S***!” I swear, all the head pounding and unsteadiness suddenly gone. I start pulling on last night’s clothes not caring if they smell like stale beer and floral perfume. I almost hope Martha smells it and asks me whose perfume it is. I would laugh and tell her, “not yours!”
I head out of my room and down the hall that’s covered in pictures of me all the way from my first baby picture to my three high school pictures, the only one left is the senior picture that will be hung in 8 months.
Climbing down the stairs I say a silent prayer that my mother has left to run errands. I really don’t want to listen to her b**** and complain about what time I got home last night and who I was with and what I did.
“Adam? Is that you?” My mother calls from the sitting room. No doubt she is sitting there reading the gossip column in the news paper shaking her head at every ones scandals.
I freeze hoping that if I’m still enough she will think she just heard something and leave me alone then I can escape to Martha’s unquestioned. But unfortunately my plan fails miserably. I hear her fold the news paper, set it down, and take another drink of her afternoon coffee, black, like it’s some magical potion that will allow her to get through this encounter with me. I hear her shoes clicking on the hard wood floors.
If I knew that I could escape this lecture I was about to endure, I would leave. But leaving would only mean hearing it later and I don’t want that either. Not that I even care what she has to say, but if I act like I do care and I’m really listening then my mother gets this false sense of hope that I’m finally going to do as she asks, but oh is she so wrong.
“Uh, yeah mom it’s me.” I say heading toward her, like I’m heading to my death. Kelly, my mother rounds the corner. She has shoulder length auburn hair that complements her chestnut colored eyes. She is tall and lean, athletic, still beautiful at 40 years of age.
She is still in her bath robe, which tells me something must be wrong. As much as I want to know what is wrong I have my own problems which are presenting themselves to me again as my cell starts vibrating again, this time in the pocket of my jeans.
“Please don’t answer that,” pleads my mother and I take my cell out of my pocket and look at the screen. Martha, instead of texting me has decided on calling.
I look at my mother, “I gotta take this,” and open the phone, “Hello?”
“God, Adam, where have you been? You know you have to be here by 1:30!” Martha is screaming in my ear and I’m getting really ticked off. Calmly I respond, “Yes Mrs. Vega.” I hang up; look up at my mother glad I have an excuse to get out of this ‘talk’.
“That was Mrs. Vega.” When she looks at me like she doesn’t have a clue as to who I’m referring, I annoyingly remind her that Mrs. Vega lives down the street and I have to mow her yard. God she must really be out of it today. My mom was actually the one who got me the job.
“Oh, yeah Martha Vega. You have been doing that for a while haven’t you?”
“Uh, yeah mom for 6 months now.” I don’t remind her that she was the one who got me the job. Knowing something was wrong with her; I didn’t want to upset her further.
I turn around take the few steps to the front door, twist the knob, turn back around to tell her I will be back later to find her already leaving the room. Rejection hits me like a bullet square in the chest even though I know that feeling rejection is not a valid thing to be feeling right now. If anyone should have been feeling rejected, it was mom, I just couldn’t realize it. It wasn’t till later that I realized I smelt alcohol on her breath.
The Vega’s house is a large two story craftsman that sits on a corner lot at the end of my street. Windows plank either side of the massive front door that is positioned in the middle of the house and the lawn is manicured every Sunday afternoon by me.
I pull into the drive way as I do every Sunday and park my ’86 year model Chevy pickup. Already Martha is walking toward me, all anger I felt toward her a few moments ago is gone. Obviously I know she is furious because I am 45 minutes late, but I’m still surprised by the look of pure fury upon her face.
Trying to redeem myself I hurry up to her and kiss her on the mouth. I feel her lips form a smile under my own and know I have won. Score one for Adam!
I pull away from her and open my eyes I catch her quickly turn her smile into a frown and cross her arms. Take one from Adam!
“Whose is it?” She hisses, arms never uncrossing and the frown never wavering.
I know that I had originally said I wanted to laugh and rub it in her face that I was with another woman last night that wasn’t her, but I just couldn’t hurt her. So when I don’t immediately respond to tell her the perfume is just some girls from a party last night, she burst into tears.
“I knew it! I knew it! I knew you were freaking cheating on me!”
She slaps me hard on the left cheek and already I can feel a mark rising. Anger floods into me and consumes my whole being. I bite my tongue to keep from telling her that she has no room to talk and that she is the one having an affair with me.
In my state of bewilderment I am frozen and all I can do is stare at her agonizingly beautiful face. Her almond shaped brown eyes, which are framed by extremely long eye lashes, still have tears swimming in them. Her full lips are set into a pout that would have any man at their knees and her light brown skin is shimmering under the sunlight.
I really don’t know what to say to her. I’m afraid that whatever I say isn’t going to be right so I just stand there looking like a shamed school boy. Thank God though she says something, I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there in the silence.
“You better start on the lawn, Alex will be here in an hour and a half.” With that she walks away and heads into the cool house, hips swaying with every step.
I speed through my mowing and anyone that looks will be able to tell I did an hour’s job in thirty minutes. My lines are crooked and I flat out didn’t do the yard on the side of the house. A few times when I passed the living room window I could see Martha standing there watching me. I would catch her eyes and she would back away from the window, hating being caught in the act.
35 minutes after I got to Martha’s house I’m putting the lawn mower back in the shed when I hear the door close. I turn around and she is standing there, hidden in the shadows. I walk the rest of the way to her because she did come out here to me, it was now up to me to go to her.
She isn’t smiling, but she isn’t crying either, which I take to be a good sign. Gently I take her hands in mine, eyes set on hers that are set on her shoe. After what seems like an eternity, she looks up at me. I look into her eyes and try to put reason into what is going on between us. What I see is a lonely 29 year old married woman who doesn’t get the love she needs from her always absent husband.
Do I know that we are doing is wrong, he** yes! Is that going to stop me, he** no! Do I love her? Maybe, but I’m just 18, I don’t know what love is. But as far as I can tell, for right now it is a win-win relationship. She gets the attention she craves, while I get to brag to my buddies that I’m sleeping with a married woman.
She leads me to the work table already working on the buttons on my jeans, and all worry of right and wrong is simply forgotten.





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