all because of the rain

Pitter-patter raindrops scatter, she loved the sound of rain on the roof and he did not. In fact, he loathed it. When the rain rattled the attap roof, she would smile and sigh, taking it in accepting the fact that rattling raindrops on roofs were a fact of life. A good one. She loved the rain, how it would cast a sort of cool damp darkness around and draw her in to another world, a world she could snuggle into and relax. And as the pitter patter tapped the attap roof with its rattling her brain would jig and jog and she, she would begin filling up that white canvas with colours and images from a different world.

The sound of rain triggered a different sort of physiological experience for him. Of course the initial pattering would be bearable, before it would overpower the sound of the television or the radio he would usually be intently focused on. He would turn the devices up to drown out the rattling rain but his ears would only hear the tapping of the raindrops on the roof. Soon the volume of the television would be at its maximum and the tapping would begin to reverberate in the space between his two ears, numbing his brain to anything else but the tapping sound. His body would begin to twitch to the throbbing tap tap, tap tap, tap tap, as his muscles tense up to resist the constant beat of the rain.

And as the rain rapped and tapped the attap roof, she would start to sing and dance to its beat.

The friction between the muscles and the rain would heat his blood up to boiling. As hot blood flowed through that tense body of his to the beat of the throbbing tapping of the rattling rain his whole self soon becomes aware of nothing else but the sound of the rain upon the roof and his heart would begin to beat to that same beat and his temples, would throb to the beat of the rain on the roof as hot blood rushes to his head. And then he would hear the sound of the rain again and again, tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.

And as the rain rapped and tapped the attap roof, she would fill up that canvas with magical things, and many-a-things others would only dream of.

When they first met he was deaf to the rain. He was too enchanted by her beauty. She possessed that sort of beauty that had a middle that was bottomless. He was first captivated by her golden brown skin, and then her silhouette under her long flowing dresses. And then he was drawn in by that curly hair that like her, had such character, and a sort of craziness, and her smile. Her eyes would speak in more languages than one, straight to the soul, and she had a sort of fluidity about her. She flowed through the world, rather than around it.

He used to love to watch her paint, to watch her fluid self dive deep into this other world she sees. He would be transfixed upon her every movement, as she turns imagination into reality as she placed brush to canvas. And when she was done, they would go for a walk in the park, towards the hills, or on the sandy beach. There was something about her, and he would stand in awe watching her collapse into the arms of a sea-breeze, which would always seem to ever so gently carry her and lay her down on the sand. And as he lay down beside her he would always feel his skin rather than the warm sand, always. But she, her skin was no barrier, she and the ground she lay upon was one. They would then walk back to the little wooden house with the attap roof where they would blissfully lie, and fall asleep in one another's arms. And he would vow to protect her, always, and to always make her smile.

And then, as months go by, he heard the rain for the first time. It was just that morning he refused to have the oats porridge he had been having for breakfast everyday since he moved there. He longed for the greasy big breakfast he always had before they met. It was just that morning, when he longed for the fry-up, and criticised her breakfast for the first time he saw that her left eye was a little smaller than her right, and her nose was a little crooked. So he made his own little fry-up, and ate without her.

And then it began to drizzle, and he wanted to watch television, she wanted to paint. She did not want the noise, so he carted the television into the bedroom and shut the door, and she went about painting. And it started to rain. Then it poured. And it poured down loudly. The glass that sheltered him from the sound of the rain suddenly shattered, and he heard it, he heard the sound of rain.

He turned up the volume, which made her cry. For it cut right into her, the volume of the television that is. And this war began, between him and her, everytime it rains. He began to long for the days of the fry-up, where he only had himself in his tiny box of an apartment smack in the middle of the city with Richard upstairs, and Rita downstairs, of course he had never spoken to either.

He longed for the days where he had blinds, which he could control with a remote control, and shut out the sun, and daylight, and sleep in the whole weekend. Where he could watch whatever he liked, whenever he liked, at whatever volume he pleases. And when the sounds of the busy city got loud outside, he could pull his sound-canceling headphones over his ears. He had a pretty sweet world there.

Soon, everytime it rains, it seemed she had a new flaw so when the monsoon season flew around, she lost all her zing, and all he could hear in his head was, tap tap, tap tap, what was so good about her after all, tap tap.

And as the rain rapped and tapped the attap roof, her worries would lift, and she would smile. 

But he, he would turn up the television. 

Then one day, in the middle of a heavy pourdown, him tense in his armchair, and she engrossed in her painting, her beauty lost all hold of him and he screamed. He screamed and he screamed and he screamed turning up the volume of the television. It was then she turned to look him in the eye, and saw him as he is.

The sound of the television cut through the cool damp darkness that surrounded her shattering the world around her, and sharply cut right through her and she sobbed, and teared, and cried a cry from deep within her. He He turned around and packed up his big leather suitcase, and drove his car back to his tiny box of an apartment underneath Richard, never to come back.

She slowly turned back to her painting and painted the picture of his promises shattering into a million pieces before falling to the ground, a tiny piece at a time.

It was months before it started raining again, but it did rain again and as the rain rapped and tapped the attap roof her sadness melted and washed away as she sang and dance to the rhythmic beat that brought a smile to her beautiful face. And he, he put on his voice cancelling headphones and turned up DJ Samsa's tunes so loud he could not even hear himself, and they lived happily ever after in their own little worlds. All because of the rain.