It Rained On The Day of the Old Man’s Wake
The Waiting Girl looks out through the window of the cafe: Big round drops of rain splatter themselves against and across the glass, some to streak down, some to hesitantly progress like the lifepath of someone who had peaked in school: In uncertain spurts, ever downwards.
She leans forwards, arcing her back. An elbow settles on the table, a chin into her palm. It is the day of the wake of the great man and it is raining –
Isn’t it just so appropriate? That the sky would weep as the nation weeps, that the Heavens grieve along with the nation?
Fuck. That’s really good. I should instagram that. Hashtag philosophical.
It takes some time to get the reflection of herself in the window. She composes her post, adds –
I wonder if there’s someone in charge of this sort of thing?
She looks at it. She smiles.
The Entity Currently in Charge of Such Things checks his spool of silver lining.
He feels justifiably proud.
This is the wake of the century and he is – truly – doing some of his best work. He has always been a little insecure in his cloud weaving but this – a storm of this magnitude – This is truly something, this is the kind of thing that people will talk about. This will go viral.
He checks his spool of silver lining. It’s not easy. He had been so worried while the Old Man was in hospital, he had felt such a traitor for even thinking about having to prepare for this. But prepare he did, he had gathered all the silver lining he could. Hospitals are great for that. A hospital doesn’t have bad news that isn’t followed by a “but…”. There’s always hope in a hospital.
There’s always a but, and not just because of the gowns.
He’s not sure he should have made that joke, even if this is only an imaginary conversation. Nevermind.
He had prepared for this. He had soldiered on. He had thought the thought that he really didn’t want to think and he had bravely soldiered on. He had done his duty and that’s the kind of thing that the Old Man would approve of. Duty. The doing. Not the talking, the doing. That’s the kind of thing that the Old Man would approve of.
He winds the loose strand into the spool, uncrosses his legs, stands. He’ll need more clouds and–
“There you are, you son of a bitch!”
The Entity Who Came Out of Nowhere comes out of nowhere to swerves to a stop in front of him, fists on her hips, eyebrows knit. He doesn’t know who she is.
A moment passes. He has this distinct feeling that he needs to apologise for something, but he isn’t exactly sure for what. So he says: “Hello?”
She points. “You. You’re the one who stole my clouds.”
There had been a rather convenient cluster. He thought he got lucky. “I didn’t mean to– You left it out over the ocean. That’s dangerous you know, that’s how typhoons–”
“No no no. I’m not here for a lecture. You will stop this storm right now! I need sunshine. My girl is on a first date and–”
“I’m sorry, but clearly this is more important.”
There is a moment. It’s the kind of moment you get after you’ve said something and eyebrows go up and there is nothing but silence and you think maybe you said something wrong and you hope that the other person hasn’t noticed but of course they have because otherwise their eyebrows wouldn’t be raised. Raised like the Sword of Damocles.
She’s smiling, almost gleeful. “This is more important?”
She raises a finger. “You said this is more important.”
He turns away from the glare.
“Why is this more important?”
“No, please. Go on. I want to hear this.”
“Of course it’s not more important because no one is worth more than everyone else, but… you know.”
She shakes her head, with a sort of disapproval that borders on pity. “The thing about what you’re saying… You’re not supposed to say it. Everyone is supposed to be equal and we all know that that is not the case, it will never be the case. But you’re not supposed to say it.”
“Are you like, reassigned or something? Are you new at this?”
“I’m not new at this.” Can someone new at this make such a magnificent storm? Of course not. Clearly you do not recognise masterful work when you see it. “Are you? I hear Orihime has a new intern.”
She points at her wings. “I’m an angel. I wouldn’t intern with her.”
“You never know.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Anyway, you’re right and I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say it.”
“Well then. How about a rainbow?”
“Do you want to dwell on what I said or shall we fix the problem? A first date. A rainbow would be nice, yes?”
“Oh.” Her eyes seem to widen. A moment later, she softly says: “Oh.”
“Would that be okay?”
“Yes. I would like a rainbow.”
“Then you shall have one.”
“A rainbow would be very nice.”
For a first date.
The Awaited Boy sits down next to the Waiting Girl (she’s still waiting; not for someone else, but for something else).
He smiles. “I saw your post.”
“I saw that you liked it.”
“I get that it’s appropriate when the sky weeps along with the nation, but really - really - it’s just so inconvenient. Hm. I should post that. Come, take a picture with me.”
They do, he does.
She picks up her phone. “Hashtag I am awesome?” She laughs.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s one of those things.”
“You’re not supposed to say it.”
“Even if it’s true?”
She smiles. She shakes her head. She looks down, so he cannot see that she’s grinning like an idiot.
Hashtag especially if it’s true.
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||Something witty this way comes…|
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