It's Always Raining In Washington -- Unicorn Short Story Forum

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Date Posted: 17:22:05 03/05/03 Wed
Author: James Danner
Author Host/IP: 1Cust172.tnt2.krk1.da.uu.net / 67.250.140.172
Subject: It's Always Raining In Washington

James Danner
e-mail: jimdanner1972@hotmail.com

It�s Always Raining In Washington
By
James A. Danner
(c)2003 All Right Reserved

She is lonely, and her long hair hangs down her back, between her shoulder blades. She lowers her head, and it swings forward into her face. She can smell it, all clean and erotic and warm, and not at all like the ocean which is cold and fishy and damp, which smells like semen and spongy logs, which surges in, clear and cold and foaming at the crests.

She glances down again at her naked feet, the pink arches pinched and wrinkled and she clenches the toes, digging them into the damp sand. The red polish is flaking off the nails, but this is okay, because she will repaint them this evening while watching TV. That way she will not have to think about Phil, or how much she misses him, or how kind he could be, especially when she was ill or angry. How he could touch her hips and her butt and her small breasts and she would feel warm and reassured. Or how he could kiss her throat until it tickled, or bite her bottom lip, or pretend to eat her nose, and he�d have hot breath and she would be so aroused.

She tries not to think about Phil. They have separated, filed for divorce, not only sleeping in separate beds, but in separate cities, and sex is no longer an issue or an option. Who is responsible? She wonders, and realizes immediately that it doesn�t matter.

She remembers lying alone in the dark, and Phil coming in. It�s just after Theresa died, and she�s ill again, and Phil asks if she�s okay and if she wants anything and the attention makes her warm. He does love me, she thinks, as he sits on the edge of the bed and touches her hip, rubbing her warm flesh through her blanket. She�s lost a lot of weight and knows it upsets him. But he doesn�t say anything, only asks if she wants some hot tea or aspirins. She shakes her head.

�I love you, Jenny,� he says, and the sound is strange. He looks awkward and uncomfortable. She tries to smile, but touches his wrist instead, his right arm.

He looks deeply into her eyes, perhaps hoping she will reciprocate. But she doesn�t answer, just continues to touch him, and his hot flesh feels so good! Oh, I do love him, she thinks, and then, immediately afterward, but it hurts so much.

She remembers Theresa. With her warm face and her wise smile. She had such soft skin, delicate and almost orange. She remembers Theresa and it�s like a lightning bolt and she is ill again. Theresa grinning, and Oh God, her tiny lips pulling away from her pink gums. Her tongue almost curled up inside and she�s making sounds. Not trying to talk, but reaching wildly for one of Jenny�s boobs, and suckling, making sounds, and the pain is nearly unbearable. Her nipples were always raw, always itching, always oozing blood.

Then another image. And it�s awful. The worst any new mother could imagine and Theresa was not even eight weeks old, but her life is over!

SIDS. SIDS, they said, as if the explanation alone would alleviate her pain.

But the worst part was her nipples, how they�d healed, slowly, but somehow so quickly, too, like a long dissolve in a movie. And the message was clear, but so bitter and so utterly unbearable.

She withdraws her hand from Phil�s warm flesh and looks at her long fingers.

Phil senses the change. He looks uncomfortable again and almost angry. He stands up.

�Well, okay. If you need anything, ask.�

�Phil�� She says and sits up a little. She wants to say something so bad, to somehow fix things, make it all better again between them, and Phil looks at her eagerly�

But she is empty. There just aren�t any words. Theresa is dead and her marriage is almost over and�well, she is just about all out of emotions. She sags back, sinks into her pillow, and mutters, �Could you open the window?�

Phil is disappointed as well, but the anger is gone. He is only sad. �Sure.�

So he opens the window, letting in light and fresh air. But it�s raining again. God, it is always raining in Washington, and the air is cold. But she doesn�t say anything, just snuggles in under her blanket and accepts it. Phil goes out and she watches the curtains for a while, then falls asleep.

I am lost, she thinks, and she is no longer aroused. She looks around at the beach, at the ocean, and sees it�s starting to rain�

The End

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Replies:

Re: It's Always Raining In Washington -- ashley owen smith, 02:55:34 11/23/03 Sun