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Description
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
He lay quietly on his twin-sized bed, listening to the pelting rain outside and wishing he could go to sleep. The television in his room displayed jokes of various stand-up comedians whose names he didn’t know. The television was loud, but it simply served as white noise so that he could sleep. It wouldn’t work out that way tonight. Again.
Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Winds blew harder against the single window in his room as the storm grew more intense. He droned out the laughter and the exaggerated voices and focused intently on the erratic pattern of the never-ending beating at the roof, the walls, the window.
Why can’t I sleep?
After a moment of stillness, a black cell phone on the desk across the room started vibrating, and the chorus of Uniklubi’s “Luotisade”§ blasted forth. He turned off the TV, waited for his favorite line to end, then walked to the phone and noted that it was now 2:23 in the morning—in Chicago. It was twenty past midnight where the call was coming from. Only one person had this ring-tone, and Lewis lived in Seattle.
Taylor picked up the phone. “Hey Lewis. What’s going on, man? You almost never call.”
“Hey, hey! I am so glad you picked up. Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing’s going on. I just wanted to talk.”
“Really? Half past midnight and you ‘just want to talk’ to someone who’s living two hours ahead of ya? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Oh, shit. I forgot about the time difference. My apologies, my apologies. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah, it’s cool Lewie. So, what’s on your mind?”
“Not much, actually. Oh, hey, is ‘Luotisade’ still your ring-tone for me?”
“Yeah, I’ven’t changed it yet.”
“Don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s your favorite song. So I guess not enough has changed, huh?”
“It’s raining here, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Yeah, it’s raining pretty hard here, too.”
“Is that what’s keeping you awake, Taylor?”
He chuckled. “Man, Lewis, that’s the first time someone’s called me by name in over a fortnight. These days, people just talk to you. They remember your face and not your name, but they memorize the names of celebrities they’ll never see in person. Funny world, ain’t it?”
“Indeed.” He paused briefly and chuckled too. “Fortnight, first time I’ve heard that word in decades.”
“Can’t be. You’ven’t lived that long yet.”
“No, but I’ve never heard it said in a normal conversation either.”
“That’s ‘cause we don’t talk much, not anymore anyway. What happened, Lewie?”
“Nothing. It’s the rain, I’m telling you.”
“What? Lewis, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Eh, I can’t complain.”
“Sure you can, you do it all the time. Well, ya used to.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, honestly, how are you?”
“I’m tired, Taylor, fucking bloody tired.”
“Tired? Lewie, it’s after midnight. Go to sleep.”
“I’m tired in a different sort of way.”
Different sort of way? What the hell does he mean by that?
“Taylor. I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“It’s the rain, I’m telling you.”
What on earth is he talking about?
“It’s the rain.”
“Lewie, are you at least in bed? Have you actually tried to sleep yet?”
“No, that wouldn’t help.”
A pause. “Yea, I guess I know what ya mean.”
“I knew you’d understand. You always understand.”
“Well, I understand the sleep part. The rain part’s fucking confusing. Lewie, you sound real bad. If something happened, I at least want to know that it did, even if you don’t tell me what ‘it’ is.”
“No, man, nothing happened. I’ve just been thinking.”
“You sound like you should be sleeping.”
“You should be, too.”
He forced a laugh at this, unsure of how to proceed. Never in their friendship had Lewis spoken like this. In fact, Lewis rarely talked much at all, especially not to him. They were childhood acquaintances who formed a strong friendship after meeting each other in the second grade, and their present friendship was maintained merely by random gift exchanges (by snail mail, no less) throughout the years. (Neither of them liked Christmases or birthdays much.)
“Taylor, what do you think about the rain?”
“It sounds nice.”
“But you don’t want to go outside and get soaked?”
“Hell no, man. It’s too cold for that. What kind of a question is that anyway? Do you want to go out to get soaked, Lewis?”
“Not always, but it’s fun to do from time to time.”
“Wow. You ever get pneumonia from that type of behavior?”
“Not yet. I don’t go out for long, just long enough to get soaked before I reach the front steps of my house again.”
“Wow, okay. What do you think of the rain?”
“Too much. You ever wonder if the rain would be loud enough to muffle the sound of a gun going off?”
“What?! Lewie, seriously, what the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking.” A brief pause. “You ever wonder if the rain does something funny to the dead bodies in the cemetery? Coffins are supposed to be waterproof, and I think they usually are, but do you ever wonder if the little acid in the rain slowly corrodes coffins and frees the zombies? I wonder if we’d be able to hear them coming out of the ground in this downpour.”
“Are you at the cemetery?!” Good God, he needs a distraction from his own mind.
“No.”
“Right. Okay. You want to know what I’ve been thinking, what I think about when it rains?”
“Yes.”
“I think the rain is just a symbol for us. Each one of us starts out as a drop of water in the rain clouds above, and all of us want to escape and get free, but when we finally do break free, we’re all going in the same fucking direction—down. Down we go, each one of us, in our attempt to get away from the others, but when we finally hit something, we just want to get back together again. We form puddles, streams. Rivers and lakes are just really big versions of puddles and streams, but the point is the same. We get back together and then all go up again. Evaporation is like this symbol for the after-life, and then we get stuck in the rain clouds again and repeat the process.”
“So that’s what you think about.”
“Fascinating, ain’t it?” The rhetorical question emanated with sarcasm.
“Fascinating indeed. What do you think about when it snows?”
“How different is that from rain?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one to answer that? You do live in Chicago, after all.”
“It’s quieter, but it’s the same damn process.”
“Ever think it means more because it’s white and fluffy?”
“Lewie, you’re talking about snow like it’s a dog.”
“So snow represents the lives of dogs.”
“Uh, sure, man, whatever.”
“Don’t hang up. Please.”
“Of course not. I need to make sure you’re all right. Don’t want anything funny happening to you. Especially not if you start the process.”
“Aww, doesn’t this conversation count as something funny?”
“Ha, ha. No, not really. It’s fun, but not funny.”
“Oh, cool. So I’m not boring you to death. Good, good. This means I get to pick your brain some more, right?”
“Hahaha,” genuine laughter this time. “Shoot your questions and I’ll answer ‘em as best I can.”
“Awesomeness.”
“Craptilicious.”
They both laughed, greatly enjoying the peculiar situation: two people who hadn’t spoken in years still shared a friendship stronger than most others enjoyed, and they were currently talking to each other early in the morning, split by time zones, as if they were sitting face to face in the same room. Their thought processes couldn’t be more different, but they knew each other well and were both in the same predicament: sheltered from the torrential rain, stuck somewhere between full-consciousness and sleep.

Description
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
He lay quietly on his twin-sized bed, listening to the pelting rain outside and wishing he could go to sleep. The television in his room displayed jokes of various stand-up comedians whose names he didn’t know. The television was loud, but it simply served as white noise so that he could sleep. It wouldn’t work out that way tonight. Again.
Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Winds blew harder against the single window in his room as the storm grew more intense. He droned out the laughter and the exaggerated voices and focused intently on the erratic pattern of the never-ending beating at the roof, the walls, the window.
Why can’t I sleep?
After a moment of stillness, a black cell phone on the desk across the room started vibrating, and the chorus of Uniklubi’s “Luotisade”§ blasted forth. He turned off the TV, waited for his favorite line to end, then walked to the phone and noted that it was now 2:23 in the morning—in Chicago. It was twenty past midnight where the call was coming from. Only one person had this ring-tone, and Lewis lived in Seattle.
Taylor picked up the phone. “Hey Lewis. What’s going on, man? You almost never call.”
“Hey, hey! I am so glad you picked up. Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing’s going on. I just wanted to talk.”
“Really? Half past midnight and you ‘just want to talk’ to someone who’s living two hours ahead of ya? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Oh, shit. I forgot about the time difference. My apologies, my apologies. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah, it’s cool Lewie. So, what’s on your mind?”
“Not much, actually. Oh, hey, is ‘Luotisade’ still your ring-tone for me?”
“Yeah, I’ven’t changed it yet.”
“Don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s your favorite song. So I guess not enough has changed, huh?”
“It’s raining here, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Yeah, it’s raining pretty hard here, too.”
“Is that what’s keeping you awake, Taylor?”
He chuckled. “Man, Lewis, that’s the first time someone’s called me by name in over a fortnight. These days, people just talk to you. They remember your face and not your name, but they memorize the names of celebrities they’ll never see in person. Funny world, ain’t it?”
“Indeed.” He paused briefly and chuckled too. “Fortnight, first time I’ve heard that word in decades.”
“Can’t be. You’ven’t lived that long yet.”
“No, but I’ve never heard it said in a normal conversation either.”
“That’s ‘cause we don’t talk much, not anymore anyway. What happened, Lewie?”
“Nothing. It’s the rain, I’m telling you.”
“What? Lewis, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Eh, I can’t complain.”
“Sure you can, you do it all the time. Well, ya used to.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, honestly, how are you?”
“I’m tired, Taylor, fucking bloody tired.”
“Tired? Lewie, it’s after midnight. Go to sleep.”
“I’m tired in a different sort of way.”
Different sort of way? What the hell does he mean by that?
“Taylor. I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“It’s the rain, I’m telling you.”
What on earth is he talking about?
“It’s the rain.”
“Lewie, are you at least in bed? Have you actually tried to sleep yet?”
“No, that wouldn’t help.”
A pause. “Yea, I guess I know what ya mean.”
“I knew you’d understand. You always understand.”
“Well, I understand the sleep part. The rain part’s fucking confusing. Lewie, you sound real bad. If something happened, I at least want to know that it did, even if you don’t tell me what ‘it’ is.”
“No, man, nothing happened. I’ve just been thinking.”
“You sound like you should be sleeping.”
“You should be, too.”
He forced a laugh at this, unsure of how to proceed. Never in their friendship had Lewis spoken like this. In fact, Lewis rarely talked much at all, especially not to him. They were childhood acquaintances who formed a strong friendship after meeting each other in the second grade, and their present friendship was maintained merely by random gift exchanges (by snail mail, no less) throughout the years. (Neither of them liked Christmases or birthdays much.)
“Taylor, what do you think about the rain?”
“It sounds nice.”
“But you don’t want to go outside and get soaked?”
“Hell no, man. It’s too cold for that. What kind of a question is that anyway? Do you want to go out to get soaked, Lewis?”
“Not always, but it’s fun to do from time to time.”
“Wow. You ever get pneumonia from that type of behavior?”
“Not yet. I don’t go out for long, just long enough to get soaked before I reach the front steps of my house again.”
“Wow, okay. What do you think of the rain?”
“Too much. You ever wonder if the rain would be loud enough to muffle the sound of a gun going off?”
“What?! Lewie, seriously, what the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking.” A brief pause. “You ever wonder if the rain does something funny to the dead bodies in the cemetery? Coffins are supposed to be waterproof, and I think they usually are, but do you ever wonder if the little acid in the rain slowly corrodes coffins and frees the zombies? I wonder if we’d be able to hear them coming out of the ground in this downpour.”
“Are you at the cemetery?!” Good God, he needs a distraction from his own mind.
“No.”
“Right. Okay. You want to know what I’ve been thinking, what I think about when it rains?”
“Yes.”
“I think the rain is just a symbol for us. Each one of us starts out as a drop of water in the rain clouds above, and all of us want to escape and get free, but when we finally do break free, we’re all going in the same fucking direction—down. Down we go, each one of us, in our attempt to get away from the others, but when we finally hit something, we just want to get back together again. We form puddles, streams. Rivers and lakes are just really big versions of puddles and streams, but the point is the same. We get back together and then all go up again. Evaporation is like this symbol for the after-life, and then we get stuck in the rain clouds again and repeat the process.”
“So that’s what you think about.”
“Fascinating, ain’t it?” The rhetorical question emanated with sarcasm.
“Fascinating indeed. What do you think about when it snows?”
“How different is that from rain?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one to answer that? You do live in Chicago, after all.”
“It’s quieter, but it’s the same damn process.”
“Ever think it means more because it’s white and fluffy?”
“Lewie, you’re talking about snow like it’s a dog.”
“So snow represents the lives of dogs.”
“Uh, sure, man, whatever.”
“Don’t hang up. Please.”
“Of course not. I need to make sure you’re all right. Don’t want anything funny happening to you. Especially not if you start the process.”
“Aww, doesn’t this conversation count as something funny?”
“Ha, ha. No, not really. It’s fun, but not funny.”
“Oh, cool. So I’m not boring you to death. Good, good. This means I get to pick your brain some more, right?”
“Hahaha,” genuine laughter this time. “Shoot your questions and I’ll answer ‘em as best I can.”
“Awesomeness.”
“Craptilicious.”
They both laughed, greatly enjoying the peculiar situation: two people who hadn’t spoken in years still shared a friendship stronger than most others enjoyed, and they were currently talking to each other early in the morning, split by time zones, as if they were sitting face to face in the same room. Their thought processes couldn’t be more different, but they knew each other well and were both in the same predicament: sheltered from the torrential rain, stuck somewhere between full-consciousness and sleep.