Rain Beat

A Short Story by A.A. Major

   Rain beat down on tin roofs not strong enough to keep the wind out. It soaked clothes hung up outside because we didn’t have space in the dinky apartments to dry them. It made puddles that my feet splashed through when I walked.

I was wearing a white shirt, too. Cold wet cloth and dark skin didn’t mix well. I had muscles, though. No one messed with a black girl with muscles.

“Yo!” someone called.

“Fuck off,” I hollered back.

“Yo, Kira!” He was running now. Great. “What’s the matter, girl?”

“That’s rain, fool,” I said, but I turned to wait for him anyway.

“My old man just got a wood stove if you wanna dry off,” Keane said.

“I like being wet.” I didn’t.

He shrugged. “Whatever. Your boss get mad at you again?”

“For knowing about discrimination laws.”

“Smartass.”

“Cock.”

Keane draped his arm over my shoulders. “Play with fire, you’re gonna get yourself killed one day, Kira.”

“Just like MLK.” Keane was soaked too, but at least he was warm.

“You going to the library again tonight?”

I shook my head. “Isaiah’s home and Ma wants me to make him supper.”

“Impress him. How soon you gotta get home?”

“Soon. How’s your brother doing?”

“Stopped coughing last night. Dad thinks he’s on the mend.”

“What do you think?”

“Summer’s coming. He’ll be fine.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Summer?”

“It’s not as bad as winter.”

I picked my way through the wreck of a beer bottle. I’d have to give him that, even though I wished we had more than a tiny fan for August.

About four floors up, someone sat down and plinked out a few notes on a piano, then a melody dripped down the sides of the building with the water. That thing needed tuning and the pianist needed practice, but it sounded nice.

“You used to want to play, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I wanted to be a ballerina, too.”

“Still dance?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me?”

Shit. The mirror was the only one that had seen me dance for years.

I got myself a little space, not like there was much in that alley, and found the beat. I didn’t know if I wanted Keane watching me, but the rain didn’t feel so bad anymore and it had been a long day.

Damn, it felt good to move that way again.

Keane put his hands on my shoulders and started moving with me. Back and forth we went, kind of slow because both of us had worked somewhere around eleven hours, but fluid and free.

Screw my boss and generic food. I was here and smiling.

       

   Just a shout out, A.A.M. is a talented, phenomenal writer that I have known for many years and she never disappoints! Thank you so much for your time and this beautiful story, my friend. –Cheyenne