Sarah Black's Blog: Book Report - Posts Tagged "fire-and-rain"

I just finished the story I wrote for Anna B's prompt for the LHNB project on the M/M romance group. I love the new story! I can always tell when a story is coming together because I can't stand to leave it and go to bed. I was still petting it and stroking it at 0100 like it was a skittish kitten.

I tried something different, and used songs throughout the story to strengthen the theme. The title song, of course, but a couple of other songs about rain. Since we're in the middle of fire season again, and it is going to get to 97 in Portland today (97??! wtf?), we need some songs about rain.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwugjy...

So the story I wrote for the LHNB event had to be pulled. Jen was concerned that I would be unhappy with the reception the story received, since it strayed from the prompt rather too far, and the editors felt there was a liability issue with my use of song lyrics. I couldn't rewrite the story without the songs. These inarticulate boys sang songs to each others, when they couldn't talk. It would have been like taking the peanut butter out of a pbj. Still a sandwich but not the same thing! So rather than make people unhappy or rewrite, I pulled the story from the event. I'll post it here if anyone wants to read.

It's a little over 6,000 words, contemp romance.

FIRE AND RAIN
Sarah Black

Micah Brand opened the door of his Jeep and stepped onto the gravel and pine-needle covered parking lot at Picnic Junction. Picnic Junction wasn’t a real town, but a tiny combination general store and motel, with 12 self-contained log cabins in the middle of the Gunnison National Forest. The general store was stocked with the essentials for a Colorado mountain vacation: fishing poles and bait, hats, beer and hot dogs. The store had both packages of hot dogs you could cook yourself over a campfire, or ready-made weinies rotating slowly next to the cash register if you couldn’t get your fire started.

The air was hot and windy, unusual this far into the mountains, and the brittle pine needles crunched under his boots. Usually you could feel the air getting cooler and greener and sweeter the higher you drove. It was one of the best parts of driving up a mountain for vacation, keeping the window down and your elbow in the sun, feeling the cool change in the air. But the drought and the heat wave was rolling on into the fifth year, and the mountain was dry as kindling.

“Back again?” The old man behind the counter looked like he hadn’t changed clothes since last year. His hair was a little thinner, the brown-gray color of old tree bark. “You didn’t see the Highway Patrol signs when you were driving in? If that fire down south gets any closer, they’re going to close the roads into the forest.”

“I saw the signs,” Micah said. “But that fire’s over a hundred miles south, heading west. We should be good up here, right?”

“Now it’s seventy miles south,” the old man said, gesturing toward the little emergency weather radio on his counter. “It’s been moving since this morning. You got the gear you need? I’m going to close up early, go home and check my insurance. If you have to evacuate, how about spraying some water on the roof before you leave?”

“Sure. Happy to.” Micah pocketed the key to number 12. Every year the old man had some reason he should get back into his car and drive away, back to the city. Once there was a man-eating grizzly loose in the woods; one year Red Tide was threatening the fish in the lake. Then a gang of dangerous felons had escaped from the federal pen and left tracks in the Gunnison. How did he make a living off Picnic Junction? Did he run off everybody, or just his oldest and best customers?

Micah had been coming into the Gunnison to go camping since he was a kid. His dad had liked this old man. He’d wait until Micah was asleep in their little cabin, always number 12, then he’d grab a six pack of beer and go drink on the old man’s porch, swapping fish stories. Micah usually wasn’t asleep, though. He was snuggled deep into a sleeping bag, his cheek pressed into soft plaid flannel, listening with delight and terror to the sounds of the forest at night.

The year he was nine, his best friend Joe Phoenix came camping with Micah and his dad. That was the camping trip Micah remembered better than any other. After Micah’s dad went off to drink beer with the old man, Joe raised his head carefully from the pillow, held up a hand for silence. “Quiet. I need to listen.” He waited a moment, then, “Is that…I think I hear something. Is that a bear? You know a bear can reach right up and open a cabin door with their claws. You better get in the top bunk with me. I’ll protect you.”

***

Micah was celebrating his graduation with this camping trip. Four years of college, and then four more years to become a veterinarian. He had, at this moment, more debt than many small African nations. But he was happy. A door he’d been staring at for a long time was open now, waiting for him to step through. He’d wanted to come back to the old cabin one more time, say goodbye before he stepped through and shut the door on his childhood forever.

He unloaded a bag of groceries, some bananas and plums, a plastic container of homemade white bean chili and some stone-ground cornbread. He shuddered a little thinking of the packaged hot dogs in the old man’s store. How old were they? The plastic was curling on the edges. In what god-awful slaughterhouse factory had they been made? How much salt? How much nitrate?

He reached into the bottom of the bag, pulled out a plastic bag of marshmallows. Marshmallows were okay, not the healthiest of foods, but still. They were not as bad as those hot dogs. With the state of the woods, though, he didn’t need the fire restrictions posted everywhere to tell him outdoor fires were prohibited. He’d have to cook his marshmallows over a small campstove. It really wasn’t the same. He studied the bag. Maybe he should wait.

He opened the windows of number 12 and threw his sleeping bag over the clothesline out back to air out, then he went for a walk in the forest. It looked even drier than last year, the bark on the alligator pines rough and cracking, oozing sap that dripped onto the pine needles. The air was thick with the heady pine resin, the wind dry and hot. It was strange, a different feel. Micah didn’t know much about fire, but he suspected that pitch dripping down the trees would be a sign a wildland firefighter would notice. He found himself singing the lyrics to a Tim McGraw song, “He’s my kind of rain, like love from a drunken sky….” It was a small thing, singing songs about rain in the middle of a drought, but you never knew what might help.

There was an old fire lookout tower about a half mile from Picnic Junction. It had been part of a string of lookouts built down the spine of the Rockies by the CCC back in the thirties. Micah hiked through the woods to the lookout, intending to climb up and take some pictures from the top, but when he got to the tower, the old ladder had been removed, the gray boards warped and twisted. He turned around and walked back to the cabin, his throat dry, wondered if he ought to check in with the old man’s weather radio.

The store was closed, though, so he walked back to number 12, pulled his sleeping bag off the clothesline and laid it out on the bunk. He pulled the new Repairman Jack out of his backpack, set the table with his cornbread and chili, and pulled a beer out of the cooler. Life didn’t get much better than this. He wouldn’t have minded having his dad along, or a friend, but if he could write a script for his most perfect day, it would be this day, in this place. If his childhood friend Joe Phoenix wasn’t along to tell him ghost stories and scare him out of his wits, Repairman Jack could do that duty. He was happy. Very very happy. Then he wondered, who was he trying to convince? Enough thinking, Jesus. A person could drive themselves crazy with too much thinking. He opened the book.

He was deep into ‘The Tomb’ when he heard a noise outside. The tiny battery-operated book light clipped to the cover of the book was getting dim. It was late, but he hadn’t heard the coyotes. Maybe they’d been singing, but he was too far gone into the book. He heard the noise again and realized someone was knocking softly on the door to his cabin.

He looked at his watch. It was just after midnight. He pulled open the cabin door. He’d seen the man earlier, tousled brown hair and scruffy beard, flannel shirt and jeans. He was staying down in cabin number 4, and had a heavy duty bike rack on the back of his dark green Subaru. Micah looked out the door. The Subaru was packed and running, headlights on, his wife in the passenger seat, bikes neatly stowed.

“Hey. I don’t know if you’ve got a radio.”

“Is it the fire?” Micah asked. “Is it moving this way?”

“Looks like it. They haven’t issued an evacuation order yet, but there are firemen at the store and I’m starting to smell smoke. It’s making me a little nervous, you know? We’re gonna head out. You have a radio?”

Micah shook his head. He could smell the smoke now, bitterness staining the cool night air. “Yeah, I think you’re right. No need to play chicken with a forest fire, not after the last few years. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem, man.”

Micah watched him get behind the wheel, and he waved to the pretty wife as they pulled out. He went back into the cabin and started stuffing his gear back into his backpack.

Picnic Junction seemed to be deserted. There had been no other vehicles in evidence other than his Jeep and the Subaru belonging to scruffy beard and his wife. The old man had to be around here somewhere, though. Micah heard the sound of a door slam shut, walked around back of the store.

The old man was hooking a horse trailer to his pickup, and there were a couple of firefighters standing around drinking coffee, their gear and helmets piled on a picnic table. They looked tired and dusty, like they’d been on duty for a couple of days and had taken a quick nap on some handy porch. The only light was from the dim bulb in the fixture next to the old man’s back door. Micah walked over to him. “You need some help loading the horses?”

He shook his head. “I’m going up the road, help that riding stables get some of their stock down the mountain. You need to get into that Jeep and get on down out of the Gunnison. These firefighters are gonna start digging the firebreaks with their backhoe. Might knock some trees down.”

“How many horses they got up there? They have enough trailers?”

He shook his head. “We got trailers for six horses.”

“You could rope the rest together, lead them down the mountain in a string.”

The old man sighed, turned to Micah. He looked tired, irritated, dusty. “Thanks for the offer of help. You’re a nice kid. Sorry your weekend got screwed up. But I don’t need anything from you but to let me get this done, and for you to carry your citified butt down off this mountain so I don’t have to worry about you setting yourself on fire trying to roast your marshmallows.”

The fireman all looked over at this. “I didn’t roast the marshmallows!” Why did he suddenly feel eight years old? “I’m a veterinarian. I know how to handle horses. Why don’t you let me help?”

“You’re a vet? Don’t you have to go to school for that? How old are you, nineteen?”

One of the firemen stepped closer, tossed his cup of coffee into the trash barrel. “He’s twenty-six,” Joe Phoenix said. “You might as well let him help because if you don’t he’ll argue with you until morning and by then we might very well be trapped on this mountain. And I am not going up in flames tonight.”

***

“I’m not stalking you.”

Joe turned around. “We’re not going to have this conversation right now, Micah.” He was moving ahead on long legs, and Micah was struggling to keep up. Nothing changed, Micah thought, with a touch of bitterness. A hundred years from now, Joe would be walking away from him as fast as he possibly could, and Micah would be trailing along after him, having to run to keep up. It was just a bit humiliating.

What had he been expecting? Okay, so he knew Joe had come back from the Army and taken a job as a wildland firefighter. He had, in fact, had lunch with Joe’s mom just last week and she had let out that Joe was with the crew up in the Gunnison. But that was not why Micah had come camping to celebrate his graduation. Would it have been unreasonable, given their history together, to expect a hug? A handshake, at least. But what he got was a barely civil, ‘let’s go,’ and Joe turned and walked off, expecting him to follow. Which he did. Like always.

Joe stopped next to his Jeep. “You got your gear packed and stowed?” Micah nodded. “How about some extra water?”

“Um, no.”

“Pack some extra water.”

Joe had let his hair grown out a little from his Army days, and it was a tangled dark mess from sweating under his helmet, then drying in the wind. He had about twenty-four hours’ worth of lethal dark whiskers on his face. A person would do themselves an injury trying to kiss this guy. He could take the skin right off you. Those whiskers could tear a strip of skin off the inside of a thigh without any problem. Micah stumbled in the dark.

“Watch where you’re going.” Joe turned to look at the old cabin. “Good old number 12.” He reached a hand out, snagged Micah by the front of his shirt, pulled him into a hug. Not an old friend hug, either, but a hot boyfriend hug, with hard, roaming hands. When he pulled away, Micah thought he looked tired, his dark eyes shadowed. Joe looked at Micah a long time before he kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, no whiskers. He smelled like sweat and wood smoke, with a faint trace of fabric softener from his tee shirt. “Micah, you idiot. When are you going to let it go?”

He was immediately back in high school, his stomach roiling with anxiety and insecurity and confusion and the sure knowledge that whatever he said next would be the wrong thing. The last time Joe had kissed him had been just after he’d signed the papers to go into the Army. He’d been saying goodbye, planning what Micah had been sure was attempted suicide by Taliban. It had been his fault, of course, or so he assumed, because he didn’t really know what had happened to cause Joe to run. Suicide by Taliban didn’t work, so now Joe had moved on to wildfire.

“I wasn’t trying to…I’m not…” This was useless. What could he say? “I had lunch with your mom last week.”

“I know. I heard all about it.”

He couldn’t stare at the gravel for the rest of the night. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I’m sorry about but I am. I just wanted to see you were okay.”

“Not the right time for a discussion.” Joe looked exhausted suddenly. “Let’s get those horses down the mountain and get you out of the danger zone. We can talk later.”

“Sure. Okay, Joe. I’ll wait for you.” He said it again, frowning down into Joe’s shadowed blue eyes. “If you don’t have time to talk, I’ll wait for you.” Like I’ve been waiting for you for years, already.

“Fucking hell. You are such a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you said. Idiot. Pain in the ass. What else?”

Joe grabbed him again, with the inarticulate sounds coming from his throat of a man who is close to his limit. His hands were hard on Micah’s shoulders, and he gave him a rough shake before he pulled him in, and his kiss this time wasn’t gentle at all.

***

“Heavy rain falling, seems I hear your voice calling , ‘it’s all right’….” Joe Phoenix was channeling Brook Benton.

“I taught you how to do that,” Micah said. “Sing songs about rain to stop a forest fire.”

“No, it was my idea,” Joe said.

Micah wasn’t prepared to argue, not with whisker burns on his chin and his bottom lip throbbing and Joe Phoenix in the passenger seat of his Jeep, hanging on to the grab bar with exaggerated care, knuckles white. Joe hated the passenger seat, but Micah was not going to turn over the keys. He had won so few victories in their relationship. This was a tiny one, but it was his.

“I’m sorry I called you an idiot. Dr. Idiot, I meant to say.” Joe was studying the trees out of the Jeep window. “Dr. Pain in the Ass. Oooh, Dr. Pain, my kitten has a thorn in his paw! Can you help me? You are a cat vet, right? Sweet little cats and dogs? Turtles and birds?”

“Kiss my butt. Cats and dogs need doctors, too.”

He was still staring out the window. “I’m proud of you. You’re gonna be a good vet.”

“Thanks.”

They were on a rough dirt track, climbing up the mountain. The old man was ahead of them, his empty horse trailer slewing a little on the gravel road.

“What about you? Why did you decide to become a wildland firefighter?”

“Just trying to keep good old number 12 safe for my boyhood friend Micah, the cat vet, and his bag of marshmallows.”

Joe Phoenix could really be a snide bastard. The brake lights on the trailer in front of them glowed red, and Micah pulled the Jeep into the parking area of the riding stables. The lights were on in the barn.

“You know this lady?”

Micah nodded. Sally Holiday had let him work his student vet chops on her trail horses. “She’s easy going. Patient. And she keeps her horses’ hooves and teeth in excellent shape.”

Sally came out of the barn, leading a couple of old horses. Her blond ponytail was a little frazzled, and she looked tired, the cuffs of her jeans and boots muddy. Micah climbed out of his Jeep and waved.

“Hey, Micah!”

He took the leads out of her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Sally. I thought I could put one of your old trailers onto my Jeep, drive a couple of these guys down the mountain.” He turned around, pointed at Joe. “This is Joe Phoenix. He’s one of the firefighters. They’re making a base at Picnic Junction.”

Joe looked at her muddy boots, reached out and shook hands. “Has it been raining up here?”

She shook her head. “Just a few thunder-boomers. I was spraying water on the roof of the hay barn. We’ve got all the summer alfalfa put up.”

The wind was kicking up in little fits, swirling leaves into tiny dust devils. It was still too dark to see the sky. Micah looked over at Joe. “Thunder-boomers?” He reached out, patted one of the horses on the muzzle. They were sturdy, calm old horses, with years of riding excitable rookies on their backs, but even they seemed a bit skittish. “That’s not good, is it?”

“Nope.” He unfolded a map onto the hood of the Jeep, pulled out his radio for an update. “Let me check our roads out of here are still clear. Better load up quick as we can, okay? I’m getting a bad feeling.” He looked over at Sally. “Ma’am, the evacuation order is still voluntary, but I don’t know when that’s gonna change.”

“I thought I would stay and try to hose everything down. Save what I could.” She studied his grim face. “Does that do any good?”

“Not with this kind of fire. They’re bulldozing a couple of breaks down off one of the old logging roads. I think that’s the only thing that’ll help. Best get on off the mountain, Ms. Holiday.” She looked back at her stables and big hay barn, such loss and yearning on her face that Micah felt tears spring into his eyes. He put an arm around her, and one of the horses leaned in, nuzzled into her neck. She reached up and stroked the rough mane.

She took a deep breath. “Micah, let me see about getting a trailer hooked onto your Jeep. You ever towed a horse trailer before?”

“I drove the school truck with a horse trailer attached. I should be fine.”

They heard the thunder then, a dull, muffled boom, and Micah felt the electricity in the air, a harsh, metallic taste that had the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Joe was singing under his breath. “Let it rain, let it rain, let your love rain down on me….” Clapton. It figured. Joe Phoenix could play Clapton air guitar better than anyone in their entire senior class.

When Sally was out of ear shot, Micah sailed another volley toward Joe. “Where have you been, my blue eyed son? Where have you been, my darling young one?”

Joe’s face was blank for a moment, concentrating. Then he looked up and grinned. “Dylan, right? I’ve stumbled on the sides of twelve misty mountains….”

“A hard rain’s gonna fall….” The old man from Picnic Junction came around the back of his truck. “Aren’t you boys a little young to be singing Dylan?”

“He must have been stoned when he wrote that song.” Joe folded up his map. “What the fuck does it even mean?”

“Who cares?” said the old man. “He’s still a genius, stoned or not.” He climbed into his pickup, slammed the door.

“That is a very opaque rain song, Micah.”

“No, it’s not. I love that song. Even the old man knows that song.”

“Fine. I know better than to argue with you.” Joe shoved the radio back in his pocket. “Let’s hit the road.”

***

The Jeep was logy, the full horse trailer dragging at the back end until it felt like the front wheels were spinning in the air. Joe was leaning forward, trying to see into the forest on either side of the road. “Be careful, Micah.”

“I know. You said already.” Several times.

Joe turned around, stared at him. His face was dirty, so dark and tired Micah was immediately sorry he’d sounded so bitchy. “Don’t look at me like that. Please. Just give it a rest.”

Hopelessness rolled down his chest, lodged in his stomach. What was he doing? Was there anything more pathetic in this world than chasing after somebody who’d moved on? Joe had left him, and had spent the last eight years running as far as he could to get away from him. And here he was, tracking the poor man down in the middle of a forest fire when he was trying to work. And Joe was doing everything he could not to have to slap Micah down. They had been friends once. And Joe was remembering their friendship, and trying not to hurt him.

It was time to let it go. Time to let him go. Grow up and step through the door, start the rest of his life. Look for a man who could love him, someone who would look forward to spending time with him. Not run away from him. Not make him feel stupid and small. He knew there was someone who could love him. He just didn’t know how to tell Joe Phoenix goodbye. But it was time. Long past time.

“I’m sorry, Joe. Look, it was all so long ago, wasn’t it? Eight years. I was just thinking it was time to let it go. Time to let you go, I mean. I just want you to know….”

The lightning stuck just to the left of the Jeep, and the thunder was so loud and deep and close Micah nearly stood on the brake. A huge buck elk bolted out of the trees just in front of them, ran into the front quarter of the Jeep. The Jeep lurched, and Micah jerked the wheel around, then tried to turn back. The heavy horse trailer rocked, started to twist, and the Jeep flipped over onto the passenger side, skidded across the dirt road and slammed into a lodgepole pine.

***

“Micah. Micah. Open your eyes, brother.”

Something was tickling his face, and Micah wiped across his forehead irritably. “Shit. What the…?”

“Micah. You with me?”

He was hanging from the shoulder harness, bits of shattered glass raining down his shoulders and across the front of his jeans. Joe was lying against the ground, curled on his side. “Joe? You okay?”

“I might have a problem. I think I broke my wrist. You’ve got blood on your face.”

Micah wiped at his forehead again. “I just need a bandaid. I’ve got my vet kit in the back if we can get to it. I can find something to make a splint. Sorry, Joe. I don’t know what happened.”

“A big-ass elk got scared by the thunder and ran into your Jeep. Not your fault. If you cut your shoulder harness, you’re gonna fall on top of me. I can’t move out of the way.”

Micah had been reaching for the button that would release the harness. He braced his feet against the dash, reached out and wrapped one of his arms around the belt. “Okay, here we go.”

He managed to mostly break his fall before he landed on Joe, then he reached down, released Joe’s belt. He was lying on his right side, arm braced against his chest. “Can you climb out?”

“Yeah, I think so. You first.”

The driver’s side door had a broken window, but Micah was able to push the door open and crawl through. He lay against the side, reached a hand down for Joe. By the time they were standing next to the wrecked Jeep, they were both breathing hard and bleeding, pieces of broken glass falling around them. The heavy old horse trailer was standing in the middle of the road. It hadn’t moved. Micah stared at it. Fucking hell. The thing was forty years old, more rust than paint. The back bumper and hitch from his Jeep was still dangling from the trailer, twisted and pathetic, hanging by a little broken piece of metal. “This is unbelievable.” Joe was cradling his arm against his chest, leaning against the trailer, his eyes closed. “Let me get the first aid kit. I’ll wrap up your arm.”

Micah grabbed the kit, opened it and dug around until he found a four inch Ace wrap. Joe had landed on his hand, and the wrist had bent backward until it snapped. It was already purple and swollen, the size of a melon. “Joe, give me your hand. It’s gonna hurt, okay?”

Joe didn’t say anything, just leaned over and let Micah grab his hand. Micah moved his fingers down, wrapped them around Joe’s wrist. He looked deep into tired blue eyes, and Joe smiled up at him just before Micah jerked the hand hard until the bones were straight. Then Joe closed his eyes and fell forward into his arms.

Micah managed to wrap the elastic bandage around Joe’s body, securing his arm against his chest so it wouldn’t move, before he came out of what was clearly a faint. He was going to take that knowledge to the grave, though. Never would a word cross his lips about Joe Phoenix fainting from pain. Especially since he’d nearly thrown up when he’d felt the bones move under his fingers. Wait a minute. Joe Phoenix in a faint? Was he hurt worse than Micah realized? Concussion? Traumatic Brain Injury? He bent down, stared into Joe’s pupils, then held up two fingers. “What do you see?”

Joe stared up into his eyes and smiled, his face white under the grime. “Oh, Dr. Feelgood. I think I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

“Okay, then.”

Micah sat down against the trailer next to Joe and took stock. A big jackrabbit bolted across the road, zigzagged hysterically when he saw them. One of the horses in the trailer behind them nickered. This was nice, he thought. Just a midnight outing with his old friend, Joe Phoenix. The wind was hot and getting smoky.

Joe stirred after about ten minutes. “Are you going to say anything?”

“I can’t think of a thing to say.”

“You know where we are?”

“About half a mile from Picnic Junction. You know where the fire is?”

Joe reached for his pocket, felt around for the fire radio. “Can you look into the Jeep?”

It was in pieces against the far door. “Okay, that’s not going to help.”

“So no, I don’t know where the fire is.”

“What should we do, Joe? Could we take the horses back up to Sally’s place? Maybe she hasn’t left yet.”

“I’m not sure I can ride with one arm. Why don’t you try and go, and I’ll wait for you here.”

“Not going to happen.” Micah thought again. “We could go to number 12.”

“We ought to try and get higher, if we can. It won’t protect us from the fire, but at least we can see what’s happening.”

“We could climb to the top of that old fire watch tower. We could signal or something once it gets light, see if we can find some of your fire fighter buddies.”

“I thought that thing was in pieces,” Joe said.

“I walked out to it when I got to the cabin yesterday. The ladder’s gone but we could climb the side. I’ll help you.”

“Micah, grab those containers of emergency water that we packed, then let the horses loose. They’ll find their way back to their home stables. We can’t leave them in the trailer. They’ll do better on their own.”

When he pulled them out of the trailer, the horses stared at him like he’d gone insane, then they turned and placidly started walking back up the road to the stables. Then he slung his backpack and first aid kit over his shoulder and hefted two gallon jugs of water. Joe was still a little unsteady on his feet.

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow, I never meant to cause you any pain, I only wanted one time to see you laughing, laughing in the purple rain….”

Micah stopped in the middle of the road. “Holy shit! Are you singing Prince? You must have a concussion.”

“I like Prince,” Joe said, and he kept on walking.

You do not.”

“Okay, how about this? Two points if you get it on the first guess, Micah. Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like memories….”

“Oh, give me a tough one, Annie Lennox.”

“Someone told me long ago there’s a calm before the storm, I know it’s been coming for some time….” Micah joined in, and they sang together. “It’ll rain a sunny day, I know, shining down like water. I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?”

“Oh, man. John Fogerty,” Micah said. “I had a crush on him since forever. My dad used to play those CCR records. Spinning vinyl, he called it. I still have them somewhere. I saved all those records after he died.”

Joe reached out, put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you when your dad died. My mom told me what happened.”

“I know.” Micah twisted the cap off one of the bottles of water, held it up so Joe could take a drink.

“I’ve got one. You’ll never get this. But I’ll give you a hint. It was two singers, one man and one woman, and the song came out on the woman’s album. Ready? Life isn’t easy, love never lasts, I pulled off the highway and rolled into town….”

Micah shook his head. “Sing some more.”

“Where can I run to, how have I sinned? When you cry like a rainstorm and you howl like the wind?”

“Okay, you’ve got me. Who is it?”

“Linda Rondstadt.”

“And Aaron Neville! Oh, man, how did I not know that one? Okay, here’s another Aaron Neville. What has happened down here is the wind have changed, clouds rolled in from the north and it started to rain. It rained real hard, and it rained for a real long time, six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline.”

“I’ve missed you, Micah. More than I can say.”

Micah felt his heart lodge in his throat. “I’ve missed you, too.”

They were on the path to the lookout tower, and when they got to the base, Joe sat down suddenly, like his legs couldn’t hold him. “Are you okay? Joe?”

“I’m…yeah, just… Micah, get the water up the tower. Make sure it’s safe. Then come down and help me up.”

Micah climbed up the side of the tower, the weathered boards leaving sharp gray splinters in his palms. He stowed the jugs of water and the first aid kit, then climbed back down. It was still too dark for him to get a good look at Joe, but when he helped him stand up, his hand came back sticky with blood. “You’re bleeding, Joe.”

“I think I’ve got a cut on the back of my head.”

Micah pulled the neck of his tee shirt back, saw the blood matting his hair and flowing down his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I needed to get you someplace safe. Come on.”

He wasn’t steady, but with Micah behind him, one arm around his waist, he was able to climb up the old tower. When they got to the top, Joe sat down on the platform, then fell over on his side.

“No, Joe. Sit up. Let me get you cleaned up.” The night was so black, the only faint light from star shine and the bloody red glow of the fire on the horizon. “Drink some water. Do you want a marshmallow?”

“You brought the marshmallows?”

“Of course I did.”

Micah pulled the tee shirt over Joe’s head, used one edge to mop up the blood coming from the scalp wound. It seemed to be slowing, but he got a thick gauze pad out of his bag and held it against the cut. Joe had his eyes closed. Micah gave him more water to drink, then he pulled his shirt off and rolled it around his backpack to make a pillow for Joe’s head.

“Here. Lay down here, Joe.” He wrapped himself around Joe Phoenix as best he could. Joe was shivering. Maybe it was shock. “I’ll keep you warm. You’re okay, Joe. Just…stay with me. I’ll protect you, I promise. You used to say that to me, remember?” Joe closed his eyes. Micah held him against his chest, wrapped his legs around Joe’s legs, willed the strong heart in his arms to keep beating. It was a long time before the shivering stopped.

“You knew, didn’t you?” He was whispering. He wasn’t sure Joe could hear him. “When did you find out about my dad?”

“You mean when did I find out about your dad and my mom?” Joe’s voice was sleepy. “I walked in on them kissing in the kitchen. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to know. Mom had already left my dad by then. I didn’t realize until I saw them together what was going on.”

“Is that why you left?”

“I was a kid, Micah. I thought they’d be sorry for what they did if I left. How was it so right with me and you, and so wrong with the two of them? I couldn’t figure it out.”

“I think they were sorry. They stopped seeing each other after you left. My dad was pretty miserable.”

“You knew all along?”

Micah sighed. There didn’t seem to be any place he could kiss Joe that wasn’t covered in blood or dirt. He tightened his arms, felt Joe ease back against him. “That was all so long ago. You’re not in shock, are you?”

“I don’t think so. Listen to this. This is my favorite song about rain. I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I’d see you again. I love that song. Close your eyes, Micah. Let me sing to you. It’ll be morning soon.”


End





Songs about Rain to Prevent Forest Fires
Tim McGraw ‘She’s My Kind of Rain’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbUs7u...
Brook Benton ‘Rainy Night in Georgia’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDRbF8...
Eric Clapton ‘Let it Rain’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LeSx5...
Bob Dylan ‘A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffv2wd...
The Eurythmics ‘Here Comes the Rain Again’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzFnYc...
CCR ‘Have You Ever Seen the Rain’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzFnYc...
Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville ‘Cry Like a Rainstorm Howl Like the Wind’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NowHC8...
Aaron Neville ‘Louisiana 1927’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJWKBh...
James Taylor ‘Fire and Rain’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Txj9Y-...