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The wind picked up and he noticed a thick wall of rain was fast approaching. It was going to come down hard...and that was why he stayed on the balcony. To watch.
The wind gusted from the left, so he moved to that corner for a hint of protection. Moments later, sheets of rain crashed down and soaked the area to his right, for several minutes. Growling. Thundering. Almost joyous in its insistence, smothering the road and trees...
Until the wind died and the rain continued straight down. Heavy and strong. Like it had in Rashomon, at the temple as three men took shelter. And spoke about the impossibility of truth even in the face of evidence.
The gentle hiss of droplets hitting the pavement was something Simon always found to be cleansing. Add in the aroma of it, he could usually grow calm and think...and his mind would settle. But this time it was being elusive.
He slowly slid to the floor, keeping to the corner, letting hints of the splashing water drift over to him from the railing. It dampened the lower part of his trousers. He was wearing socks, so removed them and pulled his pants legs up to let the tiny puffs dance over his naked toes and ankles. Even as a child, that had been his favorite part of a storm.
Doyle had thought him mad, the first time he saw Simon do this. They had moved into a Spanish style duplex off Broadway. Downstairs unit. Decent yard. A wide park area across from them was only grass and a few trees, where people let their dogs run free. That day, the rain made the houses on the other side nearly invisible.
Simon had sat cross-legged on the tile floor under the section that was covered. He’d had on shorts, a cut-off tee-shirt and flip-flops when Doyle drove up in that god-awful Matador he'd thought was so cool. Then he’d scurried up from parking on the street. Dressed as perfectly as ever, but now soaked.
“What the hell, Simon? Couldn’t you have met me with an umbrella?”
He could have, but it hadn’t occurred to him.
“You goin’ out to dance in it, next?” Doyle had sneered, shaking the rain off. “Get yourself hit by lightning, next?”
Simon had just shaken his head. The silence was too nice, at that moment. He didn’t even need to get up and let him in; the door was open. So Doyle had headed inside, dripping wet.
That was the only time he’d ever left Simon alone with it. After that, at such moments there was always something Doyle needed from him or needed him to do, so Simon had grown to where he would get up whenever he saw the man coming.
And have an umbrella handy.
Like a well-trained dog.
After Doyle died, Simon had made it a near ritual to just sit and watch the rain. Almost like an act of defiance. Or a declaration that he needed no one to be whole and complete.
Being alone is considered a failure in so many people’s minds. Like if you can’t accept not wanting to be bothered by someone who’s invading their space...or if you can't be happy without a relationship to help them through life...or you needed a husband or wife or lover or a man in the sky looking down on you with benevolence, for support...you weren't human.
To cap it off, if you still were not of the same belief as them, you had to have something wrong with you. They could not accept the idea you could be strong enough to just live on your own. It was too frightening to them.
He had finally understood, after many years, that was something Doyle had been scared of. Being alone. Not having control. Of himself, mainly, but also needing to believe he was strong enough to control another.
And Simon had supported that nonsense for far too long.
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