Wednesday, February 16, 2005
It was another rainy the in Christwood College. On the rocky, cobblestone steps, one can hear the mild symphony of falling raindrops. It is this orchestra that allures two weary men who were sitting idly under the roof of a nearby bus stop at street corner.
One man was dressed with a thick brown frock coat, covering his head with a tattered brown hat. He was small and stocky, and sported a gray and bristly mustache. His age clearly showed, he was in his 50’s, just over the hill as most people say.
The other one beside him was a man who looks barely out of his 30's. He had wavy brown hair, disarrayed from the rain. His face was young yet his eyes, dark and filled with a hidden quality, held a sort of maturity. He wore a white polo matched with black slacks that ran to the heels of his shoes.
The older man grunted, irritated by the turn of events. He had just come from a courtroom and had just lost his case. A mad man is going to be set free. His client was a rapist, and he defended him and he won. A shallow victory nonetheless, for he was a good man and his client was evidently guilty. On his way home, he got caught in the rain and found himself stranded in the bus stop, without an umbrella, cellphone dead, damp and wet from the downpour.
"My day couldn't get worse" he muttered under his breath.
But it probably will. His home was a warzone; with an ignorant wife and three demanding children. He has to think of their futures, work tirelessly unencouraged and in a job where he can let madmen run free. Wherein he sacrifices a little more of his humanity at every living day in exchange to live, it was a cycle, a vicious cycle. His eyes were tired and his legs were brittle with sores and ache. He sleeps for four hours each day, (because there was no peace at home) making up some of his sleep in the office which is often noted by his superiors and thereupon, be scolded at like a dog. He finds temporary comfort in alcohol, going to bars alone and drowning the stabs of the day with booze and liquor but waking up the next day to find that the wounds still festering.
"My wife is going to kill me" he says as he took out his cellphone and tried to dial home. He again had no luck.
Exasperated, he sat on the stop's bench and took out a container of gin, taking a big gulp and instantly he felt more relaxed. He looked at the man beside him who had not moved an inch from his comfortable position; arms laid across the back rest of the bench and one leg crossed over the over. He looked as though, he had nothing to worry about, he was calm, carefree, not a worry in the older man' eyes.
"Young'ins" He muttered as he took another gulp.
The rain poured down even harder. The older man groaned while the younger one said nothing.
"Don' let it disturb you." The young man said.
The old man was surprised by the young one' comment. He said nothing again and the old man sat back again.
"Let what disturb me?"
"You tell me" he replied.
The old man was perplexed by what the young person said. So then, he decided to engage in a little conversation to pass the time, hoping to seek comfort from talking with someone so happy and carefree.
"What are you looking at?" the older man asked.
"I am looking at the rain"
"Hm?" the old man looks towards the rain, hoping to find something that the other one was so fascinated in.
He found nothing.
"I am looking at those raindrops falling on the stepping stones by the gate."
"That's...interesting"
"Not really, it's just relaxing"
The raindrops fell on the cobblestone steps like a drum beat. The mist shrouded the college in an eerie fog giving it a sort of mystical effect, the young man could see this yet the other was a senile man who didn't bother with it.
"Do you go there to study?"
"Yes."
"I see."
"You don't like the rain do you?" the young one suddenly asked in a somewhat childish tone. The other in response, gave him a cock of an eyebrow. But his demeanor explicitly expressed his mild discomfort with the rain.
"Not really. It's complicated. I had a bad day."
"The rain making it worse?"
"I guess."
"Don't let it bother you" The old man was confused by this exchange. He thought that this guy must be crazy to be sitting here idly and looking at the rain. And the way he asks his questions, it seemed childish yet holds something else, something curious.
"Are you waiting for the bus?" the old man asked
"Maybe. I'm expecting a friend." He replied, "and you?"
"I'm waiting for a bus"
"There won't be a bus for another 2 hours. Traffic is clogged across town."
"Well, I think I can wait."
"Whatever you say. But you have a better chance taking a taxi down the street."
"I don’t have an umbrella."
The young man examined him and said, "Why let that bother you? Rain is just water."
"I have a bad hip, the cold hurts" he rubs at his sore hip and begins to cough roughly. "And I've been sick for some time now"
"I'm sorry."
"Just part of getting old."
"How is that like?" he asks "
What?"
"Getting old."
The young man turned his direction now to the old man; eyes wide with wondering and listening intently on what the old man would say. The latter on the other hand couldn’t think of what to say. The question was strange, odd. Nobody asks such things out of the blue especially not to strangers found in a bus stop. But he found nothing to do anyways and something in him wants to find out himself.
"It's tiring. You work day in and day out for money to maintain a household. You can't do anything by yourself anymore; you have to depend on other people. People think you are useless, a burden. You don't win at all."
"You try your best at something to make other people happy but you end up losing something for it. It's cruel how it works. It's like you're being pressed down by a thumb. You have responsibilities and obligations to hold but by the end of the day, nothing really changes."
The young man asked him in turn, "Do you feel like that?"
"Sometimes, yes" without a moment to think about it "It feels sad."
"It…it is…"
His revelation surprises himself.
After, there was silence again. The young man resumed looking at the rain while the old man did nothing again. His gin was half gone and he started to feel a little tipsy so he pocketed it, save it for another day he thinks.
He looks at the young person again and he felt a sort of jealousy towards him. The young man was calm, relaxed, nothing is worrying him. He, on the other hand, had shit to go through everyday. The young man was free from such, he liked the rain and he, the old man, had a half container of booze. He was old, he is young with much to look forward to. He had the rain…he had gin…
"What do you see in the rain, son?" asking curiously, trying to find out an answer to the young person's quality.
"It's a trivial thing. It wouldn't interest a man like you."
Like me? What did he mean by that.
"It's not like we have anything better to do."
"Well okay."
The young man didn’t break his gaze from the rain, "The rain is made up of these tiny little drops, you see. When you hear them, they don’t come down all together; they drop one at a time" he pointed on a wayward raindrop just about to drop from the edge of the bus station's roof.
"For one moment then, it will drop, and splash unto the ground and you will hear it." He raised his hands up, presenting the rain, "it's what you're hearing now. They drop high from the sky and they hit the ground… like us… we only have one chance in our descend, after that, we're gone."
"Interesting" the old man said as he ponders on the thought, stroking his mustache, "Who told you this story?"
"An old friend of mine."
The old man looked at the rain as the young man did and tried to listen well. He listened so closely and then he heard it, each drop falling, making their own sound, telling something. In this moment, the old man felt at peace. The little orchestra of the rain was soothing, something he had never experience before. At this time, he realized what the young man was talking about.
"You hear them?"
"Yes, kind of"
"Do you like it?"
He hesitates but then honestly says, "Yes"
The young man smiled in response and said, "See? Don't let it bother you."
Soon enough an hour passed and a bus came down the streets. It stopped at their terminal yet the old man didn't get in anymore. He was already gone, walking his way home. The young man was left and he waved the bus onwards, signaling it that he wasn't going to take it. Later on, a car came by and the young man got in.
"Sorry if I was late" The young man replied,
"Don't worry. I don't mind waiting."
"Weather's been a bitch"
"Not really. I don't let it bother me."
Then the car drove away while the rain still poured.
-Carpool
Riding the Lightning
9:20 PM
