Si Deus Me Relinquit: In Rain or Shine

Gray clouds loomed outside the tall windows that looked to the west from my parents house at 30 Adamsfield Lane. Safely inside, my breath fogged up the glass I stared outside. It hadn’t snowed yet, but the sky looked promising.

My sister caught me staring out the window. I could smell the steaming cocoa in her hands. “You think it will rain?” she asked expectantly. She sipped her cocoa gingerly.

I shook my head. “No,” I murmured. “Not rain.” I looked back out the window, adjusting myself in my seat.

“What then?” Lydia stood as close to the window as possible to try to see what I was so focused on. “Those sure look like rain clouds to me.”

Putting my hand to the glass, I replied, “I thought it looked like snow.” Lydia made a face.

I didn’t respond to it. My mind was far away, across the yard, away from the neighbor’s houses and deep within the woods, that, when Lydia and I were younger, we used to imagine housed fairies and dwarves and elves.

“Do you remember when we were little?” I asked. “The woods.”

Lydia smiled a little. “Mom and Dad didn’t want us to go into the woods, but we went anyway.” I could tell from the reminiscent tones in her voice that she was reliving the summer day, where the sun was so hot and the grass rippled like hundreds of snakes all moving in formation.

“Do you remember what we found?” I asked. Neither the day nor the event had faded from my memory, but it had been so long ago that I didn’t know if she’d remembered.

She shocked me by responding quickly. “An orchard,” she spoke excitedly. “Full of trees, with peaches and apples and oranges all in little rows.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Lydia was so immersed in her memory that she didn’t notice, even as her cup of cocoa threatened to spill from her hands. “I remember,” she said, “it was just before lunch time and we were both hungry, but none of the fruit was ripe.”

She laughed. I did, too. “And you wanted an apple so badly, but you were only six and you couldn’t climb the tree, and I couldn’t hold you up.” She giggled, probably remembering how short and awkward I’d been, reaching for those apples and falling backwards every time.

I continued to stare out the window. “Do you ever think about going back?” I asked lightly, still riding on the high of the memory.

My voice must have been sobering, for Lydia suddenly stopped laughing.

When she finally replied, it wasn’t the response I wanted. “No,” she said decisively. She held her cup firmly now, sipping it again. “I heard the place came into new ownership and that the old, beautiful orchards are gone. I don’t want to see that place gone; I want to keep it in my memory, just as it was.”

I thought this was folly and said as much, but Lydia only turned and walked away, saying, “You can go, but I don’t want to get caught in the rain.” I wanted to tell her that it wouldn’t rain, but she’d already left the room, leaving me alone in the window seat.

Before I could think clearly, my feet were taking me outside. I thought to close the door behind me, but I didn’t lock it. Already, I was across the yard and headed for the trees. I had no coat, and the wind bit at my skin. Instead of snakes in the grass, they were in the wind, poisoning me with each lash. I didn’t care too much; I had to see whether it was still there.

I crossed through barren trees, at once in my mind full of leaves and warm sunshine of that summer afternoon. A younger version of Lydia and myself ran up ahead, laughing and dancing in the summer light.

I watched my way through the trees, bumbling forward with anticipation. There was a clearing up ahead I remembered as being our secret entrance to the orchard. Sprinting, I approached it until I burst through the trees.

No longer were there neat rows of apples and oranges and peaches. There weren’t even rows. My eyes glossed over an overgrown field chock full of weeds and mushrooms, with the occasional scraggly branch reaching towards the sky.

I ran forward, looking for my memories. The younger versions of Lydia and I were gone. I could see now a few old stumps and bare patches of ground where something used to be, but the something was no longer.

In the distance, I could see the house that dominated the property. Smoke poured from one of its tall chimneys. I couldn’t recall seeing a house in my memories; I realized that the orchard must have obscured the grim monstrosity on the horizon.

The wind bit at my face and hands as I turned around, looking for something.

And, before I had a chance to think, the rain began to fall.