The Man Who Lived in the Cemetery, Part 10
Part 10
J decided to
leave the cemetery for the day.
A bank of grey
(or was it gray? J couldn’t tell) clouds were looming in that particular way
that clouds do when they aren’t scudding or floating.
J wondered what
else it was that clouds did besides loom, scud or float but he wasn’t well-read
enough to come up with anything quickly and thinking about cloud movement wasn’t
getting him home any quicker.
Thunder
murmured faintly in the distance and J took this as a sign to get in the car
and start driving home.
As J drove
through the gates the sky opened up into a very, very ordinary summer
rainstorm. There was nothing noteworthy
about the rainstorm. There were no
lessons in it or metaphors, no lightning of particular beauty, no actors
blinking into the drops while slowly looking upward and being redeemed in some
way or having something revealed to them for the first time.
It was just
rain.
J turned on the
windshield wipers to keep the non-redeeming or revelatory rain from obscuring
his view of the road, other drivers and the occasional pedestrian braving the
downpour.
After he got
home the rain intensified but he decided to make a run for the front door
anyway. He grabbed the mail out of the
box adjacent to his door (but fortunately under a soffit) and took it
inside. There were three bills (it was
early in the month), one charitable appeal and a coupon-clipper magazine whose
corner had gotten wet so J would have to wait to peel apart the pages and see
what coupons he could clip.
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