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.