November Rain

The rain ran in streaks down the windowpane, transfiguring my reflection, subtracting the bitter years and warping my thirty year old features to a childish face just as familiar to me.  My own reflection stared back at me, of a teenage girl of fifteen or so, and she was smiling though I was not.  Golden laughter filled the air, echoing warmly in the quiet and I frowned, puzzled, before turning about to come face to face with myself.  She watched me silently after her laughter tapered off, apparently waiting for me to come to grips with this curious phenomenon.  Well, I thought, she’ll be having a goodly wait then.  But then she smiled and hopped up from where she was sitting cross-legged in the great armchair before the roaring fire.

            “I don’t know this place,” She admitted, walking around slowly with her hands clasped together behind her back, looking at everything without touching anything.  “This rain is familiar, but this place is not.  Where are we?”

            “This is my house.  I live in Nebraska.  You’re me, but you can’t be me, so who are you and how have you come to be within my home?  There are only a few people with keys and you are not one of them.”

            “Of course I am, silly, if you have a key then it only follows that I do as well.” She stuck her tongue out at me.  “Well, Nebraska huh?” She pursed her lips together and seemed to muddle this over.  “I liked Michigan better.  The winters were so long and cold …I had so much fun in the winter, when the trees were blanketed in the frost while the crystallized tears of the angels fell from the weary sky.” She glanced out the Victorian-style window with disdain in her gaze.  “Look at that.  Rain.  In November.  Absolutely unheard of in Michigan, why, we even had snow in October!” She sighed wistfully.  “I really did love that state.  But, times change I suppose.  Where are your cats?”

            Her abrupt change of topics startled me and I floundered for an answer.  “My …cats?  Well …actually, I don’t own any cats right now.”

            She nodded to herself.  “See, there’s the problem.  No little kitties to keep you company, curling up on your lap to wait out the storm, purring and nuzzling against your hand.” She scowled in my direction.  “Imagine, no cats.  I can’t believe what I’ve become.”

            “Now, you listen here, you might not be me yet but you will one day and then you’ll understand why things are the way they are.” I replied defensively.  Who was this girl to come traipsing into my house just to berate me for who I am?  Oh wait, never mind, she’s me.  I wish now that I had paid more attention in my science classes and the like, they would have probably taught me about occurrences such as this and why they aren’t possible.  I guess though that if you don’t what is within the realm of possibility, anything is possible.

            She was looking at me with troubled eyes, her voice peculiarly melancholy as she spoke again.  “Oh.  I see.  It’s him, isn’t it?  Yes,” She went on, answering her own question,  “I understand now.  You are still regretting the opportunities lost.  Hmm, I do wonder though, is this supposed to be a lesson to me?  Don’t miss these chances or you’ll end up like this?  Or a lesson to you, to take what you have left and to make your own fortune?  Why don’t we find out, eh?”

            I turned my back on her and walked to the window without replying, crossing my arms beneath my breasts as I stared out at the weeping world, bathed in darkness and strangely comforting.  The clouds outside would be preventing the stars and moon from illuminating the barren landscape below and for that I was thankful.  Yes, I missed seeing the trees all bedecked in wintertime splendor, heaps of glittering, fluffy snow blown against houses and vehicles.  I missed the perfect packing snow, missed the bitter, chilly northern wind that cut through to the bone no matter how many layers of clothing one wore.  I missed catching the snowflakes on my tongue and breaking the icicles off of the roof and sucking on them while I would lie on my stomach, safely insulated from the cold snow by my snow clothes, watching time slip by without a care on my mind.

            I smiled then, so caught up in reminiscing that I barely heard the twinkling bells against the symphony of soft, melancholy pitter-patters against the panes of glass.  But when I turned around at last, unwilling to invite the darker specters of my past forth by way of memory, she was gone, as if she had never even been there.  I returned to my chair and sank down into it numbly, staring at the crackling flames without seeing them until I heard the pitiful mews from the front door.

            There was a wet and bedraggled kitten on my front stoop, looking up at me with sorrowful emerald-green eyes as it meowed again quietly in a very young voice.  My breath caught in my throat as I wordlessly lifted the shivering little cat into my hands and brought it inside to warm without a moment’s haste, all concern over the girl who was me vanishing as the soggy ball of white fur in my hands took precedence in my mind.

                        *                      *                      *

It had been raining for three days straight before she came again.  As before, she arrived without warning as I filled the bowl of water for the kitten.  When I turned around to see her squatting beside the small animal, petting it lovingly, I barely had time to stifle a sharp cry of alarm.  She laughed and looked up at me with her soft blue eyes reflecting mirth and I managed to look suitably put off as I set the pitcher of water beside the sink and wiped my hands on my blue jeans for lack of anything better to do with them.

            She stood up and the kitten, which had been purring delightedly, mewed in indignation, rubbing against her ankle until she giggled again and scooped the tiny creature into her hands.  “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” The girl inquired.

            “Yes, yes, she’s darling.  Does she have a name?”

            The girl glanced up at me and smiled knowingly, having caught onto my game already.  This strangely gave me a feeling of pride, I was proud to know that I had been a wise young lady so long ago.  “Only if you give her one,” She replied easily, her voice never once betraying her own thoughts on the matter.

            “What are you here for today then?” I asked business-like, putting my hands on my hips as I looked straight at her, my own blue-green gaze never leaving hers.  It was strange, staring into eyes that mirrored my own, eyes with the same golden rings about the pupils, eyes with the same peculiar tendency to change shades with moods.  Her auburn-brown hair fell a ways past her shoulders in curling waves, the same way mine had looked half a lifetime ago, but now it was cropped short, just past my ears, and darker than it had been in my youth, more closely resembling my mother’s, minus the gray.  She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing when she arrived the first time, a dark navy sweater over a simple white tee and a pair of khakis, a snowflake necklace her only jewelry save for the golden ring with the rose upon it.  That ring had been a gift to me from my mother on my fifteenth birthday and I still had it, upstairs in a green pouch and tucked away inside a wooden chest that smelled faintly of cedars.  She brought the kitten to her face, rubbing her cheek against the kitten’s soft body and smiled sweetly, blatantly ignoring my question.

            Rolling my eyes, I decided to abandon that line of questioning.  Something inside told me she had about as much knowledge of what was going on as I did.  “Her name is Ambria.  I had always thought of that as a pretty name …ever since I saw it on that bottle of home fragrance spray.”

            She laughed.  “Even though the stuff didn’t smell all that good.  Yes, the name fits …you used it for a white kitty in a story too …one of the many you failed to finish.”

            “Hey, not true, it’s finished.  I finished it in my twenties, but I’ve kept it with my other stories that I don’t feel like publishing.  I don’t need to print those ones …those are the wild imaginings of two little girls scampering around the woods like dryads or the like, not the stuff you’d find in the bookstore.  I don’t like to publish the stuff that we came up with as kids, that stuff is my personal stuff.”

            “But you publish the things about him.” She pointed out.

            I shook my head slowly.  “That’s because no matter what, wherever I have a male character, something of him is in it.  He’s just the background, the basis of every single guy in every story and poem of mine.  Not my fault.” I held up my hands as if to ward off violence.  “Besides, we’re getting off track.  Let’s talk about why you’re here.”

            She kissed Ambria’s forehead and set the purring kitten down on the floor and crossed her arms about herself loosely, my posture of vulnerability and defense.  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out and somehow it all ties in to him, I’m sure of it.”

            “Him?  Him who?” I asked, playing dumb.  “My Uncle Chris?  He died twenty years ago this month …on the second, I believe.  Is that who you’re talking about?  My dad maybe?  Nope, he’s gone too, but it was in a different month, February if I’m not mistaken.  Maybe my paternal grandfather, oh, sorry, that was in January though.” I was ready to go on, but she stopped me with a glare of disgust and frustrated sympathy.

            “Stop skirting around this, you know precisely who I’m referring to.  You don’t have to say his name if you don’t want to, we both know who I mean.”

            I was getting worked up and I knew it.  This fifteen-year-old girl was trying to tell me the problems I have now as though the problems I had then – incidentally, the same issues – weren’t affecting her at all.  “If you’re me, then you’ll know how sick I am of you acting all superior.  You don’t hold all the power and information and I sure don’t so stop pretending that you do.  I don’t tolerate it in myself so I won’t tolerate it from you either.”

            She smirked.  “You are so confused right now.  Why don’t you just say it?  You are lost and in terrible need of guidance and you want me to help you through this.”

            I gritted my teeth together and whirled around to pick up the pitcher of cat water and prepared to hurl it at her when I realized she was gone again.  “That stupid disappearing act of hers, ensuring that she gets the last word is really starting to irritate me.” Oh great, this was just fine and dandy, now I was arguing with myself about myself.  Now let’s see, where was the number to the asylum?

                        *                      *                      *

“I have met the enemy …and it is I.” Ambria responded by licking my finger with her sandpaper tongue, removing all traces of pizza sauce and cheese from my hand.  I sighed and rolled onto my back, listening to the steady drizzle outside as I stared up at my ceiling, my mind wandering absently.  Suddenly, she was right above me, peering down at me with a devilish grin on her face and she started to laugh as I jolted and scooted away quickly.  Gosh, I had never realized how annoying I was when I was younger, what a little brat I was being!

            “Well met, enemy mine,” She stated in a hollow tone, her eyes laughing merrily as she extended a hand to help me to my feet.  I ignored the proffered hand and remained seated on the carpet, perfectly happy to lounge around while she waited, tensely, for me to cooperate.  Instead of rising to my bait however, she shrugged and sat down beside me, scratching behind Ambria’s ear as she pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her feet at the ankles, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her head on her kneecaps.  I knew that position well, it was my ‘I’m-so-innocent-you-just-have-to-love-me’ look. 

            “Hey, I can hate myself if I want to,” I told her.

            She beamed.  “You love yourself, always have and always will,” She argued matter-of-factly.  “I should know,” She sniffed primly.  “I’m you, only better of course.  This young, I’m still daddy’s little girl.”

            “More like, ‘renegade rebel daughter’ if I quoted him correctly.” Strange as this was, I found arguing with myself to my liking, it was like having a little sister in the house, but actually I can’t really compare it to that since I only had a little brother. 

            She blew me a raspberry and sat back comfortably, I knew how uncomfortable the ‘love-me-pose’ was, if I didn’t pull it off just right.  “So …you have any chocolate?”

            I laughed then, harder than I can remember laughing in a good long while and she was laughing too until we both had to wheeze for air and wipe away at the tears in our eyes.  “I’m rather surprised that that wasn’t your first question,” I managed to say at last.  Chocolate had always been one of my deepest loves in life and it still was to this day, which is why I keep a formidable stock of the yummy stuff.  Within ten minutes, we were back on the floor, cake crumbs on our faces and fingers and candy wrappers decorating the floor as well.  Two glasses of milk sat partially drunk nearby and I continued to sip from mine as she tapped her feet lazily to the rhythm of the rain.

            “This rain is familiar, isn’t it?” She asked in the quiet that followed.  Ambria was curled up before the fireplace, snoozing in the pocket of heat around the popping wood.  I had grown up with wood cook stoves in the house and in my teenage years we had gotten a gas fireplace with an imitation log, but after I had grown up and moved out, I decided I wanted the real deal in my house.  That fireplace was perhaps my best friend, next to chocolate, on days and nights like this.

            “Yes,” I responded finally, heaving a sigh.  “This rain is far too familiar for my liking, though I like it anyway.”

            “Rainy days have always offered too much time to think and reflect, too much time to regret and to wish for changes that can never be.  Rainy days are so melancholy and bittersweet, but the rainy days like these are different from the run-around-outside-in-the-wet-without-any-shoes-on kind.  There are rainy day dreams, and there are rainy day memories …some inspire you to look to the future with a bright grin, and the others make you cry for the past that can never come again.”

            “Hey,” I said,  “you rhymed.”

            She chuckled and leaned back against the couch, lacing her fingers together behind her head.  “We do that sometimes.”

            “I miss him,” I admitted softly.  “I miss the way he made me feel when he smiled in my direction.  I miss the sweet sound of his laughter and how he reminded me so much of Little Boy Blue from the nursery rhyme.”

            “I know,” She murmured sympathetically, closing her eyes as she let out a gentle sigh.  “I know that happily ever after must exist for some people.  I just hope that it exists for me …for us.  We deserve it, you know,” She was smiling tenderly as she took one hand away from the other behind her head to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

            “Everyone deserves something.  It’s just a matter of accepting what you get until you get what you want.  And hey, it might take more than one try at bat.” I murmured philosophically.

            “I’d like to see it happen this lifetime though,” She answered.  “You know that patience isn’t one of our stronger virtues.”

            I laughed again and closed my eyes in relaxation, listening to the rain drumming down outside.  “Good things come to those who wait, but those who wait without taking advantage of opportunities …those who would rather sit around waiting for Fate to take their hands and lead them step by step through life to the prize at the end …” Something was beginning to make sense in my mind.  I knew I was on the verge of realizing the key thing that would make my life …our life, the one we wanted to have.  I opened my eyes as the bells sounded again, and she was gone without a trace.

                        *                      *                      *

Ambria mewed happily and rubbed against my ankle, tickling me with her fuzzy fur as she purred loudly.  I reached into the cabinet and pulled down a mug for the cocoa I was making and reached over to take the mug she had fetched for herself.  She grinned as she leaned against the countertop, hands tucked into her pockets.  “What, no startled jump or noise of choked surprise that you don’t want to acknowledge?”

            “I think I’m getting used to this,” I replied.  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

            “Not sure, got a feeling though, we may be parting ways after tonight.  I think we’ve both been wising up.  We’re almost ready to take life on our own again.”

            “You think?” I asked, filling her mug before filling mine.  “As long as we’ve got a cat for company, we should be just fine.”

            She giggled as she took her mug and followed me into the den where the fire was burning down, the room nice and cozy for midnight.  We settled down, her in the great armchair and me on the couch and we both gazed at the fire for a time, watching the play of color on the embers and feeling the warmth spread through the room.  Ambria was settling down before the fire then as well, looking back at the both of us with sleepy emerald-green eyes before curling into a little ball and falling asleep.  The silence seemed too golden to break, but we both knew that all good things must come to an end and there were things that still needed to be said.

            Outside, it was still raining steadily, a monotonous thing now and the people were all hoping that the water would turn to snow before December snuck upon the land.  She cleared her throat first after taking a long sip of the cocoa and smiling appreciatively.  I hadn’t learned how to cook anything, from popcorn to cocoa to roast until I was in college and I guess she was glad to know that she’d be able to drink the hot chocolate drink whenever she would want when she was older.

            “We’ve never had patience,” She said.

            “No,” I agreed.  “We’ve always wanted to do things our way when we wanted to.  We never wanted to wait to be shown how to do everything right the first time.  That’s probably why it took me so long to learn how to cook.  I never did let mom teach me, I had to teach myself.”

            “Yeah, I don’t know what’s happening to me right now, making me want to wait for someone to take me step by step, but I know that it lasts too long, if you’re any indication.” She smiled.  “So, what does this tell us?”

            “I don’t know …I do know that we tried, and it didn’t quite work out the way we had hoped.”

            “Mmm,” She murmured thoughtfully.  She watched me with her head tilted at an angle, steam rising from the cup of cocoa in her hands to curl in the air about her face.  Her smile was sadly subdued and her gaze fell away for a time before she cleared her throat and began to speak gently.  “We made a mistake.” A wistful sigh.  “Everyone does at one point or another.  The thing is you’ve got another chance to right the wrong of your past.  Snatch up that chance and make the most of it.  Have some faith in yourself, have some courage.  I know you’ve got it in you.” She giggled then.  “I’m you, remember?”

            I laughed shortly.  “How can I forget?”

            “The fire is dying.  I think you should add another log to it, if you don’t want to freeze tonight.” I turned and saw that it was indeed flickering low and I went to set my own cocoa on the table between the couch and the chair, looking to where she was sitting, only to see that she was no longer there.  The cocoa sat on the table by her chair, a tendril of vapor rising into the air reminding me of the time I was wasting.

            I rose and moved towards the phone, taking another sip of cocoa for strength before depositing the mug beside the bookend and next to one of my own hardcover novels and reached for the phone, almost trembling in anticipation.  After so many years …what, only fifteen?  Oh well, after that long, I’d be surprised if he remembered me at all, but if there was one thing I’d learned from my interaction with my past self, it was that one should spend less time doubting and second-guessing and more time taking the initiative in order to get the most out of life.  Taking a deep breath, I dialed.