The Sudden Exit from Sun

I was walking down 48th, which is a gravel road, when the rain came down hard. I had to stop and close my eyes and just listen to the rain hit the leaves in the trees above me and just the hiss as it surrounded me in a mist. Some girl that was a block ahead of me started running to get somewhere out of the rain, for it was coming down hard; I was already soaked. I had every intention of going home, but now I was intrigue with the idea of just walking away – going underground.
I started walking towards home at a nice leisurely pace. There is something about rain that really brings out the melancholy in me, but not necessarily a depressed tone, but a sense of serenity. The ozone smell made me smile and I turned on Rural towards my house, and the rain let off a little bit, but it still came down in a drizzle. Steam was wafting up from the street and the cars, and the sun started peaking out, which started warming things up. The sun always dampens my mood.
I snuck through the backdoor and found my room in total chaos. I had been living like a total slob, and a counselor I once had told me that your room reflects your emotional well being and my room stated that I, my friends, am a fucking mess. Help me. I picked my way through my room to the closet and dug through sweaters and shoes to find a sleeping bag. I found it, and I remembered some girl I had shared it with several years ago and that was the last time I had ever used it, so I smelled the bag to see if I remember anything at all, and I smelled a forgotten love.
I filled a backpack with clothes and my toiletries and headed out the door again and walked up Rural Street to 52nd avenue to the bus stop. The clouds were way to the Northeast now, and the sun was basically in control of the entire sky, which pissed me off because I always prefer rain over sun.
I wasn’t always that way. Ten years ago I started working at a hardware store and they put me in charge of the plumbing department, and I loved my job, but on days when the sun came up, especially Sundays, the worst people on earth came in: Homeowners. These fucks would come in with these grandiose ideas of how they were going to save money by doing the remodel, repair or project themselves.
What usually happen? They come in and ask me what I would do if I was stupid enough to attempt to move a shower basin five feet to the right. I would tell them exactly what they should do, and they wouldn’t like my advise because it was usually too hard or too expensive, so they would come up with their own plan against my better judgment, but I would help them anyway picking up the tools and materials they need to fuck up their house, and I send them away saying I’ll be there all day if they need to come back.
They always come back, and they’re covered in water and sometimes mud, and they are pissed. Most of them will ask why I didn’t try to stop them. Others will think I gave them the advice they gave themselves, so they yell at me that it was my poor advice that flooded their basement, pissed their wife off because they don’t have a shower till Tuesday, or some other reason they shouldn’t have taken this job in the first place and made the call to a plumber in the first place.
They tell me what happened and I give them some ideas and advice on how to proceed, and they usually don’t take, and they come up with a new plan all on their own, and I watch them leave knowing in three hours, I will see them again.
I got to the point that when I woke up and saw the sun coming up, I would literally get depressed as I looked for my uniform shirt, but if I woke up and the world was dark and I hear the drops hitting my window, I would almost cheer.
The bus came and I got on and sat in the bench seats that faced the back door so I can look at my reflection. I don’t know if I’ll think I’m handsome or ugly today as I sat down and scanned the bus for people I knew, interesting people to look at or hot girls, and I see none so I stare at myself as the bus rocked down 52nd going South.
I decide I’m ugly today.
I get off at the Clackamas Towne Center and wait for this other bus. I notice that I’m at the bus stop and somehow I had unconsciously com e up with some plan to escape and I am following it through blindly. I know exactly what my subconscious is doing, but I’m not conscious of it. I almost seem floating or empty as I wait. I try to push the thoughts out of my head as they enter. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to think about my job, or my friends, or my family or any fucking people. I don’t want to think about who I’m letting down or what I’m screwing up by leaving.
The bus comes and I go sit exactly where I sat on the first bus. Still ugly, but I keep the stare and I almost mad dog myself in the reflection. There are only a few people on the bus, so I don’t worry how weird that may look.
By the time we got on highway 224, I was the only one on the bus, but the bus driver still called every stop. There is nothing on 224 but farms and forest. I started feeling better being farther and farther away from Portland, but the thoughts entering my head were getting harder and harder to fight off. Some of them were winning and I was regretting being this far out already, but I stayed strong.
About five miles away from Estacada I pulled the stop line and waited for the bus to find the next stop, and I hoped there was still some forest there. The bus nosed up to some street that was heading into the trees, and I got off and wondered since there was no one left on the bus, if he’d still call all the stops.
I walked up the road a ways to get away from 224, and I felt tired. I felt the Tired. I wanted to curl up and just go to sleep right there, and I felt like it was because I had wasted so much of my Time. I felt the emptiness I felt earlier fill with Dread and Fear, and I had to fight each step up that lonely road.
I got to a bend in the road and right in front of me was a stand of Douglas Firs and behind them was a forest of Alder. I felt the weight of the backpack and the sudden drop in temperature. I shivered a bit, but I had my jacket on. A drop of rain hit me right in the nose, and I felt the emptiness win over the dread and fear, so I just walked into the forest as the sky opened up a torrential downpour. Thunder rocked the sky and I saw lightning to the South.
I walked for what seemed hours until it got pitch black. Rain was still coming down hard and steady, and I was drenched and cold and started feeling sore from stepping over branches and getting whipped by them, and all I could hear was my movement through the dense forest and hissing of the rain.
I felt around for a soft spot and found a bed of wet moss that was a rain sponge, but it felt softer than anything, so I lay down and closed my eyes and to my surprise I fell right to sleep.
I dreamed I was standing in the forest and the rain had stopped and I was in the middle of a small clearing which was enclosed by Oak trees older then time. I stood there almost expecting someone to come meet me there. I was watching a particular gap between two Oak trees very intently, and this was one of those dreams that I hate because I’m looking at me and I don’t look like the real me. In this dream I was an uglier version.
A stag prances into the clearing and comes right up to me. I put my hand out and the deer smells my hand and he looks at me and our eyes lock. He doesn’t blink for a long time and my eyes are watering from trying to keep mine from blinking but I lose.
He says, “Are you ready to come home?”