She sat there at the bus station, alone, cold, and wanting to go home. She looked out at the grey blanket that covered the sky pouring water down on the city. She hated rain, it always meant that everything was closed and no one wanted to do anything, even her.
She looked down at her closed umbrella and sighed. "Why so glum?" She jumped, how long had he been there? She turned to face the stranger, and strange he was.
He had a massive backpack at his feet, he wore a pair of steel toed boots, torn up blackish grey pants that looked to be a size to big, a dark green sleeveless shirt that was covered in stains, a pale green hoodie with the sleeves torn off that was just as raggedy as the rest of his clothes, and a faded mohawk that stood proud atop his head.
The most curious thing wasn't his clothes thought, it was that he sat there smiling at her completely soaked from head to toe, seemingly clueless to the dreary weather.
She looked at him slightly stunned, unsure of what to say. "Beautiful day, huh?" He asked her politely trying to make conversation. "You do know it's pouring rain, right?"
He nodded and looked out at the rain. "Yes, very much so, isn't the weather wonderful?" She was befuddled by how he could find this to be nice weather. "I'm sorry, I don't quite follow, how is this nice? It sucks!"
He chuckled and shook his head. "No, you only think that because people make a correlation between rain and negativity. The way I look at it, it's washing away all your problems giving you a fresh start." She still didn't understand the bright boy next to her. "How, it means everything is closed and people can't get stuff done."
"Exactly, that makes it the perfect day to relax in the cool weather, or bundle up with loved ones. It is one of the things that brings people together, even if it looks like everyone hates it. It is unity in nature." She was still confused and had a question she had wanted to ask since he sat down. "So, what's with the backpack?"
He held it up and patted the waterproof exterior with pride. "this is my stuff." She furrowed her eyebrows confused. "What do you mean my that, are you, like, homeless?" He shook his head.
"No, I'm houseless. Home is where I am, it's whatever I may be. Where there is safety, where my bag is, where there is rain." He gestured to the rain with a smile. She silently listened, intrigued slightly but mostly confused.
"You're kind of weird, you know that?" She asked the strange man who sat beside her. He chuckled and nodded. "Why do you look like that?" It was now his turn to be confused. "What do you mean?" She put her hand on her head imitating a mohawk "you know, all…...punk and stuff." He hummed and nodded."Well, that's a good story. Would you like to hear it?" She nodded.
"I had a friend, Niel, he told me on day about this guy we called Punk Rock John. He introduced himself to Neil at his first show. He said, 'kid.. protect your teeth, do not lick the walls, and don't piss off the crust punks. If you get cut, let it bleed– you'll be fine.'" he paused giving a small smile to the floor.
"I was 15 years old, thinking about unzipping my veins. And while most 15 year olds would have done drugs or written a fucking poem, I went to shitty bars and basements and gave my best friend black eyes. In those pits, those were the only time my life, I knew that when I fell, someone was gonna pick me up. That first slam pit was not a quiet conversation about suicide, it was Punk Rock John telling me, "Hey asshole! Don't kill yourself! Don't waste your unscarred knuckles!"
"My rage bloomed. Why hate myself when I can hate parents, high school, the radio, record stores, magazines, corporations, yuppies, my parents, cops, sunshine, beach days, phone books, and tiny cupcakes?"
"I heard stories about the guy from Neil at first, but the first time I acctualy saw Punk Rock John, he was halfway through a frontflip stage dive, and he landed directly on me. He picked me up, dusted me off, and threw me back in the pit. Punk Rock John was 6'4" had hands the size a kick drum, and he smelled like a 20-year rain. He was Noah. He was our shepherd. One time, I saw that Neil was getting ready to dropkick some metal kid when John got him in a headlock and said, 'quit fucking around, Neil! You don't know who this kid's friends are, and I ain't putting you out if they set you on fire!'"
"John told us, 'The church of punk rock was always open. If you wanna pray, just crank up the stereo until your ears bleed. If you wanna pray, just grab your brothers and sing! Sing out of tune, sing the wrong words- just sing! Loud!" He sighed and his happy demeanor faded, he hung his head and sadly spoke.
"But then… some out-of-town skinhead dropped a guillotine knife blade into John's skull. The blood was pouring from his ears. He was dead before he hit the ground. John brought Neil and I into a world where we felt loved, and that world took him away.
Neil buried his leather jacket, patched the holes in his jeans, and tried to pluck the chords like stitches from his chest.. he just couldn't do it without John, so he packed his things and left.
Then, some time later I found him on the streets after he left town to search for something to do, he had died. He died of starvation. I had no one.
But John still speaks to me. When the world is larger than I am, when my chest is a vice.. I put that needle on the record, I turn it up until I can't hear shit, and I tell myself: as long as I have hands, I can break something. As long as we can breathe, we can sing. As long as I can remember, I will hear him– he says, 'kid, you'll be fine.'" He sounded almost out of breath from his story, looking back up into the gloomy rain.
She was left speechless, his story was so full of emotion and captivating, she felt sorry for him. She wished she could comfort him somehow. "I'm….sorry for your loss." She mumbled out trying to console him.
He smiled and shook his head. "I'm not, I loved those guys like they were my own blood. But, they taught me so much in this life, that when death comes to rip me from this world in it's cold boney grasp, I'll welcome him to do so. Life is short, and if we want a meaningful death, we sure as hell better have a meaningful life. And that is why I'm here, on this bench. Because I was heading home when I saw you and decided 'hey, she looks down, I'll cheer her up!' instead of being asleep on a train right now." He looked her in the eyes with a smile.
"So when it rains, just think about Punk Rock John. When you're sad, when you don't know what to do, when you are afraid, angry, anxious, happy, think of Punk Rock John's words: 'Your death will have no meaning, unless your life does, so make today perfect.' Go do the thing that has been flooding your mind all day, buy that shirt you want, do all the things you aren't sure about!" He smiled at her.
She smiled and turned her head away from him looking down as her eyes started to sting and her vision blurred from the tears forming. She wiped her face. "Thank you, that was just what I needed." She gave a small chuckle. "I've been sitting here for half an hour thinking about my friend, and if we'll ever be anything more. But not, I don't care if he says no, I just care that I try. That I can make the best out of a day like this. That I might be able...to enjoy the rainy days."
The boy smiled at her as she cried. "I'm glad I could help." She sat up and turned to say something but all she found next to her...was an empty bench, with a wet seat. The boy left as silently as he had come. She was left alone, but she wasn't sad, she smiled.
She stood and ran, she ran into the rain and down the street, past the people holding umbrellas above their heads as she let the cool rain wash over her. She ran fast and happily ebraced the rain. She was given strange looks, but she didn't care, today was a good day. She kept on down the street before reaching a house running up the steps ringing the doorbell.
The door opened and a confused boy stood there looking at the soaked panting girl. "Nora, it's pouring, what are you doing here?" She smiled at him and chuckled. "Hey Ren, beautiful day, huh?"