Pluviophile
(n.) A lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind on rainy days
The quiet, rhythmic sanding was kept in perfect time with the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside the basement window. It was one of those rare Sundays that he had off. He was alone in his basement with the boat and bottle of bourbon as his only two companions.
Most people would complain about it being rainy on their day off. It was the middle of spring, and things were finally warming up. People were coming out of their long winter's hibernation to enjoy the new life forming everywhere around them.
Not him. Ever since he was little, he had loved the rain. Some of the first memories were when he and his mom would sit on the swing on the back porch of their house and would just listen to the rain water the thirsty Pennsylvania ground.
He loved the serenity it brought and the peace and joy it gave him, and to be honest, he just liked enjoying something other people found a necessary evil.
Whenever he told people he liked rainy weather the best, they looked at him as if he was crazy. To them, maybe he was.
There had only been one person he had ever met who loved the rain as much as he did.
Shannon.
He smiled as he recalled memories of them sitting on the front porch of the rustic mountain cabin they had rented for their honeymoon. They just sat there for hours on end, Shannon wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, watching the rain fall. They didn't talk, they just cuddled and enjoyed being together.
He could hear the pounding of the rain intensify outside, as he took a swig of bourbon and tried to resume his woodworking, but the flood of memories just kept coming.
|•|
The day he first met Kelly, it was a rainy May day. He remembered the trees were an electric shade of green against the deep grey sky.
He came through the door, sopping wet and trekking mud all over the floors. Oops.
He had managed to come home three days early, thanks to a friend who traded his return date with him.
Shannon was fast asleep on the couch in the living room, one of his USMC t-shirts hanging loosely from her petite frame. She was obviously exhausted, for she was an extremely light sleeper, and she didn't even move a muscle as he moved through the room.
He walked over to stand in front of her sleeping form and just drank in the sight of her. His wife. The love of his life. The woman he had been forced to be separated from for six long, arduous months. Her long red hair had been carelessly piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands escaping confinement and laying across her smooth white forehead. He glanced at her abdomen and noted with surprise that her belly bump had almost disappeared. He inwardly sighed as he realized how much he had truly missed. Six months was way too long to be gone, he decided. Hopefully, the next deployment was shorter or would allow him to bring his family with him.
He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. He grinned, as her familiar cinnamon scent, the scent he had longed to smell next to him on the long nights of his deployment, hit his senses.
She awoke with a start. Blearily, she tried to make out the form looming in front of her. Finally, she recognized him. She squealed and launched herself into his open arms, alternating between fiercely hugging and passionately kissing him.
After the reunion with his wife was complete, he asked- well, to be honest, it was more like begged- to see his daughter. She led him to Kelly's room, where Kelly was lay peacefully napping in her crib. Shannon gingerly picked her up and handed the innocent, sleeping infant to him.
As he held his slumbering, eight-week-old daughter, his little princess, for the first time, the rain racing down the window panes matched the tears coursing down his cheeks.
|•|
His other wives never understood his love for the rain.
Diane, she yelled at him for not spending time with her. He would stonily stand on the back porch of their house and watch the rain beat the dry, weary ground. Then, words would be spat, doors would be slammed, objects would be thrown, and messes would be made.
Anna just left him alone, which suited him just fine. It wasn't until a few months later, and he found her in bed with another man,when it finally dawned on him why she had let him do his own thing.
Stephanie would sit with him and plead for him to talk to her, to tell her what was wrong, as if she could make things better. As far as he knew, she did not have the power to raise people from the dead. He would just shake his head and avert his eyes from hers, desperately trying to ignore the tears forming in her eyes.
|•|
He sighed heavily, took another long swig of his bourbon, picked up his sander, and continued to slowly smooth the rough wood of his boat, as the methodical tapping of the rain continued.
A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for reading! As you can probably tell, this is another story in my #wordporn series. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review! :)