Chapter 3 – Rhythm of the rain
"The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with nature." – Joseph Campbell
She's never liked the silence; it's deafening to her ears. There is no sound at all and yet there is so much noise. She sighs for what she thinks must be at least the seventeenth time and looks over at the clock, next to her bed. It, with its large red numbers, mocks her. 1:30. If she goes to sleep now, that will give her five hours of sleep. Of course the problem is, she'll never actually get to sleep.
201, 202, 203, 204... 205 freaking sheep have jumped over that stupid, white fence and she's still awake. However, before she can continue on her quest for sleep, she hears a soft pattering at the window. Gingerly, she pulls back the grime covered curtains. Rain, as if dancing, is splashing softly at her window. She climbs out of bed, straightening her oversized 'Foo Fighters' shirt and slips on flip flops. She reaches into a bag for her cigarettes – momentarily forgetting that they were confiscated by a counsellor when he saw her smoking. When her hand finds nothing, she sighs, cussing under her breath. She creeps along the floor towards the door trying her hardest not to wake her roommate. They met the day before and nicely put – they did not like each other. Shutting the chipped green door behind her, she steps out onto the small porch. A ceiling lamp flickers above her and then stops, leaving the porch in an orange dim. She sits down on the damp steps, pulling her legs up to her chest. All this while, the rain continues to patter gently, in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat.
It's times like these, alone in the rain, when that other Haley, the old one -- seems to show up. Maybe not of all of her, maybe not completely, but she's there. She's there in the silent tears that Haley cries, now, in the thump of her heart, in the rain. And now the tears flow freely, in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat. There are no memories in her head, no flashbacks, because she won't let there be. It's like the old Haley is pushing her way out but this one is keeping her locked up.
And then, the rain slows to a drizzle. It stops. And that other Haley, the old Haley, she's gone. This Haley shivers a little. She thinks about going in for a jacket but she's glued to the spot. Her eyes are wide open, more so than before -- if that's possible. But she no longer waits for sleep, instead scared to sleep, for reasons she herself knows nothing of.
She hears leaves crunch. Pebbles are kicked haphazardly. Her subconscious tells her it could be one of the counsellors and that then it will mean a private session apart from all the other ones she has to do anyway. But still, she doesn't move. Her eyes remain fixed on a small pool of water on the bottom step in front of her. There is a crack in the step, and the water slowly seeps into it, becoming less visible to her by the second.
The step she is on, creaks and she can hear another person's breath beside hers. She looks up, her curiosity getting the best of her. It's him. The one from earlier that day, or rather, yesterday. He's looking at her and she notices his blue eyes. She looked at them yesterday but she didn't see them. Now she sees them. She notices small specks of green in them, intangible to those who look but so brilliantly obvious to those who see.
He says nothing, silently watching her face, noticing her tear stained cheeks. He hands her a cigarette. She doesn't ask where and how he got it, only holding it up for him to light. He flicks the lighter and a small yellow flame emerges. Holding his hand around it, sheltering it from the breeze, he lights her cigarette up. For just a moment their faces glow in the light of the flame and he notices her raw beauty. Then the breeze is too much and the flame is blown out. He stuffs it in his pocket, and she takes a slow drag, before letting it out slowly, savouring it. She shifts a little and their arms brush. He feels her goose bumps and reaches beside him, covering her shoulders with his jacket. She does not thank him. She does not even look at him. She instead, leans into him burying her body in his much larger one, breathing in a smell of smoke and Old Navy. This means nothing of consequence. She is not his girlfriend. She is not his friend. She does not know him. But for now their hearts thump together; in a perfect rhythm, never missing a beat.