Smells Like Rain

It was one of those nights that feels like summer but smells like fall. The air was still humid, sort of stick-in-your-throat thick. The type of atmosphere that makes your t-shirt stick to the small of your back even though you’re not the least bit warm. There was a faint hint of October in the air though, even though it was barely September and the rains hadn’t come. Maybe it was the smell of decay - the leaves had started to turn early that year - or the ghost of charred wood, matches, and campfire that drifted across the yard. Mr. Next-Door must have been burning his leaves illegally again.

I stepped out of the bright white of the kitchen and onto the deck. It needed a paint job, the powder blue was peeling off the planks of wood and revealing the grey, aged matter beneath. If I had owned the house, I might’ve done it myself. But I’d be damned if I was going to waste my time painting a deck for some faceless landlords. Paints expensive these days, and I wasn’t going to ruin an outfit just to make the place fit for the next sorry tenants. Nope, not me.

I cracked the top of the can in my fist and watched the head bubble up through the mouthpiece, almost spilling over onto my hand. I lapped it up with my tongue, ignoring the smart of the sharp aluminum on my taste buds. The beer was awful, but it was cheap as shit and did the trick. I tipped the can towards my mouth and drank deeply, then sauntered down a few steps and plunked myself down.

I had forgotten to put on shoes, but I could hardly bring myself to care. My socks were filthy anyways, and a little bit more dirt and leaves wasn’t going to do them any harm. I tilted my head back to appraise the sky, trying to gauge the weather. A blanket of stars stretched above me, visible through the minimal spattering of cumulus clouds. Weird, I thought. It smells just like rain.

I sipped my beer again and allowed it to slip slowly over my tongue and down my throat. The bitter lager was distracting, and distraction was just what I needed. Behind me in the house I could hear the sound of smashing china - probably my roommate, at it again - but I didn’t even flinch. Instead I examined the yard, overgrown and piled with junk and smacking of neglect. The flower beds I had planted in springtime were wilted and dank. The hose that should have been coiled neatly on it’s hook on the stucco sided wall of the house was stretched across the concrete path and grass like the world’s laziest snake. I didn’t bother to move it myself - instead, I watched a few insects putter around in the mud puddle near the nozzle. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

I felt something wet against my elbow and this time I did jump. I looked over and saw the chocolate brown eyes of my mutt staring back. Her tail wagged hopefully behind her, swatting the railings of the stairs with a thwack sound. In her mouth was a mossy stick about ten inches long. It smelled strongly of earth and mildew, and when my dog pushed it up against my arm once again it left traces of greenish residue behind. I sighed and sipped my beer once more.

“Y’wanna play, girl? Yeah?”

I wrenched the stick from her mouth and she bounded noisily down the wooden steps. I heard a scraping sound to my right, and suspected it was my roommate trying to force open the window of the basement where he lived. The house was old and neglected, but the landlords had clearly tried half-heartedly to fix it up. Bring it up to code, maybe. They had painted the windows but hadn’t bothered to do it properly. The result was a sticky surface that made it hard to open them, and a faint, acrid chemical smell that hung about the place. I thought for a moment I could hear shouting, so I put down the beer can and lobbed the stick as hard as I could.

My dog took off. Mud and dirt and turf flew up in the air behind her, kicked up from her heels as she ran. Our yard wasn’t that big, so she didn’t have far to go. The stick had landed near the chainlink fence that separated our sad excuse for a lawn from the alley behind it. She found it quickly and trotted back up the path to where I sat.

Now I definitely heard shouting. I had an inkling who it was, but I can’t say that it mattered. I chucked the stick once more and picked up my beer as my companion ran to retrieve it. I sipped it slowly, considering the flavour for a moment, then reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out a pack of Belmonts. The pack was almost empty, which was funny because I don’t smoke. I mean, I smoked, but I wasn’t a smoker. Even at the time I knew that didn’t make sense.

My dog had returned again and dropped the stick in front of me. For a moment I just stared at her numbly - the shitty beer was high in alcohol and had started to take effect. She danced lightly on her feet, back and forth, waiting for me to pick it up and chuck it again. I heard another tinkle of breaking glass and my dog barked, loudly. I leaned forward and obliged her once more.

I was almost done my beer so I reached into my other pocket and took out my yellow lighter. We had had a spat a few days prior - it had been unable to stay lit long enough in the wind to light my cig, so it spent the night on the lawn - and the little wheel of the flint was slightly rusty and stiff. I flicked it three times with my thumb before it took, and then I just stared at the flame. It flickered in the dark, rising up and down and swaying side to side. I was vaguely aware of my dog’s presence lurking just behind the light, but it wasn’t until she barked again that I resolved to throw the stick just once more.

Now I heard pounding from behind me and the sound of the back door being wrenched open.

“Can you get your dog to shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

I could feel my roommate’s presence hovering in the doorway, see her shadow stretched out down the steps and onto the path. But I didn’t turn around.

“Thanks,” she spat bitterly, and I heard the heavy door slam.

I snorted slightly and threw the stick again. I didn’t care if my roommate couldn’t sleep. She owed me money, but I didn’t even care enough to throw that back in her face. It was only the second, but the rent had not been paid and it was only a matter of time before the landlords came a-knocking. I picked up the beer can and finished it off with a hearty swig. It was me that was going to have to answer to them when they came, no doubt in my mind. The little dog ran back up the steps to greet me.

So what if she kept them up, I thought bitterly. Let her bark. Leave her be. At least she was having a good time, unlike the rest of us. I could hear music spewing out from the half-opened window to my right now, and I wondered why my roommate wasn’t stomping down there to give him shit, too. Typical, I thought. Typical.

My dog barked again. Booming, and clear. This time I smiled, enjoying the sight of her prancing in anticipation and relishing the thought of vexing my roommate. I threw the stick again, my hand now filthy and coated with greenish grey mud. She pounded down the path in pursuit, tail held high, and disappeared into the dark. I wished people could be so easy to please - wished that I could. We could all learn something from this dog, who only asked for food and shelter. For whom a stick brought immeasurable joy. I waited for her to return and threw it yet again.

The music from the basement was getting louder, and I knew it was my roommate trying to cover the sound of barking. I didn’t care about that either. Instead, I flipped open the lid of the carton in my hand and extracted a cigarette. I put it to my lips and lit it, watching the smoke trail up from it in concentric swirls. I took a drag and leaned back on the steps, my dog still barking, to stare up at the sky once more.

Yep, definitely feels like rain.