Rain

Rain By Ernestine Coleman-Dupree As he stood in line at the grocery store, Richard Forrest could not help but reflect on how much of a flaming disaster the current day had been. He couldn’t wait to get home and was more than ready to settle down on the couch with a sandwich in one hand, a beer in the other, and forget about it all. From waking up late, to pissing off his boss, today was one of those days that could go straight in the damn wood-chipper as far as Richard was concerned. As soon as he paid for his groceries, his plan was to head home, and he didn’t want to be bothered for the rest of the day. Richard planned on locking his door, putting his phone on silent, and hiding from the world until further notice. He was in line furiously punching out the text message that would let the few people he considered friends know his desire to be left alone for the weekend when he took notice of the lady in line in front of him. He didn’t know her personally, but he knew her “kind,” and it didn’t take much to figure out that she was a diva amongst divas. Watching her make the cashier’s life unnecessarily complex had him fighting not to roll his eyes. She had a royal buffet in her basket, and she was making sure the unfortunate clerk treated her prized produce and hand-selected seafood with the respect they deserved. You wouldn’t want to bruise that lobster before dropping the poor bastard into a pot of boiling water; you might hurt it, right? The thought processes that some people had perplexed Richard on many levels, but they provided him with free amusement, so he didn’t squawk. If nothing else, it gave him something interesting to blog about later if the mood struck him. Once the total is given to Diana the Diva, everything from her penciled-in eyebrows to the hair on her faux fur coat stood on end. She balked at the number as if she didn’t have a basket full of organic produce, imported spices, and fresh seafood. When she demanded to see a manager, Richard gave in to the urge and let his eyes roll without shame. In the end, she had to pay the stated price, causing Richard to smile at the turn of events. Score one for the underdog. He loved it when the pampered and spoiled didn’t get their way. He knew it wasn’t his place to judge, but if a person needed two different bank cards, a credit card, and a check to pay for their groceries, maybe they needed to eat cheaper than fresh lobster and bacon-wrapped filet mignon. Richard was no finance guru, but he thought that was a damn fine line of logic all the same. Richard finished his text message, hit send just as his turn to check out came up. He was so engrossed in the replies he was receiving, he didn’t even give the poor sap ringing him up the time of day. When the man told him the total, he inserted his card and keyed in his pin number on autopilot. He had grabbed both of his bags and was moving away from the register when the cashier spoke. “Thank you for shopping at Bernstein’s. Have a nice day, Richie.” Richard was ten strides toward the door when it hit him. That cashier knew his name. Not only that, he had called him Richie. At six foot three and two hundred and ten pounds, no one was bold enough to call him anything warmer than his given name of Richard or the occasional Rich. No one went for Richie…well, almost no one. There was one individual bold enough to do that, but Richard hadn’t seen Adrian in almost two years. Whirling around, he focused his eyes on the person behind the register that was now checking out a little old man with a cane and a story to tell. The cashier was the right height and build, but nothing else about him matched Richard’s last memory of Adrian. There were no facial piercings, no guy-liner, no spiky bleach blonde hair, and no painted black fingernails. He was just about to move on when the cashier wished the older man a nice day, and the voice rang a bell. When Richard stepped closer to get a better look, the movement must have caught the other man’s attention because Richard was suddenly looking into violet eyes he would know anywhere. Too stunned to speak, Richard backed up a few steps before he turned around and rushed out of the store like a moron. Once outside, the full scope of his last few ridiculous actions settled over him, and Richard was then rolling his eyes at himself. His first thought was, what was he going to do, chase you down? Adrian was obviously working and not the least bit inclined to waste his time on you. He merely spoke and went about his business. It was the exact opposite of how he recalled Adrian behaving. As Richard walked to his truck, he thought back on the Adrian he remembered. He was a brash, outspoken nonconformist to his core. If it was dangerous, he risked it. If it was forbidden, he tried it. If it was oddball, it was his hobby. Adrian had a true devil-may-care attitude. When Richard thought about Adrian, he thought about the fact that Adrian listened to that noise called Death Metal, he loved base-jumping and parasailing, he worked in a tattoo and piercing parlor, and most unfortunately and importantly, he was addicted to cocaine. That’s what really drove the knife between them. Richard was fine with Adrian flipping through life trying to find his place in it. He’d even let Adrian talk him into a tattoo, and through enough forced listenings while riding around together, Richard even developed a grudging respect for Adrian’s eclectic taste in music. All of those things were well and good, and Richard was far from some Bible-toting saint, but he had lines. They were firmly drawn at drug usage.