The rain had been falling for so long that he had forgotten how sunshine felt. His soul was as pale as his skin, and he spent far too much time longing for summers past. He missed cherry flavored kisses and shading himself underneath a tree with a good book. Once upon a time he’d told everyone that he preferred the rain, but now that it was a constant patter on his roof he wanted nothing more than to feel the blistering heat of a skin-cancer worthy sunburn.
The weatherman had announced the beginning of rain season shortly after the first drop fell. After a year and a half of constant downpour the news stations determined that it was scheduled to stop raining at any given moment. After four years it was declared the longest storm since Noah had built his ark. Some Christians had taken that too seriously, and an ark had been in production in the town park for the past six months. Some of them had been arrested for stealing animals from the zoo; who knew, maybe they were on to something.
It certainly felt like the end of the world. He missed running through the trees and driving at a constant rate of speed. Being caught in his house made his skin crawl, and he had worn holes in his socks from pacing back and forth across the room. The rain wasn’t the only thing that had, had him walking the floor. She had left him the day before the rain started. She told him that she was going to New York, and not to call. He’d called, she hadn’t answered. She wanted to be a model, and he wanted her to be his wife. Her family wasn’t supposed to tell him how she was, but last time he’d talked to his brother he learned that she was living off of scraps and working at a coffee shop. He wished she would just come home.
Thunder shook his home and the electricity flashed, his TV flickering then turning off.  This wasn’t the first power outage he experienced, and it wouldn’t be the last. It still amazed him, though, how they had yet to devise a way to keep power on after the rain had been pouring for so long. He debated grabbing an umbrella and trying to start his car again. He debated tracking down the bootlegger down the street and paying big bucks for a little bottle. He sat still in his chair.
There had been laws passed since the rain had started. Suicide rates had been high so alcohol was outlawed. Smokes were still available some places, but a lot of tobacco crops had gotten drowned, so it was an expensive habit to have. Break-ins and looting were a common practice, and the police were so overwhelmed that some citizens had been taking the law into their own hands. It was a rough time for everyone, but even rougher for him.
Her summer dresses were still hanging in to the closet. Fall was approaching when it had started to rain, and she’d been walking around the house in his over sized t-shirts and her tiny little sweaters. There were lip prints on the mirror for every new color of lipstick she had bought. He recognized some of them by the stains that still remained on the collars of his white dress shirts. She’d been wearing red the day she left; he didn’t have a stain for that. 
There was nothing more satisfying that the silence of a deactivated phone. No one had called him anyway, but it was better to know for sure that it wasn’t going to ring rather than waiting to see if it would. He’d been telling himself for months to get to a payphone and call her, just to talk, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to do it. He felt pathetic, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, the rain had taken his freedom. He could have driven there to find her by then.
For a moment he was glad that his car wasn’t running. If it was then he might have been driving right then; driving to find her in her tiny little coffee shop so he could mess up her pretty red lipstick. He could take her somewhere where the sun was still shining and watch her tan her legs and drink iced tea. His jacket was right there on the hook. It would be so easy just to try one more time, with a little luck it might just work. Before he knew it his jacket was on and his hand was on the doorknob. He had plenty of money in his wallet and his car had a full tank of gas. He could make it if the car would just start.
Hurrying in the rain was laughable at this point. Everyone was so used to it that they meandered more than walked. Still, he ran. The door of his car stuck a bit as he attempted to pull it open, but one good yank later he was sitting in the driver’s seat. His windows weren’t sealed well so it was damp inside; a bit of mold was growing around the floor-mats. He couldn’t have cared less. He took a deep breath and inserted the key into the ignition. His foot slowly pushed the brake to the floor and with a flick of his wrist the car was running and the radio was playing a song about sunshine.
He hadn’t driven in years, and backing out of his driveway was an awkwardly slow process. The roads had been caked with mud from overflow for years, and most people didn’t even bother to chance them anymore. Today he was stepping out of the “most people” category. The back end of his car slid sideways as he started down the street, but his years of teenage drifting expeditions had left him well conditioned when it came to driving like an idiot.
The only problem he faced was visibility. His windshield wipers couldn’t move fast enough to stop the drops from clouding his vision, and he wasn’t sure if he should gun it or stick his head out the window in an attempt to see what was in front of him. He went with the latter. After only a few moments he was freezing and his hair was drenched and dripping water down the collar of his jacket, but he didn’t care. He would’ve continued on like that for miles if he’d had to. Amazingly enough, however, he didn’t. The rain slowed. Not much, but just enough that his wipers could keep up with it. With a clear windshield and a racing heart he was off on the first leg of his long journey. 
The car contained cup noodles, a pile of jackets, a pillow, a blanket, and a wilted cardboard box full of road trip CD’s that he hadn’t listened to in ages. He listened to each of them and sang along with the songs and faded memories of the days before her, and the days before the rain. He was amazed at the time he was making. The journey should’ve taken at least two days, but the water had destroyed already made roads, and flatted so much land that routes had been changed. He only knew where he was going by reading the road signs that sat tipped sideways because the wet ground couldn’t keep them straight. 
He drove one full day and part of the night before he read the five mile marker to New York. Excited, he hit the gas and shot forward toward the city, knowing full and well that there wouldn’t be any cops. He had looked up the name of the coffee shop that she worked in shortly after he had re-activated his phone, and it was only about half a mile into the city. He was so close, only four miles to go.
The flood hit his car while he was still smiling. One second he was driving along, and the next he was drowning. The water hit with enough force to break his windows and set off the airbags, luckily it also tipped his car, otherwise it probably would’ve broken him as well. He fought hard to get his seatbelt off, and then stuck his head out of the passenger’s side window, knowing better than to jump out into the rushing current of water that had suddenly broken through the hillside. It carried him and what had been his car (now his makeshift boat) for miles before finally he heard metal scraping concrete. It was then that he noticed the blood that was leaking from his side.
Either a large stick or a small branch was sticking out of his side and sucking the blood from his veins. It must have come in with the water. The water that was so cold it was numbing the pain. He stumbled from the car and looked to where he could see the city, limping toward it. There was a good chance that he could die, but there was no way he was going to let rain, floods, or a stick keep him from finishing his journey. He could find her.
His pace was slow and painful. He was shivering and bleeding, but still he continued to walk. He fell when he only had half a mile to go, and crawled for awhile. The streets were mostly empty, but the people he did pass shook their heads and walked faster, offering no help. He walked the last few feet to the coffee shop door, and adjusted himself in the reflective glass of door before he stepped inside.
She had her back turned, but he would’ve known her anywhere. She was wearing one of the little sweaters she always used to, and her hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She had always been put together. When she saw him her eyes got wide, and he couldn’t help but think of all the times she had gazed sleepily up at him with her hand resting exactly where the stick had pierced his side. She was still beautiful, and he could tell from the way that she was looking at him that she still loved him like he did her.
Suddenly he was staring at the ceiling of the shop and she was screaming. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he could tell she wasn’t talking to him. Her face came into view with her phone pressed to her ear. Her hands were on him. He was numb but he could still feel her touching him. She was crying now, and he reached out to hold her. His chest was cold and wet but he gathered her in anyway, letting her listen to his heart that beat only for her.
She was wearing red lipstick and she was kissing him; his face, his lips, his neck, leaving the stains that he had wanted for so long. No longer was she screaming she was just breathing him and touching him.
“I love you.” She whispered, and he smiled as everything faded to black, satisfied that he hadn’t let the rainy years get the best of him.