Chapter 7: Rain
The big man, shakes his head “no” to the cabbies, drops of rain fly off his hat with every shake.
“I’ll walk, thank you.”
“You sure man, it be raining cats and dogs, gonna get worse they say, buckets of it, cab is dry if you want a ride.”
“I’m good,” but of course the big man was anything but good.
Best thing about rain, rain it’s cover you know, people just think your face is wet, raindrops they think when in fact those raindrops, they tears.
Big man walking and talking, wiping off his face, shaking off the rain stuck on his overcoat, if you would be walking next to him, and you had good ears, you may be hearing this...
“Stupid people all mad that it raining on the 4th of July, mad jerks they are, thank you lord for the wet, thank you lord for the storm, thank you, thank you...”
You walking next to the big man and listening, yeah you, well listen up, dig this, you all hoot and holler when they light the fire, and those pyrotechnics, as they call them, launch, to you it’s all about the Ooohs and Aaaahs, Ooooh....Aaaahh...good for you.
But you know what, you know what it is to the big man walking there, you know what it is to the men and women who on this night cower in the basement, cry in bedroom corners with pillows over their head, those people who shake for 2 hours this night every year.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Happy freakin’ fourth, shoot up some more bombs why don’t you, call them “celebrations,” call them “freedom,” call them “Francis Scott frigging Key,” but do this too...care for those cowering, care for those who had the bombs dropped on them, ask them what they want on this day, what they can’t find on this day, or any day, ask the big man, go ahead listen, listen to what he is mumbling, listen to those who dodged the bombs listen...
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
With his right hand he pushes one of the two chairs he has next to his porcelain top kitchen table, left hand leans on one of his bookcases to steady the fast turn he is making as he heads straight for the pisser.
Door slams shut behind him just as both hands grip either side of his stained toilet bowl, puke starts coming out of his nose and mouth before his head is fully over the “John.”
One gusher, another gusher, a heave, a hard heave and urine runs down the inner thigh of his left leg, another gusher...
...then he sits back against the wall, the big man reaches out and grabs the roll of toilet paper off the holder, wipes his mouth and throws the paper in the toilet, takes another handful of the paper and wipes up the pee on the floor, and then basically folds into himself.
The big man will wake up the next morning still laying next to the toilet, his head under the tank, feet up against the bathroom door.
Remember when I told you to listen to them, well listen to the big man now...
“Ahhh…Thank God…
You listening, it is now the morning of July 5...
“...thank you, God,...”
...pay attention to what he is saying...
“...thank you...”
...comes the nut-graph.
“...for the rain.”
July 4th rained out. No bombs in the air that 4th in Gotham.
Mr. Marranca.
Mrs. Murphy.
And a whole bunch of other folks.
Thankful for the rain. On the 4th. Of July.
BOOM!