Kissing the Rain
                      by Sam Hanken

   The rain pattered gently against the pane, cars on the 
main street below splashing and hissing across the wet 
pavement. Laughter sometimes floated up, along with loud 
music or the sound of a gunning engine rumbling across 
the road. Only one light was on in the Trinity Marina 
complex, a silhouette looking down from the fourth floor 
at an uncaring city and the many passing lives under the 
window. Wondering why no one looked up.
   Not one of those driving by looked up and wondered if, 
in that corner room and square of light against the gloomy 
night, the tenant there couldn’t sleep. The drivers didn’t 
care if they had passed that person on the street. They 
didn’t even wonder if that sleeplessness and the silence 
was because all that lived in that room were ghosts.

   Trey had begun to suspect he was a ghost when Diane 
left. He didn’t feel lessened. He hadn’t felt a thing. Now, 
he just felt empty. Or maybe that , or that he was missing 
a piece of himself. And it made him wonder if he had ever 
lived at all. 
   Setting his cigarette into the ashtray on the 
windowsill, he ran his hand through his short brown hair. 
He sighed. There wasn’t anything truly special about him, 
and he knew it- Anonymously average. Brown hair, brown 
eyes, and nothing to distinguish him. Lightly tugging at the 
black tee-shirt he wore, he looked for stains. None, but he 
swore he could still smell Diane’s perfume on it. He was 
sure he’d be able to still taste the salt of her tears on 
the tissue she had left lying in the middle of his bed. He 
hadn’t disturbed the room at all in the week she’d been 
gone.
   Diane had thrown his CD’s all over the floor in her hurry 
to get out, her one overstuffed suitcase knocking into the 
rack the albums were stored in. Walking over and peering at 
the spilled cases, he gently picked one up, turned it in his 
hand. It was hers. Annie Lennox. No doubt forgotten in her 
hurry to get away. He wiped the cover on his wearably dirty 
pair of Levi’s, but the plastic was hopelessly scratched 
from its fall. With a sigh, he hummed the first line softly 
to himself. Trey paced back to his place at the window, 
watching the rain turn the view into a blur. The first signs 
of a false dawn were barely lighting the clouds, but Trey 
couldn’t sleep. 
   He paused in mid-note, frowning. Did ghosts sleep? He 
wasn’t sure. Doubts started to surface, but he pushed them 
down, shoving his feet into his dark boots, lacing them 
tightly. He blindly stormed towards the door, grabbing his 
jacket off the back of a chair. He threw it on, hearing the 
familiar jingle of keys in its pocket. And he left.

   The rain had lightened to a sprinkling drizzle, 
plastering his hair to his forehead as he wandered the 
streets. He wasn’t sure where he was going, and it didn’t 
truly matter to him- One place was as good as the next. He 
pulled at the turned-up collar of his worn leather jacket, a 
thin trickle of icy water running along his spine. The jacket 
was too short to do any good against the rain, but Trey 
consoled himself with the thought that ghosts don’t get sick.
   He walked around, oblivious to the night, consumed with 
memories of her- Walking these same ways with nothing in 
mind, dinners on the wharf... He found himself walking 
through Ghirardelli Square, looking across the bay at the 
lights. The square was devoid of tourists, more from the hour 
than the weather. The twinkling strings of lights 
illuminating the former factory reflected in the rain, 
highlighting the spatters on the water in the Mermaid 
Fountain. 

   Diane sat on the fountain’s edge, her suitcase lying at 
her feet. 

   Trey couldn’t speak, the lump in his throat threatening to 
choke him on his own words. She was there- Real and beautiful, 
her long, black hair seemingly untouched by the rain. She must 
have been in the same state he was, noting by her clothes- 
Diane still wore the light blue top and jeans she’d left in. 
The navy blue windbreaker he’d gotten her kept her warm, 
droplets beading on its surface.
   Perhaps he had a chance. "Diane..."
   "I knew you’d come." She spoke so softly, he wasn’t sure he 
saw her lips move.
   He sat next to her on the fountain’s lip, the small pools 
of water soaking though his jeans. He ignored the chill, 
watching her eyelashes flutter slightly as she looked down. 
"Diane... Come back with me."
   She sat, watching the lights dance in the rain.
   "It doesn’t have to be this way. I’m sorry I hurt you." He 
imagined he could see a faint smile touch her lips, so he 
continued. "Life without you has been... A shadow of what it 
was."
   She laughed softly- Even sadly. "Life?" She still looked 
out, her deep blue eyes on him, filled with something he 
couldn’t place. Pity? 
   He frowned, pushing down the urge to grab her by the 
shoulders and give her a shake. She wouldn’t look at him, and 
it was annoying him, but it wouldn’t do to scare her when he 
was trying to talk her back. "Come back with me, Diane." It 
came out more demanding than he'd wanted to osund, so he 
tried again. "Please."
   Again, she shook her head. "No, Trey."
   "But why?" Out of frustration, his hands curled into fists 
against his thighs.
   She looked at him for the first time, her eyes with their 
strange look searching his own. "You really don’t know, do 
you?"
   "Know what?"
   "What happened that night." Her voice full of that 
mysterious sorrow.
   "A homeless guy wanted our money. Took a swipe at me with 
a knife, and then knocked me unconscious. Both of us. You 
remember." He grit his teeth slightly, willing himself to be 
patient.
   Diane’s lips moved, saying nothing. 
   Trey thought he heard music playing, soft and nearby. And 
he didn’t like how strangely she was acting. He made himself 
touch her arm lightly, the jacket dry and somehow gauzy under 
his hand. "Diane?"
   The music drifted out of range. Diane looked down at the 
puddles at her feet, light reflecting from the factory in the 
still pools. "I can’t go with you, Trey."
   He stared at her, shocked at how easily she said it. The 
moment itself felt unreal. She’d never been able to deny him- 
not once- in their entire life. Trey could see the lights of 
the factory behind them in her eyes. It almost seemed she was 
fading away from him.
   She kissed him softly. Her lips felt as flimsy as a moth’s 
wings, threatening to fall apart with the slightest touch. 
"It’s late."
   Diane silently got up and walked out into the rain, leaving 
her suitcase behind. It almost seemed she walked on the 
shimmering water below her feet. And Diane faded away into 
the rainy night like a breath of smoke.
   Trey started up after her, calling her name into the rain. 
He turned to grab her suitcase and follow.
   It was gone.

   A memory flashed behind Trey’s eyes- The tramp with a knife 
and wild eyes, demanding their cash. Diane’s scream, silenced 
to a gurgling noise. Hitting the cement of the sidewalk, 
chilled under his cheek. The feeling of gradually becoming 
colder, his warmth bleeding away. Hearing the last rattle of 
her breath, scenting the copper of their mixing blood.
   And then he was sure. 

   The rain against the pane, cars on the main street below 
splashing and hissing across the wet pavement. The sound of a 
gunning engine rumbling across the road. The only light on in 
the complex was his.
   All it took was a look up, and he was back. 
   Trey was no more than a silhouette looking down from the 
fourth floor at the city and the many passing lives under the 
window. He took his still lit cigarette from the ashtray on the 
windowsill, not even having to bother with knocking the ash 
free. He took a slow drag on it as he watched the city below.
   Underneath the window, the city lived on. Motorists speeding 
through the damp night, drunken patrons sent home from their 
stools. Not one of the people below looked up at the silent 
retreat. Nobody wondered if that sleeplessness and the silence 
was because all that lived there was a ghost.