This Business of Jupiter

This is the eighth part of what will hopefully be a nine-part entry in the River of Mnemosyne challenge that’s going on over at The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

I love the rain, soft and cool in the quiet and the pale moonlight.

Sitting on the front porch, wrapped up in two sweaters and a wool hat, I listen to the stillness that comes after a short, furious shower and stare at the silver reflection coming off the mirrored surface of rain drops on pavement.

Out over the lake lightning flashes and I wait for the roll of thunder.

The storm won’t be here for a while yet.

Eyes closed, I settle more comfortably in my seat, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and lift my face to the cool mist that’s carried on the breeze.

“Hey, Lib.”

My eyes drift open. I pull back my legs, sit up.

She’s standing right in front of me looking so much like I remembered it makes my heart hurt.

Her words are as soft and as gentle as the rain running down her face. “How are you doing?”

Brittle words pushed through a dry, tight throat break in my ear. “Why are you here?”

I breathe through the pressure in my chest. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’ve been here.” A sad smile bleeds across her lips. “You didn’t want to see me.”

I reach a hand toward her; stop, let it drop. “Didn’t seem much point.”

She tilts her head and the shadows on her face shift. “Don’t be like that, Libby.”

I blink against the mist in my eyes. “Why not?”

Her eyes soften with sorrow. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

I breathe deep and exhale; a harsh, jagged sound that slashes the stillness. “Why not?”

“Because I love you and I want you to be happy.”

A last lesson to me; I should be taking notes.

“I love you, too.” My throat tightens on words that turn to ash on my tongue. “You have to go now.”