Chicago, previously

Hitchcock’s is full tonight – there’s always the neighborhood regulars, and on a weekend night like tonight plenty of DePaul students, and not really a place for the band, but they slid some tables aside and backed us up against the front window. We’re stretching out the ending of “Fourth of July” (X) ‘cause Damian and Marti have slipped into a groove with it. Ramone has given up trying to keep up, and he’s off to the side taking a swig from his drink. I never was that good at filling in those spaces with extra lyrics, so I’m doing what I usually do to keep from just standing there waiting, which is leaning on/dancing with whichever of them is leading and bouncing back and forth between them as they switch off.
Marti’s out front now, but when I start that way she nods over my shoulder and steps back, but Damian doesn’t step in, so I start towards Marti again – and now that’s gonna leave an elbow-sized bruise in my ribs. She flashes me a “Paging Mr. Idiot” look – and now Damian’s pushing my calf with his foot. What the hell! I turn to see what his deal is, and then I see you over Damian’s shoulder, which he’s so actively trying to throw his head over, raising his eyebrows with a big grin on his face (people are going to think he’s having some kind of an episode). You’re getting your I.D. back from the guy at the door (“Wow, what is that outfit I’m wearing? I haven’t worn anything like that since…, well, not for a while.” Yeah, well we’d have to expect that the whens would sometimes be as flexible as the wheres in these things.), while those two have unceremoniously brought the music to an end – at least their parts: J.D. ends up with an unexpected drum solo that he just pulls up with a cymbal crash. Oh yeah, we’re real smooth live. Not.
Quick, huddle up – um, could you guys quit looking at me like that?
“If we shut it down now, you two could get to the bar at the same time.” Ramone says.
Marti corrects him, “Honey, you are so dim sometimes—that’s not how it goes. He’s got to sing to her.”
“Sing Her song dude!” J.P. offers from the back. Thanks, real subtle.
Yeah, that’s a great idea, let’s play a song that we hardly know, and never rehearse, so I can screw it all up and,… hey!... shit, come on now…
They’ve already started playing that new Farmers’ song before I could argue about how it’s not your song, and how singing off-key is a deal breaker, and how it’s kind of a sappy message,… but most of the music people here recognize the beginning and are cheering for it. Damian’s got a good bass line made up for it (The Farmers didn’t have a bass player), and when they circle around to the first chords again it’s become clear that it’s not going to die, and I can’t leave it as an instrumental, so I (literally) step up to the mike.
You’ve made it to the bar, and though it’s a bit rude to everyone else, it doesn’t seem possible to sing your name (“That’s not my name.” I know, you’ve mentioned that since, but you were the first one to mention how close it sounded.) without looking just at you. I make sure to point at the culprits so you know whose idea it was, and roll my eyes and grin at you laughing at me caught in the high-wire act that is playing without a set list. The first time we get to it, you make sure I can lip-read your “Hey, boy, everything’s alright” and from there through to the end of the song it’s like I’m seeing you in the spotlight, and everything’s cool, and we’re completely in the moment.
I give the band my “no foolin’” look so it’s clear that I’m back in charge of picking the songs: “Another Girl, Another Planet” (The Only Ones). Everyone in the place is into it now, and the floor is starting to bounce slightly. I make sure I meet your eyes for, “you always get under my skin, I don’t find it irritating” and you scream right along with “I don’t need rehabilitating!” (Was it really all that bad? “No, but I know you’re sensitive about it, and that anxious face you make is kinda cute.”).
The band and the crowd are taking a quick sip of their drink (my beer bottle got tipped, but there’s just one toss left), and I’m thanking everyone for coming, and Hitchcock’s for having us, reminding everyone to drink responsibly (I know, but you have to try to tell them anyway), and they’re starting up like they always do, somebody out in the audience calling me by my initial (clearly unaware of how I hate it when people who don’t know me do that), and asking for that break-up song. I ignore that, ‘cause at this moment there’s no part of me that feels that one. I remind everyone who’s got $5 left that we’ll have tapes available afterwards, and “We’ll close out tonight with a slow dance, lady’s choice,” and call for “Safe in the Light” (Tommy Keene). It hits just right, and everybody mellows and sways – including you, keeping time with me. You pick up two bottles of L-kugel Red off the bar to show and signal me, as if you needed to bribe me – where else did you think I was going to go?
The set is over. Hey, would you guys mind if I…
“You left? Without packing up?”
“Just who do you think we are, your friends?!”
“Get going right now you stupid man – you can pack up next time.”
“Good luck trying to explain how you made us play her song.” Hoots and high fives all around with those four, celebrating making me blush, but I can’t be bothered to scowl ‘cause I’m already going. I have to guide the first few people out of my way, trying to be careful not to push so much that I get spilled on. After the first few rows I start to build momentum, everyone else has seen me coming and gets out of the way. There’s not another stool free at the bar, so I squeeze in next to yours. Have to lean in close anyway to be able to hear. You hand me my beer and we clink the necks together, and I’m quite sure I keep eye contact this time.
“You guys have another set tonight?”
Nope, I’m all yours for the rest of the evening.
“So what happens next? Try to get in to play some darts?”
Absolutely not – I only used to play darts before because you never showed up before.
“Then, what?”
Let’s finish these and settle up and get away from the crowd. I try to get Steph’s attention behind the bar. When I do, she waves us off, “Arthur picked it up.”
I can’t believe I didn’t see him down there.
“Nice set!” Arthur yells.
Thanks; I give him a thumbs up, then mime holding a steering wheel, then praying hands, then steering wheel again.
Arthur reaches into his pocket and gives Steph his keys and points down to me. She gives them to me with my jacket from behind the bar.
Stay close, and let’s go. You hang on to the shoulders of my shirt as I “encourage” people to let us out.
“Wait, I wanted to get a tape”
I’ll make sure you get one, don’t worry.
Outside, it’s much cooler than it was inside. It’s overcast, and the pavement is damp in spots like it’s been sprinkling.
(“Wait, you’re not going to have it rain again are you? I didn’t bring a jacket.”
You can always have mine when you need it – here. Besides, Arthur’s apartment is just around the corner so his car’s got to be close. Look for a light blue Civic.)
“Well, with the jacket it’s a bit better, but the rain still seems a bit repetit… Hey! Why do you have matches in your jacket pocket?”
I’ve done that for a long time, and didn’t know why until I found out you’re still an occasional smoker.
“Yeah? Then how come you don’t have any cigarettes?”
Offering you a light is romantic, offering you a cigarette is encouraging a health risk. You don’t have any on you?
“I’m still anxious about you judging me for it.”
That’s really sweet, in its own way.
“Is that the car?”
Yep, let me get your door…
“Um, are you going to drive, Mr. ‘drink responsibly’?”
You could drive, but do you have any idea where we are, or where we’re going?
“Nope, neither, on multiple levels.”
Uh, yeah, well I guarantee I’m sober enough to drive on paper (besides, this night is long past). Tell you what, I’ll let you pick the music. Now we better get in, ‘cause it’s really starting to come down now.
We really did get to the car just in time, because before we get the three or four blocks down to Fullerton it’s coming down in buckets. Leave the moon roof closed for now. We take Fullerton down to Lake Shore drive where we can go fast enough that we can have it open and trust the slipstream to keep the water out.
It’s a big summer storm coming over the city, and I know just where to watch it from – we take the car down to Promontory Point where we can park and listen to the rain and watch the lightning over the city and across the horizon of the lake like fireworks.
“That’s cool, but what’s the thing with you and rain? Do you think we could share more than two or three of these in a row without some rain?”

{The next flash is blinding to both your eyes and your inner vision, and it doesn’t feel quite like lightning, more like a quickening of ideas, and the memory comes complete to you:
6 or 7 years old, sitting on the kitchen step ladder at the back porch door watching storms. The wind would make the trees and grapevines whip around, and make the swing swing by itself. The raindrops would spatter off the deck and railings of the back porch. Sometimes the wind would pick up the spray and blow it through the louvered screen door into your face and raise goosebumps on your arms. Every flash of lightning would start the count: one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississi – BOOM. Having been told that the closer together the lightning and thunder were, the closer the lightning had struck (Taking a long time before being able to remember the numbers – almost 5 seconds per mile away, 4.73 sec./mile). It was always disappointing when they started getting further away again.
Another flash, and another memory illuminates:
In grade school, putting boots and raincoat on to walk around the neighborhood in the rain. Kicking through the puddles and hike in the gutters, making sure to go to the bottom of the big hills where there were the biggest currents. Just after the rain, taking a stick and poke around in the cracks in the gutters to see what treasures had been washed up. (“In the gutters?” Hey, I didn’t have woods to poke around in.) Coins would be the big score, taking however much that could be found and go up to High’s (it’s the 7-11 now) to see what it could be turned into: atomic fireballs, jawbreakers, tootsie rolls, gum, jolly ranchers..
Another large flash, filled with a rush of images and anxiety:
Twice, delivering papers, with no time between the lightning and thunder. The first time, the drop cloth used to keep the papers dry got away and blew across the street. Running it down and catching up with it around a telephone pole and while picking it up, the junction box on top of the pole gets hit by lightning, showering sparks all around and ringing in both ears. The second time, delivering to the bank, passing under the flagpole the back of the neck hairs stand up as the flag pole gets hit. Panicking to the exclusion of thought, taking off running full speed through the rain with the papers for about three blocks until under the carport down the street.
The flashes coming quicker now, and closer together:
As a teenager, starting to recognize the rain responding to a thought. The rain would stop until the paper route was done or until arriving from a walk to school, then it would start again. If sickness was preventing being able to play in the important game (and they were all important then), it would rain out. The biggest games, both for school and club teams, coming in the rain.
Getting caught by a sudden storm on the way with someone special to their favorite place. Parking as close as possible, but the rain was just pouring down. To cut the disappointment, half-jokingly claiming to be able to take care of it: within a minute, the rain stops altogether – being spooked by that together. Reprising that for Stacy’s and Jill’s weddings: it rained all around Stacy’s wedding, but not on her ceremony. Jill had an outdoor ceremony and reception planned, and the forecast rain never fell. Having assured each of them ahead of time that there would be no rain.
Countless purposeless walks in the rain and storms, partly for the solitude, partly to experience the storms’ power. Sometimes to here, this parking lot at the edge of the lake where the car comes to a stop.}

I’ve just always had good luck with the rain is all.
“Doesn’t seem to be holding tonight, I think we’re stuck here in the car.”
Yeah, you and me on our own with some privacy, and stuck there – damn me and my awful luck.
“You’re bad, you know that?”
Guess we’ll just have to sit here and talk.
“Would you tell me a story?”
I might be able to think of something, maybe give us someplace else to escape to. Go ahead and close your eyes.
“Okay – wait! – could I make a request?”
Anything, they’re your stories.
“Not too much rain this time? If you have any control over it.”
I promise…