It was raining and I was not fond of water, especially when it came from the sky. My hood was pulled low and I was walking as briskly as I could manage, avoiding the greasy water that swirled in gutters and spilled out of drain pipes.
When he called out to me, I pretended not to have heard the poor man. But he called out again, so I turned as innocently as I could, with the “Can I help you?” expression that everyone makes but nobody really means.
He was terribly thin and shivering in the cold. The garments wrapped around him were a web of fabric and soaked through. “Got a minute to help a fella in need?”
“I don’t have any money, sorry.” I tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.
“I bet yer goin’ somewhere warm.” He nodded pensively.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I bet yer goin’ to a place with food.”
I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat. “Yes, I suppose so.” I turned quickly and began to walk away.
“I bet you’ve spent yer whole life pretendin’ like I don’t exist.”
I stopped, looking back. “What?”
The man smiled genuinely, still shaking from the cold. “As soon as you walk around the corner and I’m out of sight, it’ll be like I was never here. You’ll never think of me again.”
I frowned. “But I do that with almost everybody I pass on the street. They aren’t important in my life — there’s nothing to remember about them.”
He nodded again, stroking his chin, as if this was a point he hadn’t previously considered. “Then let me tell you somethin’ to remember about me.”
I exhaled a cloud of steam in the frigid air, glancing around at the deserted block.
He leaned against the brick building, wrapping his rags about him. “I’ve lived for more than seven hundred years.”
“Excuse me?”
The man just smiled, tapping a shoe into an oily sidewalk puddle. “I am Tlaloc, the god of rain. I was here before the first conquistadors set foot on these shores, when the Aztecs raised me from the earth. I am every storm that anyone has ever known and I have suffered every misdeed that has ever been done.”
I laughed then. “Yeah, okay, sure.” Smiling as politely as I could manage, I turned once more, and nearly succeeded in taking a step this time before he spoke again.
“Two months ago in Portland. You were in a cabin and you saw three hawks all swarmin’ and attackin’ a little fox cub. You were close enough to scare them off, but you just watched.”
I froze, standing in the middle of a large puddle. “How do you know that?”
His eyes shone bright. “I was the fox.”
Now I stalked back to the ragged man, still grinning his stupid grin. “What kind of prank is this?”
“No prank,” he said through chattering teeth. “Do you remember in Hawaii, that trash can that was just too far away to go over and discard yer plastic bag?”
“No.” I felt dizzy, standing there as water pooled in my boots. Because in the back of my mind, maybe I did remember.
He continued. “I was the unlucky sea turtle who had an encounter with that bag. And when your sister’s best friend went missing, and you just couldn’t even bring yourself to put an arm around her shoulder, those were my tears streaming down her cheeks.”
“Stop. Please.” I tried to tune out his voice, my boots filling with rain.
He took a step toward me, wrapping his shawl tighter around his windswept frame. “I was the last photo of your grandmother that you threw away because you needed the space on the mantle for a bobblehead. I was the fish you thought looked too ugly to feed. I was the child cryin’ in the street at night, whom you tuned out and closed the window upon. I was the tree in yer backyard that you never bothered to prune or water, and I withered there slowly for thirteen years.”
“W-Why?” I had started to cry. But even these were tears of self pity, not regret.
The man was crying now, too. “I am Tlaloc, the god of rain,” he repeated. “I am every storm that anyone has ever known and I have suffered every misdeed that has ever been done. Everyone does wrong in their life. You just seem to have a particular knack for ignoring it. So now there is only one thing I can do.”
I whimpered, still not fully comprehending his words.
He stood for a long moment, crying, and watching me shudder. Then he stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace. He was soaking wet and icy against me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The man stood still, his thin arms wrapped around me, even now after everything I’d done.
There in the cold, as the falling drops mixed with our tears and swirled in dark puddles on that abandoned stretch of concrete, we wept.
When he called out to me, I pretended not to have heard the poor man. But he called out again, so I turned as innocently as I could, with the “Can I help you?” expression that everyone makes but nobody really means.
He was terribly thin and shivering in the cold. The garments wrapped around him were a web of fabric and soaked through. “Got a minute to help a fella in need?”
“I don’t have any money, sorry.” I tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.
“I bet yer goin’ somewhere warm.” He nodded pensively.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I bet yer goin’ to a place with food.”
I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat. “Yes, I suppose so.” I turned quickly and began to walk away.
“I bet you’ve spent yer whole life pretendin’ like I don’t exist.”
I stopped, looking back. “What?”
The man smiled genuinely, still shaking from the cold. “As soon as you walk around the corner and I’m out of sight, it’ll be like I was never here. You’ll never think of me again.”
I frowned. “But I do that with almost everybody I pass on the street. They aren’t important in my life — there’s nothing to remember about them.”
He nodded again, stroking his chin, as if this was a point he hadn’t previously considered. “Then let me tell you somethin’ to remember about me.”
I exhaled a cloud of steam in the frigid air, glancing around at the deserted block.
He leaned against the brick building, wrapping his rags about him. “I’ve lived for more than seven hundred years.”
“Excuse me?”
The man just smiled, tapping a shoe into an oily sidewalk puddle. “I am Tlaloc, the god of rain. I was here before the first conquistadors set foot on these shores, when the Aztecs raised me from the earth. I am every storm that anyone has ever known and I have suffered every misdeed that has ever been done.”
I laughed then. “Yeah, okay, sure.” Smiling as politely as I could manage, I turned once more, and nearly succeeded in taking a step this time before he spoke again.
“Two months ago in Portland. You were in a cabin and you saw three hawks all swarmin’ and attackin’ a little fox cub. You were close enough to scare them off, but you just watched.”
I froze, standing in the middle of a large puddle. “How do you know that?”
His eyes shone bright. “I was the fox.”
Now I stalked back to the ragged man, still grinning his stupid grin. “What kind of prank is this?”
“No prank,” he said through chattering teeth. “Do you remember in Hawaii, that trash can that was just too far away to go over and discard yer plastic bag?”
“No.” I felt dizzy, standing there as water pooled in my boots. Because in the back of my mind, maybe I did remember.
He continued. “I was the unlucky sea turtle who had an encounter with that bag. And when your sister’s best friend went missing, and you just couldn’t even bring yourself to put an arm around her shoulder, those were my tears streaming down her cheeks.”
“Stop. Please.” I tried to tune out his voice, my boots filling with rain.
He took a step toward me, wrapping his shawl tighter around his windswept frame. “I was the last photo of your grandmother that you threw away because you needed the space on the mantle for a bobblehead. I was the fish you thought looked too ugly to feed. I was the child cryin’ in the street at night, whom you tuned out and closed the window upon. I was the tree in yer backyard that you never bothered to prune or water, and I withered there slowly for thirteen years.”
“W-Why?” I had started to cry. But even these were tears of self pity, not regret.
The man was crying now, too. “I am Tlaloc, the god of rain,” he repeated. “I am every storm that anyone has ever known and I have suffered every misdeed that has ever been done. Everyone does wrong in their life. You just seem to have a particular knack for ignoring it. So now there is only one thing I can do.”
I whimpered, still not fully comprehending his words.
He stood for a long moment, crying, and watching me shudder. Then he stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace. He was soaking wet and icy against me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The man stood still, his thin arms wrapped around me, even now after everything I’d done.
There in the cold, as the falling drops mixed with our tears and swirled in dark puddles on that abandoned stretch of concrete, we wept.