Rain tapping tumultuously on my window woke me the next day. I checked my bedside clock and it was 7:30, but the light outside begged to differ. If I hadn’t put my trust in that clock to wake me up on time for the last 6 years and if it hadn’t served me faithfully, I would’ve been positive it was, in fact, the dead of night. Thick black rain clouds nullified any prospects of morning light and the day felt as cold as hell.
I wanted to crawl back under my covers and curl into the foetal position, but the rain had other ideas. It banged louder and louder and as loud as goddamn possible until I threw off the covers and exclaimed, “Okay! I’ll get up.” I had to go meet Hardy in an hour and a half, anyway.
Showering, eating, and then getting dressed (in that order, too) were fairly uneventful. I’d done it all by eight o’clock and decided to leave for town, wearing a parka, as the rain continued relentlessly. Someone had pissed off the gods and we were all paying for it.
The rain is a sad thing for me. Whenever it rains all I can ever think about are funerals, crying, and the homes of thousands of tiny creatures being destroyed. I usually retreat and do something reclusive when it rains, but I wanted Hardy to see Echo; I wanted to confirm that I wasn’t going crazy.
I was one of the very first people at the Mojo Café that morning. The chairs and umbrellaed tables that normally adorned the outside were all absent and the usually-open door was closed, with nothing but a tiny card to signify that the café was open at all. It was quarter to nine when I arrived and nobody was there but two employees, both of which I’d never seen before. I must have startled them – a hooded and drenched, solitary figure – because their conversation came to an abrupt end and they paused to stare.
“Are you a friend of the band?” One of them, a guy, finally asked after a moment of hovering awkwardness.
I raised my eyebrow and shook my head. There was a small stage at the Mojo Café, in the furthest corner of the building, which was the home to a lot of mediocre talent. It wasn’t so much of a stage as a slightly raised, wooden platform, but it was a point-of-focus nonetheless. Chintz chairs were placed randomly before the stage, giving the place that snazzy air that they were too obviously aiming for. Elsewhere, there were regular wooden chairs with wooden tables placed about in true café-fashion. It really was a regular, normal place, but I liked it. In the Mojo Café, you felt disconnected from the world – as though nothing mattered but the café and what was happening there and then.
I found a two-person table and removed my dripping parka. Another thing was that it was always warm in here, no matter the season. It’s corny, but you felt warm on the inside and the outside. And rainy days like these could magnify your appreciation of it tenfold. I ran a hand through the blond mop upon my head. I needed a haircut.
The two employees had completely abandoned their conversation, turning their attention to me. The guy, apparently the more extroverted of the two, ditched the counter and came over.
“Hey, bro,” he smiled, revealing smoke-stained teeth. He had these fuzzy, black dreadlocks and probably thought he was the coolest guy in the world, but he seemed completely congruent with his surroundings. “Rain’s beautiful, huh?”
I smiled obligingly. “Not really. I can’t help but feel someone’s angry or something bad’s happened when it rains, y’know?”
At that precise moment his countenance morphed slightly, barely perceptibly, from one of a congenial stranger to that of a wary waiter. “Okay, bro,” he replied, with a stretched, inexplicable vibrato on the word ‘okay’. “Want anything, though? Coffee? You waitin’ for someone?”
I looked into his inky, dreadlock-surrounded eyes and thought that he must really like the rain. “Yeah, I’m j –”
Just then, three guys came marching in loaded with musical instrument cases, bringing along with them the outside’s foreign air.
“Hello,” one of them shouted. “We’re here; we’re here.” You could tell he was meant for entertainment, though he only seemed to be roughly my age. The world is split into two, I guess: those who are destined for something, and wanderers – the lost. I fit into the latter, but I don’t really mind.
“Can we just set up, then? Sophie’s coming with the amps in a sec.” The dreadlocked guy and his quiet female counterpart instantaneously made some sort of reply of assent, but I couldn’t make out what was actually said as my heart had skipped a beat and my mind focused on the name Sophie.
Sophie Merryweather was a girl from my school that I had managed to silently fall in love with from the beginning to the end. I was completely aware that this Sophie may be a completely different one to ‘my’ Sophie, but – trust me – it becomes a conditioned reflex to freak out when you hear the name of your 5-year-unrequited love.
As the three musicians set up on stage, there was a struggle at the door. My seat being closest to the door, I offered to help out. Besides, this way I could quell the unbearable suspense that had rapidly arisen within me.
I approached the door and opened it. A gust of raging wind blew in a sheet of rain, momentarily blinding me, but shortly thereafter I identified the Sophie.
It was her: Sophie goddamn Merryweather. Her jet-black, shoulder-length hair was pasted to her face, hindering her sight, and the two large amplifiers beneath both of her arms were jeopardising her balance. The rain and wind blew ever-harder and Sophie just stood there, looking pretty helpless.
“Yeah, thanks a bundle, guys.” She spoke with the raspy voice of a singer. D’you ever notice that? Real good singers always seem to have this distinct speaking voice, exclusive only to them. Maybe it’s just me.
Anyway, she hadn’t noticed I was standing right in front of her because she was too busy standing there, trying to emphasise the ridiculousness of her situation by getting wetter, I guess. I took an amp from her and told her to come in before she drowns.
“Hey, I know that voice!” She exclaimed in her loud giddiness. She bounced into the café and shook her hair around like a big wet dog. It was little things like these that made me enamoured with Sophie – her ability to become overly excited at hearing a voice she recognised and the way she shook her hair. It was just different, I guess.
With her hair now in a large puff, but her vision unhindered, she gasped at the sight of me. I wasn’t too sure how to react at a gasp-greeting then, and am still unsure now, so I simply gave an awkward wave and said, “Hi.”
“Myles! What are you doing here?” She yelled, her amber-brown eyes wide with shock.
“Why? Shouldn’t I be here?”
“No, no, don’t be silly; I just didn’t… I didn’t expect to see anyone from school ever again, really. Nobody ever hangs out at the Mojo.”
“I do,” sometimes.
“I’ve never seen you around! Come on, let’s give the amps to the guys and then we can chat.” She smiled this full smile that exposed all her teeth and made her look beautiful. Sophie was always smiling that way, and winning over everyone in the process.
So we handed over said amps and resumed seats at my table. The intimacy of the two-person table immediately got me all anxious and ridiculous. She propped her head up with her hands, her smooth elbows leaning on the table and her golden eyes ceaselessly connected. I’d never had a conversation with her like this; it was always a distanced infatuation.
“Now you know my secret, Myles. I’m in a band.” She smiled again.
“You could always sing.” I half-gulped. Damn it, she was making me ridiculous. Girls and their witchcraft!
“Aw, thanks. I was never gonna go onto college or continue education or anything. We’re gonna try to make it big; get our music out, compose a message. That’s why I never really expected to actually see anyone again.”
“But you were, like, popular. How many numbers did you get on our last day? What about all your friends?” Sophie was one of those Loved Kids. She had talent, she was beautiful, everyone adored her, and she got on with everyone too. This seemed odd coming from her.
“Ah, none of them were really my friends. I knew a lot of people and got close to them simply due to whole school-situation, y’know? These are my real friends.” She waved over to the band just as one of the guys struck a chord.
I nodded. I suppose she understood what I left too late to understand. Those friends were literally just a convenience of proximity. It was a depressing thought, but I guess it helped with the whole loneliness situation. A bit.
I glanced at the café’s clock; it was eleven minutes past nine. “Hardy was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago,” I said.
“Oh no, I can’t stand that guy.” She frowned despairingly and I laughed. Not many people could, but I needed to show him Echo. Echo! She had momentarily taken a place at the back of my mind – I was actually being normal.
Thunder roared outside and, just then, Hardy stumbled in. He and his lanky frame surveyed everybody in the room at a sublime speed and, I swear, I heard him groan. He made his way over to our table somewhat reluctantly.
“You acquired a date…” He spoke harshly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie spat. My heart sunk slightly. I mean, I know it wasn’t a date, but my heart still sunk.
“Myles, I don’t feel worthy in the presence of such Majesty, so please, may we take ourselves elsewhere?”
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Sophie yelled. The guys from the band immediately stalked over, standing behind Sophie like bodyguards. “What’s going on?” One of them added.
I interceded, “Nothing, nothing. Hardy, the weather’s crazy…”
“Oh, for the love of God, how did I know you were simply seeking attention? You’ve wasted my time, Myles.” His voice dealt bundles of guilt as though I’d committed the most horrible felony.
“What’s he talking about?” Sophie asked.
“Is this guy causing trouble?” The dreadlocked employee shouted from afar.
“Fantastic!” Hardy yelled. “Myles, if you and Her Grace don’t need me any longer, I think I’ll be heading off.”
“Hey, I don’t like your tone…” One of the band-guys said. Hardy laughed contemptuously in his face and made his way out.
Man, there was way too much going on.
“Sophie, I’m going to need to go after him,” I said and stood, re-donning my parka.
“As long as he’s out of my sight, we’re cool.” She sighed.
I frowned and ran out into the tempestuous day. Goddamn it, Hardy.
