Our Little Fall of Rain
by CLS Sandoval
Don’t you fret, Monsieur Marius, I don’t feel any pain . . . Jesse held me in his thick arms, against his broad chest as we sang our duet. Les Miserables had been my go-to sing-a-long since I was a little girl. For talent shows, I always chose the saddest of the tunes to sing for my confused peers, like the time I shredded pink polyester to look like rags for my portrayal of a dying Fontaine singing I Dreamed a Dream, at least a decade before Susan Boyle brought the song to the attention of those not enthralled by musical theatre via Britain’s Got Talent. Jesse held me tighter as he belted, If I could close your wounds with words of love . . .
In that moment, all of the butterflies we gave each other were real. All of those stolen glances, flirtatious jokes, moments that he convinced me that his lips would touch mine rushed to my mind, to my voice. For so long, I believed that Jesse really wanted me. That it was I who was turning him down. It was a special kind of power that I had talked myself into. That I was the most attractive creature Jesse had ever laid eyes on. In that moment, I had that power. Jesse had that power. I could feel the audience breathing with us. I didn’t think about the boy I had been dating, and Jesse didn’t think about the boy he was dating.
It would be years before I knew Jesse was gay, that I wasn’t the object of his desire. He would always give me this little gift. He would tell me I was the only girl he ever had a crush on. I can’t help but believe that the crush began and ended with A Little Fall of Rain.
