Poem
Seattle Autumn Nights
A Love Story in a Rainstorm
On Seattle autumn nights,
Lacy and I’d laugh
over how we met.
We clanked our wine
glasses in jubilation
We’d do this until
we fell fast asleep
in our new home.
Things hadn’t always been
smooth sailing.
We’d had it in us to start
over after amicable divorces.
I let Sofia have the home
and settled into an apartment
of my own.
It wasn’t much,
but the silence nipped
at the screaming in my head,
telling me I’d die alone,
without a woman to hold.
I’d smoke on the landing
and read a newspaper.
At least, I’d pretend to read one.
I had my eyes on a woman who moved in
down the hall.
Lacy washed clothes on Thursdays.
I took towels and a comforter to wash.
I bumped into her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, moving her sleek red hair around her neck. “I’m a clutz.”
“Don’t be,” I said, swooping to put my laundry into the washer.
I stood three inches above Lacy, which put her at five foot five inches.
People pushed quarters into machine washer slots. And beverages thumped out as people put in change and pressed a number for a glass-bottled Starbucks or a tall Rockstar can.
The office had water and snacks.
The washers soaked and spun with a flopping vibe. The dryers twirled clothes with a timer to dry. People folded and bagged their laundry on the tables, seemingly in their own worlds, as they talked on speakerphones and listened to music in earphones. A TV in the corner played the news with the volume below room earshot.
I stretched my back and moved my eyes for an open chair.
As our eyes locked, Lacy motioned me over.
I smiled and crossed the room. I pulled out a seat.
“Come here often?” I said.
“Depends on who’s asking?” Lacy gave me a sultry wink and a confident smile.
“I’m asking.” I played along.
“Well…” Lacy rested her head in her hands, her elbows propped on the table, “it all started when I was twenty-five.”
I arched a brow. “Seriously?”
“Listen,” she said, reaching to pull lint from my shirt with her fingers, “we both know you didn’t come her to wash clothes now, did you?”
I swallowed hard. “How would you — ”
“You have a washer in your apartment,” Lacy said. “That’s how I know.”
“How else was I supposed to approach you?”
“I don’t know.” Lacy shrugged. “Like a normal person.”
“Oh,” I said, almost offended, “so I’m not normal?”
“You said it, not me.” Lacy gave me a neutral grin.
“I — ”
“This love plot failed, dude.” Lacy pushed herself upright and removed clothes from the dryer.
Unforcasted, thick, dark clouds swirled in for a surprise flash rainstorm. Lacy folded her sweaters and jeans. She turned her head and moved her eyes around for her bins, but someone with sticky fingers needed them more than she did.
Lacy glanced outside, placed her hands on her hips, and dipped her head.
“Mine,” I said.
“What?” Lacy said.
“You can use my bins.” I stood and carried her the bins.
We put her clothes in and closed the lids.
Lacy’s gaze softened. “Do you mind helping me?”
“Hold on.” I shook off my light coat and put it over Lacy.
“I’m sure you worked hard to straighten your hair.”
Lacy blushed.
“Let’s go.” I opened the door, and she followed.
The raindrops fell in hundreds of clusters,
slapping the concrete like a wet blanket
whipping a hardwood floor.
Lacy laughed.
“What?” I said over the rain.
“You got your wish.” Lacy looked at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Why are you really here?”
“I had a home, but I walked off divorce’s cliff.”
“You too, huh?”
“And you?” I said as we moved to her apartment.
“My ex couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” Lacy said. “Hell. He couldn’t even keep his dingdong in his pants.”
Mascara spread across her cheeks.
“I’m sure you’ll find better,” I said like a guy in the friend zone, hoping for a chance to play the boyfriend position. “I’ve got my odds on you settling down for a better life. This woman won’t stick with him.”
“She already left him.”
“And now he wants you back?”
“I’ve got nothing but good luck for him.”
We arrived at her apartment.
Lacy dug in her pocket for her keys. She stuck the key in the door and unlocked a new reality. She paused. “Would you like to come in?”
“Are you sure?”
“I could really use an ear.”
“I have two of them, although when I was a kid, Mom said I couldn’t hear. I just didn’t want to listen to her.”
“That’s so cute,” she said. We moved into her apartment.
She had a cream loveseat and a tan couch with a lazy boy. A large dark rug sprawled beneath a long coffee table.
Lacy showed me the framed pictures on the beige walls. Her mother and father held each other as though the essence of romanticism resided in a secret that only they knew.
Lacy showed me the artwork that she’d made in college. She showed me one bedroom, in which she painted art to sell. Her ambition held my hope together.
Lacy licked her fingers and flipped through her Charcol drawings.
“Wait,” I said, touching her hand. “Turn back.”
Lacy sighed. “It’s not what — ”
“Turn back,” I said with a splash of bass in my voice.
“It’s you,” she said.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s weird,” I said.
“No,” Lacy said, “Republicans are weird, not me.”
My anxious expression eased into a grin. “How do you know me?”
“I went to college with Sofia,” she said.
“Lacy Anderson?” I said, arching a brow.
“That Lacy Anderson.”
“The picture looks a lot like me.”
“I’d watch you on the landing, reading a paper on weekdays.”
“But how did you know where I was?” I said.
“In English, I nudged Sofia and told her I wanted you.”
“But she wanted me more?”
“No,” Lacy said. “She wanted what I wanted.”
“And you looked for me?” Warmth rushed through my cheeks.
“I reached out to your sister,” Lacy said. “She told me not to tell you, so don’t tell her.” Lacy winked.
“I wondered who you were,” I said. “When Lacy got hammered, she’d bring you up and call you every name in the book.”
“She’s a spoiled brat,” Lacy said. “I loved her until I found out she cheated with my husband.”
I widened my eyes and raked my fingers through my thick, dark hair. “Your husband?”
Lacy shrugged. “Life is crazy.” Lacy grabbed a remote, lifted it, and pressed a button, and soft pop played on the radio.
We chatted as she lit a cherry candle. The flame flickered in the shadows. The wax pooled beneath its wick.
I sat on the couch, and she returned from the kitchen with two frosty, dark beers. Our life smoothly sailed even in a downpour.
(© 2024 AC)
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