...The Rain Came Down So Hard That Night

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...The Rain Came Down So Hard That Night

Those brown eyes, those beautiful brown eyes just staring at me. Not blinking, just shining eerily in the headlights of the traffic passing by in the opposite direction. The rain is coming down so hard. Everything seems so surreal. I fall to my knees and scream your name into the night. I cry so hard, but no one can see my tears, my torment. The rain is washing them away. I can feel myself slowly sinking down in the mud, but I don't care. I can't stop staring into those eyes…

"Just one more…for the road," I heard you slur, stumbling over to the bar. We were obviously too young to be drinking, but the bartender didn't seem to care too much. He was paying half of his gig with alcohol anyway. Cheap bastard. Not that we were complaining too much. You can barely stand, you're so drunk. And you're the cute kind of drunk too. Not mean, not abusive, not fucking retarded. You're a sweet drunk. I smile as I take another swig from the bottle in my hands. He hands you a Heineken and you slowly make your way back to our table. A flash of lightning illuminates the dark room for a brief moment. "Raining like a bitch out there," you said, staring out the front door. My sweet, little obvious drunk. If only you could know how much I truly loved you right there and then.

"So what if it's raining?" I answered, slamming my now-empty bottle down on the dirty tabletop. "At least you'll get a shower." I smiled at you and you returned the smile. Or I think you did. I can't remember now. Everything was so blurry.

"You two ready to go?" he asked, bumping into our table. He jingled the truck's keys in his right hand. "The Truck de la Fuck is leaving in approximately two and one quarter minutes." I shook my head, laughing at him quietly. He was just as bad as you were when you got drunk. He seemed all right to drive, I guess. Hell, he'd made it over to our table walking in a relatively straight line…and besides, we'd driven home before with him far worse than this. There was another flash of lightning which was followed almost immediately by a deafening crash of thunder. "Two minutes," he said, "and counting."

You finished off your drink in record time--how many had you put away that night? It had to be at least eight or nine--and we all ran out to the beat-up Ford that was his truck. Even in the darkest of nights you could make out what color it was, a biting neon orange. In direct sunlight, it could definitely fry someone's retinas. As the rain washed down over us, I saw you reach over and grab the keys from his hands and run to the driver's side of the vehicle. Oh, well. Looks like I wouldn't have to worry about him driving drunk tonight. You would be the one to do it. I laughed at my own private joke as I climbed up into the cab. I always got stuck taking the middle seat, and let me tell you, if you've never ridden in a small truck like that before, it sucks. Majorly. He climbed in beside me and slammed the door shut. You had to slam the door on the passenger side, otherwise it wouldn't close completely. "This truck is such a piece of shit," I mutter, not bothering to put on my seatbelt. We were only a few miles from home…

You have a little trouble finding the ignition, but when you do, you insert the key and turn too far. The truck engine squeals and he yells at you. I just laugh because, hey, I'm completely wasted and I find stupid things like that hilarious when I'm drunk off my ass. You reach over and turn on the radio because you always have to have music. I know you. The radio is on some classic rock station and Queen comes on, right at the beginning of my favorite song, "Bohemian Rhapsody." We all start singing along, more or less on key, when you put the truck in drive and start pulling out onto the highway. You finally realized that you needed to turn on the windshield wipes because it is literally pouring outside, and you turn them on to the highest setting. I turn up the radio because the cool part of the song is coming up. The power chord, then the operatic section. I know you always said you really didn't like Queen, but I see you singing along anyway. The feel of your thigh against mine is comforting for some reason. It's times like these I really wish we could've shared more often, just us two, bonding in our own special way.

Either the lines on the road are really curvy, or you start swerving all over the place. I'm guessing it was most likely the latter. "Hey, man, you okay to drive?" I asked, shouting over the radio. Why hadn't I turned it down? I know how loud music makes you drive faster than your usual seventy miles per hour. You just nodded and continued to sing along with that song you supposedly hated. I find that my hands are gripping the dashboard. I reach down and pop in the tape that has been sitting in the tape deck. Dashboard Confessional. I know how you love this band too. I can see you roll your eyes in the faint light coming from the headlights of that car a bit down the road. The rain hasn't let up at all. If anything, it's somehow grown harder. "Screaming infidelities," we all sing at the chorus. I see you look over at me, your eyes half-closed. "You sure you're okay?" I can hear my own voice slurring. Good thing I wasn't driving. He doesn't take his eyes off me, those gorgeous brown eyes, but eventually I do look up. And I notice we're directly in the path of that car in the other lane. Wait-we were in the wrong lane.

I scream, and that's when you finally look at the road. You see what I see and slam on the brakes, but there's too much water on the roads. We just slide right in front of the other car, which swerves, but still hits a good portion of our front end. The small truck begins to fishtail and in your confusion you let off the brake and hit the gas. Wrong move. The truck picks up speed, and now he is screaming with us. We were going about fifty when the truck flew over the gravel shoulder of the road and into that tree.

I still cannot remember exactly what happened for those five or six minutes after the truck came to such a sudden stop. I think I might've been knocked unconscious, by hitting my head on the dashboard or something. I remember waking up to an excruciating pain and the sound of Chris Carrabba singing the line "'Cuz you're gone--I get nothing and you're off with barely a sigh. I never said good-bye." My legs are all wet and my first reaction is that somehow there was a hole in the roof and the rain is falling down on me. I reach down and touch my thigh. It's a warm wetness, it's my blood. The song continues and I slowly start disentangling myself from the ruins of his truck. The dash is crushing me and only by pushing with all the strength I have in me can I free my legs. I don't know if they're broken or not. I'm still trying to climb out of the cab.

He was lying on the ground next to his side of the truck, his white shirt muddied and bloodied. One of the headlights on the truck is still shining and I can see the pain in his eyes, as he must see it in mine. This has to be the worst pain ever. Not only do my legs feel like someone is driving hot pokers through the bones, now my neck and back are beginning to feel that way too. I fall out of the crumpled cab and land in the mud beside him. Just by looking at him, I can tell he's okay. Well, as okay as one can be when they've just crashed headfirst into the biggest tree in Maryland. I grasp his hand to let him know that I'm relatively fine as far as I know. After a while I find the strength to pull myself to my feet, discovering that my legs aren't broken. That's a good thing. I stumble around the bed of the truck and slip and slide my way through the deep mud to the driver's side of the truck.

I see you, half in, half out of the cab, your legs still near the pedals, your head and torso down toward the ground. I hurry in my shuffling walk to reach your side, in case you're hurt. When I finally make it so that I'm in front of you, I can feel my heart stop in my chest.

I crawl to your side, and place my hands on the side of your face. Its so cold, already. I can't breathe. "Benji," I sob, knowing you can't hear me but saying it anyway. "Benji, please wake up, please be okay." You give me no response. Those eyes, just staring at me. There is a tiny river of red flowing out of your mouth. I push the hair that the rain has washed over your face back. I run my thumb over your lips. All my pain has vanished, has been replaced by a horrible numbness. "Benji, I love you," I whisper as I grab your limp and unresponsive hand, the hand that had always gripped mine before, whether it was gripping mine in comfort, in sadness, or in…in bed. "I love you," I whisper again.

A car pulls over and a man in a suit climbs out and asks if anyone's hurt. I don't say anything. You're not hurt. You'll never feel pain again. Finally he sees me cradling your sweet, beautiful body, and he looks into your eyes. I can see it shocks him to the core. He pulls out his cell phone and I can hear him dial three digits. I get lost in the music which is miraculously still playing and sound of the rain hitting the truck, the road, and our bodies. I may as well be dead alongside you. What am I without you? Nothing. I need you. Please come back.

I reach out and grab the man's pant leg. "Tony's on the other side," I manage to tell him. He stares at me for a moment before what I said sinks in. He walks around to the other side of the truck to check on him. I place a soft kiss on your soft, cold lips. Your eyes are still open. Those are the eyes that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I knew we were too drunk to go out driving, but hell, we were young and we were stupid and now--now look what's happened to us. I could've done something to prevent this, but I didn't. This was all my fault. I had killed my own brother, the man I loved more than anyone has ever loved anything throughout the history of the world. My pain was starting to return, starting in my chest and slowly, sadistically working its way throughout my entire body. I was almost happy for this horrendous sensation. I deserved to suffer.

Every single night, right after I turn out the light but before I fall asleep, I can close my eyes and still see your eyes staring blankly into mine. I can still hear you singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Screaming Infidelities." I still remember that little squeeze you gave my hand as the truck was spinning out of control.

I've never loved anyone since you, Benji, and I never will. There will never be another person in my life who will ever mean as much to me as you did.

Tonight, I light your candle once more, and stare at that framed picture of us. We looked so happy together, all those years ago. But your eyes in the photograph don't affect me. It's the ones I saw that rainy night so long ago that will stay with me forever. "Good night, Benji. I miss you," I whisper at the picture. I turn off the light and climb into bed. I know you're there waiting for me. As soon as I close my eyes, there you are.

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