flash · short story

The Rainy Day

The Rainy Day

“Can you believe our luck.” Lucy said from bed. Sunlight streamed into the dark bedroom, but only across her face.

“This always happens to us,” Dave said, rolling over. He sat up and peeked through the venetian blinds.

“How bad is it?”

“Worse than you’d imagine,” he said.

It was Sunday morning. The birds were chirping in the lemon grove that surrounded their house. The sun was glowing. The damned sky was bluer than ever.

“Another hellishly beautiful day.”

“Ughhhhhhhhh,” Lucy said, punching her pillow. Duck feathers flew out.

They’d gone to bed hoping for a nasty day. They’d wished for as inclement as inclement could get. The rabbit hopping across the glade confirmed it, nope- it was a perfect day.

“I’d have liked to stay in bed all day.”

“Me too.” Dave said.

They’d tried that in the past, but it didn’t work. The horrid nice day guilt.

They tried anyway. They shut the blinds and they laid pretended it was sleeting outside.

“Repeat after me, Lucy … It’s not 76 degrees and sunny … there’s not nectar in the air.

“It’s not 76 degrees and sunny … there’s not nectar in the air.”

“It’s not … yeah, this isn’t working.”

“I know. I know.” Lucy said woefully, “We might as well get out there, do our yard work.”

“Sure, I should paint the shed …”

“I should trim back the rose bushes…”

Neither of them wanted to do anything but stay lay there, rolling around, looking, talking. All that.

They got up, though. They began doing their chores.

Dave was folding up his large grey canvas painter’s tarps when he got an idea. Lucy was dragging the sprinkler around the lawn when she got an idea.
They both ran around the side of the house and told each other about the sudden revelation they’d had.

Dave got out his paints and he started to paint clouds on all on the grey painting tarps. Lucy hooked up all the hoses she could find to the spigot. Together they started to poke holes into the tarp with knives from the silverware drawer. Then carefully, Dave went up on the extension ladder and tied a rope from the corner of the tarp up into a pine tree. They moved the ladder, did the same thing on each corner.

“Oh … that looks real!”

“It does.” Dave admitted. From the ground looking up, the underside of the grey tarps looked just like miserable storm clouds. The two of them smiled.

On their way back into the house, Lucy opened the valve on the sprinklers that were resting on the top of the grey tarps.

Then, they were laying in their bed, looking out the window at the nasty grey clouds and the rain that was coming down though them and they were very pleased.

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