Rickie told Danny that he couldn’t have anyone in the house.
“Only for a little while,” Danny said.
Rickie stood behind the locked screen door. “I’m not allowed to when I’m alone.”
Rickie held the locked handle. Danny began to trace his finger in the dirt.
“If you can’t, you can’t.”
Rickie leaned against the screen. “You gonna be at the trails?”
“Probably.” Danny nodded.
“I’ll come,” Rickie said, “if I can.”
Danny shrugged his shoulders.
“I just can’t now.”
“It’s OK.” Danny turned away.
Rickie closed the door.
Danny stopped at the corner of his block. The trails were a short walk to the other end of the street. His mom’s car was in the driveway. Another car Danny didn’t know crowded in behind hers. He looked at the sky. Dark clouds on the horizon had threatened rain all day. Danny went to the trails the long way that circled away from his house. By the time Danny reached the trails, a rolling squall line blotted the sun and wind rattled the branches.
At first, the rain was nothing but a veil of mist. Squatted beneath a thatch of kudzu, Danny pulled the collar of his tee-shirt tight around his neck. The rain grew heavier. The thunder, deeper. Threads of lightning unraveled the sky.
Danny was soaked through all his clothes. His hair matted against his face. He hugged his knees into his chest. He lowered his head, eyes held to the ground.
He didn’t hear Rickie appear through the heavy curtain of rain. Rickie wore a red raincoat that glowed in the gray-scale of the storm. He slipped in the mud then settled shoulder-to-shoulder beside Danny.
A small stream began to form in front of the boys. First, just a finger thick, then two, until a hand-wide current carried dirt and sticks and leaves and bits of trash through the undergrowth. Beyond the water, a tree trembled as the raindrops pattered across the leaves.
Rickie took his red raincoat off. He held his arms out and Danny pushed himself closer until his back rested against Rickie’s chest. Rickie held the red raincoat above them both.
is the author of a poetry book, Bricolage (Spartan Press, 2022). More than forty of his poems appear in such publications as Burningwood Literary Journal, Faultline, Michigan Quarterly Review, and december magazine; and nearly two dozen of his flash fictions in such journals as Blue Mountain Review, The Good Life Review, and The Typescript. Several of his scripts have also been published. He is a poetry reader for Ariel Publishing and a fiction reader for The Maine Review.
