Did it rain last night?
No, but it probably will today.
Have you eaten this morning?
Nope. I am waiting for the rain.
David bothered Andy.
He turned the dial right and heard clicks click. Andy?
Andy answered from the restroom. Gas line is off!
Damn. David wanted coffee, and his instant ran out a few days ago. He stood still above the stovetop, turning the dial to the burner, summoning more clicks until he made up his mind. He had to go to the bodega. He had to go — with pain. He could hardly stomach coffee that was fifty cents past his limit.
Three days ago, they argued about David’s limit.
David was steadfast: It is a matter of principle! Coffee with no cream or sugar is $2.50!
Andy was bothered: You waste so much money on stupid shit. I will just give you the fifty cents!
The fight was resolved by dinner, as David couldn’t get the burner to work and had to ask for Andy’s help. David sat staring at the lifeless burner, still clicking. He remembered Andy’s smirk as he summoned fire; the blue flame danced above the metal burner, and the fire’s imprint had not quite left his near-empty eyes; he wouldn’t tell Andy he was going to the corner store.
He lied about a headache and said he needed to walk it off. As David left, Andy handed him an umbrella.
It will rain.
The cashier stood rigid, reading a book. He looked uncomfortable, but David did not care. He placed the umbrella by the entrance, grabbed the largest coffee cup, and stood, weighing his options for the brew. Colombian Dark Roast. Vienna Medium Roast. Haitian Arabica Dark Roast.
They are all the same, man.
David went with Colombian. He saw a honey bun by the counter, thought of Andy, who wanted to eat when the rain came, and walked to the counter to pay.
Don’t forget the umbrella.
What?
With piercing, glowing eyes, the cashier looked into David’s eyes for the first time.
It’s supposed to be raining out there.
David looked outside to find the streets painted blue and green with scintillating specks sat atop the bulbous and glowing flesh of what looked like glass and the skinned and chewed hide of some game all pressed and meshed together, moving like calm water, drops of painted silk beaded and sliding along the breathing bulge the ground became; the sky was without rain, devoid of color, no clouds to be seen for miles; what became of the sky was a placid silk film, opaque and moving slowly in waves like the ground; the trees seemed sprigged with life-filled orbs of more flesh and milky foam which funneled from the canopies, all growing at rapid pace; where there were trees were huge nests of canopy-cover, leaves binding together like sewn cloth, in the trees were silhouettes of living things which seemed familiar until one looked close, mishapen faces lacking feature or form, laden bodies with extensive leg and limb, fleshy toads sprang down from the trees to show their malformed legs and eyes so bright like all that was scintillating; the sky was masked by the lush, what little light dappled as bright as solar flares against the fleshbed the ground became; from out of the ground came six-legged vermin of more blue and green, delicate round beetle bugs with bioluminescence abound; the ground teemed with somewhat alien life, life that lived perpendicular to the people around; shapes of species familiar to everyone who saw crawled and wriggled against the breathing fleshbed and what could have been mussels surrounded David’s feet, opening their shells to present arms which reached to the sky, arms radiating and moving in perfect form, flesh like nopal, they waved their hands rapidly and took flight from the very fleshbed they sprouted from.
The people were different, too.
Some sat with swollen legs crossed, sinking into the fleshbed, breathing in sync with the bed’s suspirations. Others brought distended foreheads to trees, oil sprouting from vines reaching to deliver unction, the oil leaving a colorful trace, its radiance lasting and spreading throughout their bodies, visible through the skin as the people merged limb and skin with the delivering trees. Limbs abound, bark-arms fluttering as they turned blue and gone to green and blue again.
David was lost in the permanence of growth and movement and followed what little clues he had back to his apartment. As he approached more people, he noticed arms sprouting from where there once were eyes, glowing blue and green fingers fluttering like a musing piano player. David saw ears wiggling and hanging from dried tendons that sprouted from the backs of people moving under some hypnotic frenzy.
It was too much. Too much for David. He was tired from the walk and nearing his apartment as he stumbled upon what seemed to be a single southern live oak, glassy branches freckled with red leaves and squirming Spanish moss and scintillating fruit. Huge branches weighed to the ground, giving David a seat and cover from the alien sky. His coffee had spilled a long time ago, his hand clutched the honey bun he bought for Andy, and a low grumbling bass shook from the roots of the oak. David saw a face that looked grafted onto the rough texture of the live oak’s glassy bark. His pressed and rough face lay flat with quiet dignity. It was Andy.
Give me a bite of that honey bun.
Andy, what happened?
I think I looked at the sky too long.
What are we gonna do?
Nothing, let’s just sit here for a while. Gimme a bite.
David unwrapped a mostly crushed honey bun. When David was lost in that frenzy, he squished the honey bun, imagining he was squeezing Andy’s hand. Andy’s mouth, now huge and stretching across the hefty oak, swallowed the honey bun in one gulp. Andy smiled. Then, Andy’s roots grumbled, his eyes shut tight, and his branches shook, peppering softened light amongst resting David. With light ebbing through the spaces between Andy’s leaves, a fruit, which looked more like polished opal than fruit, fell, thudded, and sat next to David’s feet. David realized no other tree had ever made fruit for him. Then the rain came.
Writer | Jorge Rodriguez Jr ’26 | jrodriguezjr26@amherst.edu
Editor | Mike Rosenthal ’27 | jrosenthal27@amherst.edu