life's rain // bruno mars

chapter one

chapter one

Part One

The streets of California were more crowded than usual. A Labor Day's parade was striding on the cracks of the pavements and the fissures of the roads. The live band's music was sounding loudly through the air, making the crowd around me get charged with this kind of buzzing energy. I was shoving my way through the mass of bodies, keeping one palm against my camera that was strung around my neck for its protection. It was a rare Vintage Nikon Nikkormat and to have it in my belonging I made a worthy sacrifice of two whole paychecks.

There was a small space where no one occupied, seemingly because it was the entrance between two buildings, an alley, and no one wanted to withdraw from the excitement of the parade. When I made it there before having the chance to get trampled on or elbowed in the ribs, I turned my back against it, putting my camera up to my eyes, focusing the lens. The sun was direct on the crowd, making them turn into shadows against the star-shaped light. Capture a moment where something is visible, but untruly. The snapping sound of the camera was such a familiarity to me. My homework was finished.

I turned around to view the photos when the smell of smoke wafted around me, alluring my attention away from my assignment. There was a man, too deep in the passageway for me to make out his profile, but I could see the outline of curly hair and his hand as he brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. He was silhouetted, like the people behind me, but the sun didn't quite strike him.

I walked slowly. He never acknowledged that I was there. A single light bulb overhead a backdoor to a store flared to life, glinting the area with a faint orange. I stopped, watching his eyes stare up at the light for a long time before he took another slow drag.

When I was just a little of the way I raised my hand in a half wave. “Hi.”

He glanced in my direction once before tapping his cigarette against a crevice in the concrete wall, turning his head around in the opposite direction to blow out his last breath of smoke. He cleared his throat and turned to me, greeting me softly. “Hey.”

“You didn't have to do that.” I gave him a small smile. “I don't mind the smoke.”

“Oh.” He dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed the remains with his heel. “You're a smoker yourself?”

I shook my head. “Second-hand. I was raised by two smokers who told me it was bad for me.”

The corner of his mouth hitched up slightly; the perfect side smile. “Really? Same goes for my dad. He would tell me never to smoke, then puff away.” He shrugged a bit. “Guess it rubbed off on me.”

“An inspiration is all one needs to either stop. . . or go.” I almost flinched at my words, the poetic side of me accidentally making an appearance, and added a quick ‘you know’ to hopefully not seem weird. I began tracing a finger around my camera, he was making me nervous for some reason, my insides going hollow. He was dressed simply, in a plaid flannel with a gray shirt underneath and dark jeans.

“Yeah.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, chewing softly on the corner. His dark eyes were watching me with an obscured curiosity, studying me. “I'm gonna stop, one day, hopefully.”

“So. . . not enjoying the parade?”

His eyes slid to the distance behind me before he brought them back to mine for a second longer, showing the enigma he so clearly possessed. “I needed a smoke.”

“Ah.” I nodded, understanding. “Right.”

“What's your name?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the wall casually and I was caught off guard for a moment, my name wiped from my memory temporarily at the smooth movement. I tore my gaze from his, ransacking my thoughts only for a lingering second. His watchful presence made me shift to one side.

“Lena,” I answered, finally.

“Bruno.”

“I like your name,” I told him. “Sounds kind of retro.”

He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping from his lips. The orange light went out suddenly, my heart stopped, then continued into this frantic beating as I could tell his eyes were dancing on me the whole time. “Gotta blame the parents. They're all about the early eras.”

“Really?” I was surprised. “Like those James Brown times?”

Bruno snapped a finger, ending it with a point of his finger at me. He smiled, dimples denting both of his cheeks. “You got it.” A vibration emitted unexpectedly. It wasn't the music behind us that was getting fainter and fainter as the parade moved further away but from Bruno's pocket. He slid his phone out with two fingers, the glowing screen lighting weakly around us. The brown of his eyes were turned ablaze as he quickly scanned the screen before turning out the light and returning his phone to his pocket, submersing us into darkness again. “Sorry about that, Lena.” He enunciated my name quite slowly, as if testing the word in his mouth. He seemed satisfied with the way it sounded. “But I gotta go meet my friend down the street. Can I call you later?”

It took me a moment to realize he was asking for my number. My thoughts were in shambles, and my insides full of fluttering movement. We exchanged our digits as we walked down the passage, to the thinning crowd of people. We came to a stop at the mouth of the alley. Bruno turned towards me. “Are you going this way?”

I shook my head. “I'm staying here for a little while and just. . .” I held my camera up a little to show him. “taking some pictures.”

“Oh.” His eyes flickered to the camera then back to me, the gaze of his lingering on mine before he shot me a smile. “Well, I'll talk to you later, Lena.”

I sheepishly waved. “Later, Bruno.”

When he was out of my view I leaned against the cement wall, attempting to understand what just happened. Why I went over to him and began a conversation was beyond my knowing. Maybe it was because of the way he appeared standing in that alley: an insouciant shadow between two barriers, as if even though he was holding the whole world on his shoulders, he knew, no, had, something no one else did. I wanted to capture that moment in my Nikon, but the idea was thrown out of my mind when he turned those eyes to me. Those eyes that held so much, but told so very little.

It was a good thirty minutes that I stayed in the one spot, watching the remainder of people disappear down the street as the parade left, my thoughts wrapping mostly around that Bruno guy. It was something that couldn't be helped, that mystifying something that he seemed to have drew my mind to him, a moth to a flame.

I glanced at my phone, the time read six thirty-seven. The sun was hanging low and watery in the sky, beginning its descent so the moon could take its place. I decided to walk around. The streets were scattered with food wrappers and confetti and mini American flags, I even spotted a children's shoe. 

I looped around Hill Street and headed to Lakers Drive, which earned its name from the lake—Runner's Lake, it's called—that was located in the middle of Runner's Park, with a road surrounding it enabling you to ride in one big circle to see every side of the glistening, not-exactly-clear water and park. Setting my camera on the grass, I swung my legs over the wooden fence and landed on the other side, reaching for my camera through the space in the fence. I brushed it free of dirt and placed the strap around my neck again. The lake was closed on Labor Day because of the parade. The county didn't at least want this place to become trashed with parade paraphernalia and have to pay for yet another cleanup crew. It was silent with the exception of small animals in the brush as I proceeded through the grass, making sure to keep to the thin trees. There was always an officer waiting to catch a disobeying citizen, but the officer usually became bored, and having nothing else better to do, it would leave. 

If you were caught, the punishment wasn't even that serious. You would simply be forced to leave. I wasn't entirely sure if the officer had made its departure yet, seeming I tried to stay out of his or her way. As I neared closer to the lake, the sound of quacking ducks and the small splashes their ducklings made became louder. I leaned a shoulder against a tree, feeling its rough bark scratch my skin. I put the lens to my eyes.

“Well,” a voice said behind me. “we meet again.” 

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Hooligans! This is my new, second story. It's pretty different than my other Bruno ff and I'm kind of excited about it. Let me know what you think and comment? I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter, thank you for reading!