Sommersville

A Story by Emma Rose

It was a silent day in Sommersville the day the rains came. It started as a cold, silent, dry day just like any other.
The week before the commotion, Little Jason--only six and three-quarters, mind you--sat in the dirt playing with a plastic Tonka truck. As he sat there, alone, pushing the red truck through the thin earth around him, clouds of dirt engulfed his small body. The dust mask he wore on his face protected him from the dust in the air and his goggles protected his eyes. He had a full-body suit on to keep his skin moist, but still it dried and cracked like that of an old man.
There was not a citizen who did not wear these protective garments, because it was law and when you lived in Sommersville, by God, you abided by the law. It was not a recent rule, implemented seventy years previously, but the oldest, frailest people in town remembered a time when little girls wore sundresses and little boys dressed in overalls. A time when one could see the warmth of a woman's beautiful face while walking down the street and neighbors could smile a quick "hello" to each other as they passed.
Jason had not been alive the last time it rained. In fact, Jason's parents had not been alive. Jason's grandmother--God rest her soul--had told him a story of experiencing a sweet, blissful thunderstorm when she was but three years old. "Rain is a myth," her widower argued with a scoff. "You've gone mad!" But Jason's grandfather was younger than she--six years younger, to be exact--and it had in fact rained; It had rained nearly every week, back in those days.
Jason's grandmother was ninety eight when she passed away and she was the one in town that most fervently fought against wearing the "necessary" protective gear. She and Jason had shared a special bond despite his being only four years old when she was torn away from him. He loved to sit on his grandfather's lap but it could not compare to sharing a warm embrace with his grandmother while listening to whimsical tales of past times. His grandfather, of course, thought that warm embraces were silly. Then again, his grandfather thought that most things were silly those days. He had loved his wife but never put much stock into her passionate tendencies.
Little Jason did not know what rain was. He believed in the idea--he had dearly loved and trusted his grandmother, you know, even though he had been young when she was lost. He understood the concept as well, for he was a bright child. But he did not understand what all the fuss was about. He did not understand what it was, what it represented. It was just water, for God's sake. They had plenty of water in the underground streams.
Sommersville was a wasteland, a desert, a fallow field filled with sun, sand and silence. The people in town were accustomed to the dearth of noise; hardly any of them said a word outside of their old brick cottages. None of them liked it, but none of them knew any different. The older members of the city were the louder members of the city, many having known a time in which the sounds of bells, children's laughter and gladness filled the air. A time when neighbors were neighborly and friends often came to visit. Some of them had known a time when it had rained.
The day before, Little Jason had been sitting in his grandfather's old lap, in his grandfather's old, rickety rocking chair on their old, rickety, broken down porch imagining insignificant things involving the products of his juvenile dreams. They did not talk about rain. They did not see the faint clouds in the distance. And even if they had, clouds were not uncommon. Nobody in the quaint little town of Sommersville could have guessed. Then again, none of them wanted to.
The hour before, Little Jason had been sleeping soundly, his dreams not plagued with thoughts of rain. The minute before, just barely waking up and stumbling to the breakfast table and then--
Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. There was no light pitter-patter of rain on the roof, no gentle droplets dampening the dust. It was a sudden, frightening storm the likes of which not even Jason's grandmother had seen. Jason was frightened beyond belief. He cowered like a lamb beneath the table and listened to the startled cries of neighbors.
He grimaced and covered his ears with his hands but he couldn't stop the sound--
"The wells! The wells will overflow!" a group of villagers yelled in a chorus of quivering but intense voices. Other citizens simply wept in agony or in relief. Few people ran into the streets to dance as all of them should have. Nobody praised God for the rain.
Jason's mother found him and held him tightly beneath the table. She was more frightened than he was, if that was possible. Jason had a sort of innocence one can only find in a child and it protected him from fear more than it caused it.
Jason found sweet solace in his mother's embrace. He stopped sobbing and listened as the roar of wind and rain slowed to a quiet hum. Just as suddenly as it started the tempest became a soothing, entrancing pattern of taps on the ground. The roof was leaking but at that moment nobody cared. In heavy contrast to the discord preceding it, the calm that followed encompassed everyone in a luxurious, soothing blanket of bliss. It was the epitome of calm after a storm.
With the cautious legs of a fawn learning to walk, Jason's mother pushed their front door open with shaking hands and peered outside. The room immediately filled with a cool mist and Jason struggled to see through his goggles. The sky was filled with thin clouds and bright sunlight and almost nobody--men, women and children alike--remained in their homes. Jason ran and clung to his mother's legs, still uncertain whether or not the outdoors brought safety or despair.
No-one outside dared to move a muscle. Those who had believed in the rain when the town was as dry as a bone still quietly wept tears of joy and the faces of those who previously hadn't were halfway lit up in amazement and halfway twisted into revolted, secretly scared expressions. Jason, a very sentient young boy, had never known his friends, his family, his neighbors to be in such complete awe. The allure of what was unknown to him drew him into the glistening street. His mother thought to stop him but could not overcome the paralysis that consumed her.
Wide-eyed, Little Jason awkwardly stepped past the puddles of mud surrounding his home and halted in the middle of the street, warily staring at the mixture of emotion around him.
The wind blew gently and the clouds in the sky parted slightly, the smallest crack allowing the sun's rays to peek through and greet the stunned townspeople. What little murmur in the silent town of Sommersville there was ceased immediately.
With not two moments in between the opening of the God light and the sudden sound, the church's bells clanged into life, filling the somber air with a fanciful tune. It was ten o'clock in the morning.
Jason was not startled by the bells. Nothing could have startled him just then. His face was blank for a moment. Underneath his mask, a smile formed, broad as could be, and he, with confidence, tugged the mask off of his face. Not a single person tried to stop him.
His goggles came next, and his blue eyes sparkled like a little boy's should have. He breathed with ease and though his eyes first turned red with exposure to air and moisture, his smile did not falter.
Slowly and with trembling fingers, his mother did the same. The people of Sommersville were stunned into silence, standing as rigid as boards, at the small child's bravery and beauty. His stolid old grandfather, still sitting in his old, rickety rocker on the porch, began to weep at the childlike loveliness of his Little Jason.
As a group, in a huge wave of movement, the crowd surrounding Jason removed their armor and took in deep, delicious breaths of the misty air. There were cracks in the clouds all around now, bathing the street in patches of heavenly light.
From the quickly thinning clouds above, a very gentle, nearly undetectable drizzle came down upon the bare faces of the townspeople. While a few remained bawling in utter exultation and many covered their faces with their hands in fear, Little Jason lifted his head to the sky and laughed, the sound ringing out into the street and ringing within the heart of Sommersville.
It was ten fifteen in the morning, and the town of Sommersville would never be the same.
"Praise God!" somebody screamed.