Dancing in the Rain.

              

                 It was August of the year without summer.  Tori and Leslie sat inside their cabin looking out into the mist, wondering if they would ever feel the sun on their faces again.

                “I would take a thirty-second sucker hole at this point,” complained Leslie.

                “I haven’t even put away my winter wardrobe yet,” said Tori.

                “I just want the rain to stop.”

                “It will be good for the salmon. Right?”

                “Better be good for something.”

                Leslie unfolded herself from the couch and wandered to the kitchen.  She looked around and grimaced before opening the refrigerator. 

                “Sweety,” called Tori, “are you hungry or bored?”

                “Yes.” Leslie responded over the din of the fridge’s fan. “Why do we have so much mustard? The good stuff is about to go bad.”

                “Once upon a time, before the rains came- “

                Leslie snorted.

                “-we had plans to spend a summer outside.  We dreamed of hotdogs in the firepit, and late nights chasing fireflies.”

                Leslie sighed before a sideways smirk slide across her face.  “I have an idea.”

                Tori raised an eyebrow.

                “Rain be damned! Let’s have a fire!”

                “It’s way too wet out. We won’t be able to get the wood started.”

                “Won’t we?” Leslie snapped her fingers and a small flame appeared.

                “Honey, no, that’s gonna—”

                “Fuck,” Leslie yelled, folding over at the waist, “that hurts like a titty caught in a bowstring.”

                Tori ran over to Leslie, concern in her eyes, “Why did you do that?  You know the inhibitor chip are designed to cause pain.”

                “Don’t care,” wheezed Leslie through her tears, “we are having a fucking fire.  We are eating hotdogs outside and we are going to dance naked in the rain.”

                “Babe…”

                “Nope, don’t try to talk me out of it.  We are doing this before the mustard goes bad.”

 

 

                The mist of the morning had turned into sheets by the time the two women, clothed in heavy duty raingear, made it outside. They pulled kindling and logs off the woodpile; one trip after another, until the fire pit was stacked high with drenched spruce and cedar.

                “Stand back,” ordered Leslie as she rubbed her hands together, “I’m only going to be able to do this once.”

                “You really don’t have to,” said Tori one last time.

                “One, two, three,” fire blazed in a small tornado from Leslie’s hands.  She screamed in anguish as her flames caught the wet wood.  Time stopped as she dropped to her knees, flames extinguishing.  The bonfire blazed brightly.

                Tori ran to Leslie’s side.  “Are you okay?”

                Leslie looked up with bloodshot eyes and a small grin.  She pointed to the sky.  A small opening in the clouds had formed above their fire, “I will be after some hotdogs.”

            Tori helped Leslie to her feet.

                “First things first,” said Leslie as she stripped off her heavy raingear, “first we dance naked like the heathens we are.”

                Tori followed suit and soon the two woman we laughing as they spun around the fire, not noticing that the clouds had closed and the rain began again.