The Rain, The Park and Other Things Billy Cowsill

This is a work of fiction and my tribute to the late Billy Cowsill.  I just recently found out that he had passed away shortly after his brother Barry and I found myself heartbroken. After watching a clip of him and his brothers performing “The Rain, The Park, and Other Things” I wanted him to know that he was loved way back when and he is still loved today by his fans. We miss you Billy. Hope to see you again.

 

 

Bill quietly slipped out of the hotel room, gently closed the door, and stepped into the still dark hallway. In the room he left behind, his brothers slept. He headed towards the elevator, passing the room his parents shared with his sister but heard nothing coming from inside. Good. If he could just get downstairs before anyone noticed, he might just get a little time to himself. He loved his family but at eighteen he craved some privacy. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the ‘L’, and breathed a sign of relief when the doors slid shut before him. He had made it.

There was a slight drizzle when Bill walked through the front doors of the hotel and onto Bank Street. Even though it was already June, it was still chilly and he was glad he had decided to pull his Red Sox sweatshirt on at the last minute. He pushed his dark bangs away from his eyes and looked up and down the quiet street, contemplating which direction he should head. He wasn’t that familiar with New London, though he had been there several times before, but remembered seeing a statue with a small park surrounding it near the train station where they had arrived and headed in that direction. The drizzle turned to soft rain as he walked.

As Bill reached the end of Bank Street, the tall buildings gave way to Long Island Sound on his right and a small green park. Bill crossed the deserted street and stepped into the bright green grass. The city was quiet on this Sunday morning and for a moment, Bill closed his eyes and drank in the silence that surrounded him. Silence and privacy were rare gifts that Bill was seldom given. He made his way through the wet lawn towards the tall monument that stood in the center of the park, taking his time and enjoying the stillness. There were many benefits coming from a big family, peace and quiet were not among them however, and Bill yearned for calmness inside his over stimulated head. He had nearly reached the monument when he noticed the bench on the opposite side of the stone structure and stopped. There on the long, wooden bench was a young girl.

 Bill held his breath for a moment and just stared at the girl. Her long blond hair was braided down her back and Bill could see flowers woven in amongst the long, white plait. The girl seem to take no notice of the rain that fell upon her cheeks and Bill felt an overwhelming urge to brush the drops away and kiss the pale skin beneath. But there was something more about the girl, she seemed to radiate with warmth and Bill could no more stay away from her than he could stop breathing. He stepped from behind the statue and the girl looked up at him and smiled. The young boy’s entire world stopped in that single moment and his heart jumped in his chest. He felt as if he had come home at last.

The girl stood up and Bill drank in the sight of her as if he was dying of thirst. Her big, round eyes were deep blue, covered by long, dark eyelashes. Her skin was so fair it was nearly transparent but her cheeks were blushed by a shade of pink that he would always be at a loss to describe. She wore faded blue jeans with a white peasant blouse and nothing on her feet. She was tiny and Bill’s tall frame towered over her as he looked down upon her face. Raindrops rested on her eyelashes and on the daisy she had woven in her hair and Bill once again had the urge to brush them away. His mouth was dry and his throat tight as he leaned down whispered, “hello.” The girl did not speak but smiled and reached out and took Bill’s hand. He felt her small fingers slip in between his and he forgot about wanting to be alone.

The couple walked hand in hand through the empty park without saying a word. Bill kept glimpsing at the girl to make sure she was indeed there and not simply a figment of his imagination. Every time he would venture a glance at her he found her looking at him also and his heart warmed with each step. When they reached the edge of park she stopped walking and reached for Bill’s other hand. She stood up on her toes and pulled him towards her, her lips finding his. Love filled the young man’s heart as Bill kissed the girl he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He looked at the girl, the sun streaming golden light into her hair and his heart belonged to her.

Bill was about to ask the girl her name when an arriving train blasted its whistle to the folks waiting on the platforms across the street. Bill turned for a moment to look towards the station and when he looked back, the girl was gone. He looked across the park and saw no one. He looked down the street and did not see her there either. The bench where the girl had been sitting was empty but Bill walked back towards the seat, hoping to find her again. As he got closer to the bench he saw something resting on the wooden slats. He reached down, lifted the single white daisy from the bench, and placed it in the center of his palm. Heat seemed to radiate from the tiny flower and holding it Bill remembered the feeling of her fingers entwined with his and he smiled.

Bill never found the young girl and over the years he began to doubt that she had ever existed at all. His family also doubted his story and his brothers teased him  endlessly about  the vanishing flower girl. Life goes on as it always does, Bill fell in love again but he never forgot the beautiful memories of that Sunday morning in the rain, in the park and the beautiful girl. And it wasn’t until many years later that he finally saw her again.

Bill was sleeping in his bed when he heard a sound that awoke him. He was very ill and endlessly tired and wanted only to sleep but forced his eyes open to see who was there. The room was dark but there seemed to be a light coming from the center of the room that Bill did not recognize. He pulled himself up in the bed and focused on the light. There, in the center of the light, was the young girl, smiling at him. Bill’s heart leaped at the very sight of her and he worried that he might still be asleep. The young girl reached out her hand and slipped it into Bill’s. The moment their fingers touched Bill suddenly felt a surge of energy and warmth spread through his ailing body. He felt young again and was not surprised, when he stood up, to see that his reflection in the dresser mirror was that of an eighteen year old. The girl pulled his body to hers and Bill felt life rush through him as it had not done in many years. He bent over to kiss her, his face wet with tears. If this was dream, he did not wish to wake up.

“I will never leave you again,” the girl whispered.

“And I will never let you,” Bill replied.

The girl took Bill’s hand and led him from the darkened house. Bill did not look back, he saw the green of the park before him, the sunlight in her hair and he knew he had come home.

The next morning as Bill’s family gathered in his home, one of his brothers found a small, white flower on the floor next to the bed. He looked around the room but could find no other flowers in the room and wondered where it had come from. As he placed the small flower in the palm of his hand, he suddenly remembered the story of Bill’s flower girl. As warmth radiated from the flower, he knew in that moment where the flower had come from and he smiled. After all these years, Bill had finally found her.

 

 

Visit the Cowsill’s website at:

http://cowsill.com/

Campaign Ads Gone Wrong.

Enough already!

After the recent array of campaign ads broadcasted on national television, for everyone and their mother to see, I am left shaking my head in absolute disbelief.

Our presidential election process has officially turned into a pissing contest between John McCain and Barack Obama. Who would have thought that a visionary man like Senator Obama with intelligence to spare, and a mature, knowledgeable, war veteran like Senator McCain would both be reduced to name calling and finger pointing? What is going on here? How did we fall so low? What must the rest of the world be thinking?

And why is Paris Hilton speaking again? Did she learn nothing from her debacle of an interview on Larry King? The woman should never, ever, open her mouth. Just stand there and look good, that’s it. Hasn’t anyone ever explained to her that this should be her soul purpose in life? It just goes to show ya – money can’t buy everything.   

I am so ready for this election to be over. Pick your running mates candidates and try to salvage some degree of dignity for yourselves in the next coming months.

Note to candidate – open mouth, remove foot. Forget the ridiculous mudslinging and stick to the issues – that is what we really care about.