Rainy Days Within

“Life is surely the greatest and most drastic of gifts”, that’s what Daniel told his son on that late September fishing trip they used to take every year. At first, Jake looked up at his old man in clueless awe. Had he measured those words 12 years earlier, then maybe he would have taken his father into more consideration before his prostate succumbed to the infestation of bacteria caused by years of neglect. Looking through his penthouse window in downtown Chicago, Jake watched the rain shatter down into the local park causing the newly placed soil to gather into muddy patches while he took a sip of his favourite Irish whiskey. He could almost imagine the stain it would leave on his brand-new Indian tribal rug, had he taken exactly seven minutes longer at the office. Mr. Du Randt, as they called him with the laid back yet clumsy English accent only Americans can so well portray, was born into a middle class family in the suburbs of the city of Johannesburg in South Africa. He was raised as an Afrikaans speaker, however, foreseeing the need of a good education, Daniel Du Randt sent his second son to an all English school in the outskirts of South Hills. He battled with the culture shock, but never betrayed Rugby over Soccer. “You can kill a South African, but you can never take away his love for the game of gentlemen that is Rugby”. He can still hear his father’s voice every time he remembers these words. At that moment it started to hail. Despite being in the city of the Sears Tower for over a decade, he had never gotten used to the ever unpredictable climate that is Chicago. He stared at his watch. It read 3:26 pm. Only then did he remember that even 500 dollar chrome watches need to have their batteries changed at one point. He took off his shoes and gapped at his tie. Back in Africa, jeans and t-shirts were common clothing. Here in the land of opportunity, such an audacious choice of fabric was enough to label you a “thug”. He fell into the seductive embrace of his armchair. This was the closest he had ever been to affection. Being filthy rich got him luxurious one night stands with some of the cities finest, but never caring. The only real satisfaction came from those lonely Friday nights when he self-gratified himself into a climax of ecstasy. Yet again he poured a glass of Eire’s greatest export, drank it down and felt sorry for himself. Minutes later Jake was in a deep sleep. He knew that his head would feel like crap in the morning, but, at that instant, all that mattered was the emptiness of heart it brought him. Silence fell over those amber walls. Just another day in the life of Jacob Du Randt – business tycoon.