NB: I found this beautiful piece I wrote back in 2006. I was writing about…a tragedy which happened to me back then. *sigh* It was painful, very painful. But I’m amazed at what I wrote. I suddenly miss running under the rain.
I miss you, my Rain.
Idly he sat, the book in his hand long since forgotten, as his gaze wandered through the rain-blurred windows of his room, settling on the child-like being outside. In the dark and gloomy atmosphere brought about by the rains she could have blended right in. Her skin was pale and her hair was even darker than the patches of cloud heavy with rain. And yet, to his eyes, she looked so out of place. Lost and fragile; tiny, like a little kitten crying for someone to find her.
She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts as well as he was. As she stood still, her gaze shifted from the puddles at her feet and then towards the sky, letting the raindrops fall on her face. Curious, he thought, that she should be facinated by something such as the rain.
But then again, he mused, it was only natural. She had no experience of rain.
She was the embodiment of strength.
But, despite that, she was still a child: confused, a victim to circumstance and somehow, maybe, just like he once was.
It took a bit more time and the book falling out of his hand to meet the floor with a soft ‘thump’ for him to snap out of his reverie. Outside, the winds have picked up, the clouds darker – clearly, rain was about to fall once more.
Yet, still, she stood rooted to her spot.
He stood and picked up the book, placed it back amongst it’s companions and proceeded to head out of his room picking up the black umbrella along the way. It wasn’t right to sit and watch as the stray kitten got herself sick.
And he came to her as the rain was starting to fall, just in time to open his umbrella over the both of them. She seemed surprised as he did so, too caught up in her thoughts to have noticed him earlier. With wide eyes she looked into his, tilting her head as she did so; a silent ‘Why?’. He replied for the time being with a smile, as the rain finally fell, disturbing the long settled silence around them.
The steady rhythm of the pitter-patter of the rain accompanied them as neither of them chose to talk. Both, merely watching as the scene around them unfolded, empty streets, objects scattered in the wind, the swaying trees, all of these blurred by the continuously falling rain. It seemed that this world was of their own, and nobody else’s.
He barely heard her voice through the rain’s own song. She had, this time, voiced her earlier question; not contented with the simple answer that he had provided her, if she even did understand his answer, he didn’t know.
She looked at him intently, waiting for him to answer her. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was at a loss for words over her simple question. He just had to answer why he shielded her from the rain, didn’t he?
He bent a bit, so that their faces were level, and answered her.
“I didn’t want you to get sick.”
“It doesn’t hurt.” She stated, plainly. And she extended her hand out of the umbrella’s reach, catching droplets of the rain in her palm to demonstrate. This was what she believed, she didn’t know what sickness was. It was how she was raised, with the belief that she was free of the frailties of the normal human person.
“True, it doesn’t hurt,” he explained, “but, you could catch a cold staying under it too long.”
“Yeah. It’d get you stuck in bed for days. You don’t want that, do you?”
“It’s agreed then, we can both watch without getting wet.”
And again, in companionable silence they stood, watching as the rest of the area was drenched.
In the distance, however, he could hear laughter and excited shouts, the source becoming evident as a group of children appeared from an alleyway. They chased after one another, each of them soaked but none seemed to care. They too had a world of their own, and in it they flew with the wind as they ran. And as fast as they had appeared they were gone, remnants of their energy still floating around. She gazed intently at the area where they had disappeared to.
“Us too.” She asked, tugging at his sleeve.
“Hmm?” He responded, mildly surprised. She only tugged at his hand stronger, act now, think later she seemed to say.
It had been a long time since someone had asked him to play under the rain. From that time he remembered, standing in the doorway refusing to do so, unwilling to partake in nonsense. He smiled at the memory, the man who took him in was such a strange person.
And so he stood, and closed the umbrella, letting the rain hit the both of them. At this, her face lit up as she gave him a little smile of hers.
Although tentatively at first, she ran, and for that time she truly was a child. Innocent and carefree, not an object, not what the world made her to be. She was just her, just a child playing in the rain, skipping in puddles.
Her energy pulled at him, and his feet carried him to follow her.
The rain didn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.
They came back to their small house a few minutes after, both of them soaked, cold, tired but they were also content. Inside they went on with their task, she with the towels and him with getting something warm to drink.
Just as she was drying herself up, she sneezed.
And he found himself smiling.