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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Emotional · #1268768
This is a short story about a girl taking a philosophical walk in the rain.
The windows were wet. The trees swayed under the weight of the water slithering across their leaves. A thousand tiny puddles landed on the cement of the road. She looked over at the bottle of water on the table next to her. A tiny droplet of condensation traced over the contours of the plastic and beaded at the bottom. She was alone in the house, alone for the day. The TV made aimless niose, having been ignored for almost an hour. Putting the lid back on the pasta sauce, she walked to the kitchen and thought about her life. She put the jar in the refrigerator, sighed and headed downstairs.

The usual spring in her step was gone. A faded glow came from behind the curtain that seperated her room from the rest of the house. She had left her lamp on. The mirror shone with the glare of the light. Standing in front of the reflective glass, she tried to see beyond the person in front of her. What did she see? What did she want to see? She didn't know. But there was a perfect rain outside and she was missing it. She slipped into jeans and tossed a grey hooded sweatshirt on over her Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt. She pulled her black boots out from the corner and slipped them on. Her hats lined the top of her closet. She looked over them all. None of them called out to her. She turned away and pulled her hair up into a pony tail. There. On the side of her book shelf, hung up over the edge, was the hat. A faded red ball cap, hidden in shadow. She picked it up and softly traced over the embroidered silver O. Her eyes saw something that wasn't there. She slipped it on and pulled her hair out of the way. Her phone was on the desk, silent. She grabbed it and stuffed it in her pocket.

Back up the steps, over to the closet. The lonley black coat that hung there made her stop. It had been almost 3 months sence she had worn it. She pulled it on over the sweatshirt. The front door was already open. She could see the greyblue clouds over head and smiled, a slight little half smile. But a smile. She walked out. On the porch, everything was still dry. The rain was falling away from her and she could look out at it without being touched by it. But what was the fun in that? She walked down the steps and stepped right into the first big puddle she saw. Tiny drops of water fell against the bill of her hat and her coat. Past her house, the next, and the next. To the end of the block. Around the corner. She turned her face up to the dark sky and let the rain fall against her skin. Her feet found their places unerringly and she kept going.

Finally, she looked back down to the world in front of her. The houses were quiet, shut up. Up ahead, a man in a black hoodie leaned against the side of his house smoking. His long brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail. The smoke from his cigarette curled up in front of him, untouched by the rain. Their eyes met for a moment. Her eyes were steady and dark. He looked away. Puffed again on his cigarette and blew out another cloud of smoke. She walked by. Around another corner, past another block. A dog barked from behind a screen door. A car sped past her, sending water flying up in the air. She stepped hard in another puddle and watched her jeans turn a darker blue as they soaked up the water. Over the curb, through the street. She walked under a tree and turned her face up again. Fat beads of water dropped from above her. They splattered on her face and slid down. She didn't wipe them away. Around another corner.

A tulip stood alone in a garden surrouned by rocks. It was a vibrant red, the stem stirdy, the soil around it soft and dark. But its petals were not turned up to the sky, searching for the sun. They were tipped down, towards the dirty, crushed rocks surrounding its bed. Rain slid off the petals, dripping slowly on the ground. It was crying. A flower crying. And it was beautiful. A car pulled in the driveway in front of her.  A woman got out and rushed in her house, securely closing the door against the wet outside. She never looked at the girl or the flower. She missed it all. Around the last corner, back on the same old street. The rain fell from behind her, and even when she turned her face up to the sky, it couldn't fall aginst her.

She stopped under another tree. The bark was dark with rain, the branches perfect to be climbed. She thought about reaching out to touch the tree, to feel the smoothe bark, the damp making it soft. She stopped, and almost reached out. She looked at it, wanted to, and in the end, walked past it. The tree was untouched, her hand still dry in her pocket. Why hadn't she touched the tree? Why? She now stood in front of her house again. The steps were just before her. All she had to do was walk up them and open the door. She looked back down the street, at the cars parked, the water billowing in the wind, at the tree. She turned around and let the rain fall against her face one more time. One. One single drop of rain somehow hit her wrist. Though buried in the coat, it found her skin. It felt cold against her warm skin. It slid down her wrist, just over her pulse. Down the inside of her hand, right into the center of her palm. She walked up the steps and inside.

She took off her coat and shook the water from it. Her hat and boots followed. Her hair and the bottoms of her jeans were soaked. With one hand she wiped the rain from her face. She took her phone out of her pocket and pulled the sweatshirt over her head. She could still hear the rain falling outside. She looked out again. Against the backdrop of trees and houses, she could see it fall. Against the pavement, she could see each drop as it hit the earth. But against the sky, it was invisible. Completly hidden in the clouds and air. Maybe rain was magical. Like it didn't exist untill you could feel it. It was a silly thought, but she liked it. She looked out of the corner of her eye and realized she couldn't see the tree from the inside of her door. She turned back to the inside, and paused. She looked back down at her phone, felt the cool of her wet hair against her face and lower back. She grabbed her boots, slipped them back on, and went back out to touch a tree.
© Copyright 2007 Lilly Hartman (dayofrenee at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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