Found in the Rain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 05, 2018

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Submitted: August 05, 2018

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I find peace in the rain. That's why I did it, on this day, at this time. That's why I had to talk to her first. She was the only person to truly know, to really understand. When I told her, she only asked if I was sure. If I had done everything I wanted to do. When I told her yes, she only said that she hopes I had left my mark on the world, and that my name will always be remembered. Even if only a few people knew my name. She walked away after that, and left me on the bench. The wind pushed the autumn leaves past her as she walked, and she never looked back at me. The lights along the path lit with a golden color, like all the lights that are in fall paintings. The lake across from the path showed all the detailed ripples that are hard to see in the daylight. It was a short conversation, and while I almost wish there was more to say, there was nothing left on my mind. I was once told that those who prefer rain over sunshine were depressed. But she was one of the happiest people I knew. Realistically happy at least. She seemed so calm and collected, as if the world wasn’t crumbling through our fingers. As if she never had a roof come crashing down on top of her. Maybe that’s because she’d given up on the world, because all you can do is wish, and hope these days. I’d heard stories, and rumors that spread like wildfire about her. But when confronted with them, she’d only tell them to not believe every rumor that goes around. When she was confronted with her past experiences she only said that her past means nothing to anybody but her, and that if they believe such tales than they should believe that fairies exist and dragons still breathe fire. It was amazing, the day I bore my soul out to her and she only said that she loved watching movies and tv shows. I told her everything about myself, and while I immediately regretted it, she only said that she loved doing various forms of art. She spoke about painting and drawing, and doing them before the sun even rose over the horizon because that was when the streets were quiet, when everyone was still asleep in their beds. The day I admitted to hurting myself to her, she only said that some artists are different but we should all try something new. Because she believed that trying new things can help anyone. Some of me believes I got closer to her after that, but I also feel like I didn’t. I know nothing about her past, what she’s been through. I’ve seen the world in her eyes as much as you can see the world from a tree’s eyes. For awhile I felt lost, and I felt like nothing fit. I was trying to build a puzzle I couldn't finish, I couldn't tell if I was missing pieces or I just couldn't seem to find the right ones. I was wandering through forests trying to find my way, I didn’t know where I was and it seemed like I was going in circles. When I told her, she only told me that sometimes being lost means you’ll be found soon. My soul clung to her words while others brushed her off as crazy. I remember when she fell asleep on my shoulder one day. I took her hand in mine and tried to see into her past. But her darkness covered her scars and her words bordered her history. While so much of me was curious, I remained content with what I knew. I knew she loved art and that she loved to watch movies and TV shows. I knew she loved music, and that the piano and violin were her favorite instruments. I knew she learned to speak three different languages and that she loved to solve puzzles. I knew she portrayed herself as calm and collected, but her mind was a chaotic mess of various things. I knew all this about her but sometimes I felt like I knew almost nothing at all. When I told her this and asked about her history, she only said I’d know in time. But she never said how long that could be. Yet I still do not know, but I know enough, and I need no more. I remember she told me that she goes outside often during autumn. I asked her why, and she said because things are changing and falling and it looks so beautiful. She said she loved winter too, because everything gets so cold but it all knows warmth will come again and it remains. There was one time where I watched her play piano. I sat behind her as she played in the empty studio, and I wasn't sure if she knew I was there or not. Her fingers danced over black and white keys speaking every word she never spoke before. They sounded like every emotion she never showed, and every past mistake she kept hidden. I listened to the stories and answers she never told like each one was going to stitch the world back together. Each note meant more to her than I could've ever realized before. She told stories through her music as if that was the only way for her to tell it, because words didn't come close to what she wanted to say. She asked me one time if she could take me to see a theater show. I asked her why, and she said because it’s an amazing experience. She said that it’s amazing to watch theater actors because they don’t have retakes or breaks in-between scenes. They have to run behind the curtain and change to become someone else before anyone notices they’ve been gone. If they mess up on a line they have to quickly recover from it before anyone realizes they made a mistake. And when the show’s over they have to display confidence in any mistake they had made, even if only the other people on stage knew about it. They need to be able to communicate with one another without making a sound. She said she has great respect for anyone in theater, because everything that happens backstage is horribly underestimated, and even those who never come into the spotlight should be able to display confidence in every mistake. I remember she told me to respect kids like you would an adult. She said that kids have everything adults lack. Kids don’t call each other crazy if someone has an invisible friend, they don’t hate on eachother for being a different color. They get along with what they like to do, and they have so much creativity that gets lost as they age. She told me that kids are what everyone strives to be but they declare childishness as a trait only kids have. They say adults have to be what society thinks they should be, and that they should never try to be a kid again. If there had to be one hero in the world, I would have to say it would be her. Her ideas are philosophies that haven’t been thought yet, and haven’t been made popular by tradition. I had to compare my past self to now. My mind held tight to every word she had said over the years and my soul danced in the light of hers. There was so much more to her than anyone could've ever realized. More meaning to the words she spoke and more powerful behind the mask she wore. So much was hidden behind her silence, and she kept so much of it inside in some invisible fear of being judged for her ideas. I was once asked if it was true that she tried to kill herself. Rumor spread that barely a year ago she tried to hang herself and ended up in the hospital. But rumor also spread that she'd been in and out of the hospital so much that they kept a room empty just for her. I remember reminding myself that if I believe their tales than I should believe in fairies and dragons. Her words repeated in my head until I decided to just tell them they shouldn’t believe in folk tales. That’s all they were in the end. Folk tales. Fantasies. She never confirmed it to anyone and I never brought it up, I knew what she would tell me if I did. Before she left that night, before I said my final goodbye, and even after it had been said, she only gave me a nod. As if a single motion of her head explained everything I had ever wanted to know about her. As if all the questions I had ever asked her through the years was answered in one motion, with all the confidence of a theater actor. When she walked away that night, everything went with her. All the unanswered questions never spoken out loud. All the reasons behind her words and behind her hidden scars. Every emotion she pushed back farther beyond the mask. Every unsolved mystery she never finished telling. As if the cliffhanger ending was enough to finish every backstory never repeated. As if all her doubts went away with every step she took. Although I held onto questions I still wished to ask, I knew what she’d say. She’d tell me that it doesn’t matter to anyone but her, and that if I wished to do art before I left, I should try something I’ve never done before. She’d tell me I should’ve watched more TV shows and movies, and that I should’ve learned how to play my favorite instrument. She’d say I shouldn’t have answered as many questions about myself as I did, and that if people believe in rumors than they should start climbing beanstalks to find the giants living in the sky and falling down rabbit holes to find magical lands. I knew she’d tell me that if I felt lost right now, than it just means that I’ll be found soon. It had started to rain, and I could tell that she was thankful for it. People had always told her that loving rain meant you were always sad. That if she were to favor the sunlight, than she might be a happier person. But I knew she loved the rain because it was like the earth was crying, showing that even great and strong things have flaws they can't control. She explained to me that every natural occurrence on Earth was like a flaw the world found in itself. Some things don't go away but the Earth was still moving, still living. She had said that even though the world has imperfections, it doesn't stop spinning, it still has beauty inside and out, just maybe not everywhere to everyone. My soul still clung to her ideas even as I knew my time was near. Even as she knew what was going to happen next, and I knew she hoped that I’ll be found soon. As I spoke my final words, she gave me a smile. A real smile that so rarely fills her face. I spoke: “I find peace in the rain.”


© Copyright 2018 Anna De Cholsin. All rights reserved.

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