text: What did I think of her? Well, she was just sort of there. Our sisters introduced us and we were both too shy to speak. I think we were six. I didn’t even know they were our neighbors. They lived a couple houses down, next to my gramma’s house. Actually, her house was more like an apartment attached to the back of a beauty shop. When I started going over there I thought it was so cool, like a maze. I would enter through the garage into her living room and kitchen. From there I went straight down a back hallway and turned left then right for the bathroom, or just turned right and went through one bedroom to get to her bedroom. But then, the first bedroom had another door that led to a “play area,” which was really a walkway where the washer and dryer sat. But if I turned right and then left, there was a storage area that led to the beauty shop, and even though her aunt worked there, we were prohibited. Her bedroom was cool too. It seemed the same size as mine only cooler. Her bed was just a mattress on the floor and we could fall into it. She burned incense and candles and had a lot of it. She probably had twenty long candles on top of her dresser and with the mirror behind them it looked like a scene from a vampire movie. The candles were pressed into bottles of all shapes and sizes and when lit, she let the wax melt to the base of the candle, drip over the lip of the glass, and run down the neck and body of the bottle where it congealed. She had wine bottles with wax of blue and white, pop bottles with green and purple, and my favorite was the Jack Daniel’s bottle. There was something about the square bottle, black label, and red wax spewing over it. The wick was always lit and she only used red candles for this one. I could just sit there mesmerized forever. Watching it melt was intriguing, like watching blood coagulate. I picked up a lot from her. Her shirts were tightly crammed into her closet and some were inside out but hung up nonetheless. It made sense. Why waste time turning the clothes the right way when you can do it when you wear it? She had a lot of clothes compared to me. I remember the first time I went with her to the thrift store. Looking back, I think it’s funny I was in shock she was buying other people’s clothes. Apparently my face betrayed me because she asked, “Are you okay? We can leave if you want.” But like anyone hiding embarrassment, I denied my own feelings. Now I only go to thrift stores. You can buy more when you don’t buy name brand. She never really seemed to care. But I guess it’s different when you shop there because you want to verses you have to. What was she like? Well...I just told you. She was what she was. She was a maze like her house, yet simple. Real. She was like her clothes- inside out but still cool. She was second hand. An off-brand that if you give it a chance you love it, like blue jeans that are already broken in, or a shirt washed so many times that the cotton is soft and faded. What do I mean by tightly pressed? Hmmm. There was this one time that we were chilling in her room. Her mom was always asleep on the couch but we still blasted music and it didn’t seem to matter. Anyway, I was looking at all the candles and slowly moved down the dresser. There was a picture of a man in a cheap plastic frame that I hadn’t noticed before- a clipping from the newspaper. I was about to read it when she silently swept in and put it in her drawer. That let me know there was much more to her than I realized. We never spoke about it. Yes. I did notice changes after that. She asked to go over to my house instead of hers. We had more freedom at her house, but her mom must have gotten a new job because she wasn’t sleeping all the time anymore. She had a new boyfriend too. He looked kind of trashy. He had this blondish, scraggly, long hair just past his shoulders that looked like it had never been brushed. He was missing a couple teeth you could see when he smiled really big, and he always wore the same cut-off, white, jean shorts that must’ve been washed in rusty water- and no shirt. If he went somewhere he threw on an eighty’s looking tank top and flip flops. He always seemed nice though. Anyway, we began hanging out at my house every day after school. I don’t know if it was because of that picture I saw, but I started to notice her more. She never really seemed happy. Well, she was never mad or sad either. I liked being around her because she was just there. It sounds horrible but she was like an old dog. Trusty. Would do whatever I wanted to. Followed me around almost anywhere. Don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t a dog and I didn’t treat her that way. She was just chill. The only thing she asked me to do was go to church on Sundays. I had my own church but her church was neat. They had a separate sanctuary for the teenagers with our own sermon. We felt like adults. I would be trying to stay awake, but she was focused on the message. Once I even saw her hold back tears. My favorite thing to do with her? That’s easy. Play in the rain. I ran in the rain many times. You know, run to the tree and back. Do a lap of the house. Little dares. But I never played in the rain until she showed me. I remember the first time we did. We started with little dares. Then she dared us to run to the barn and back, which by the time I reached the porch half of my body was soaked. I ran under the awning but she didn’t follow me. I turned and saw her just standing in the yard. With her hands spread wide she wistfully waved her arms side to side as if wishing the wind would sweep her away. She spun and twirled while the leaves swirled and I saw something magical, celestial, transcend upon her. As the rain fell she held up her hands like a cup until it was full and running over. When she let go the water fell upon her head and whatever it touched that part of her disappeared. She looked at me and laughed, “Come on!” I just stood there in a daze watching the scene unfold. I shook my head to clear my mind, rubbed my eyes, blinked a few times, and looked again. There she was, the crown of her head gone and lines where streams of water flowed down her face left her looking shattered, fragmented. My face must have been horrified because she stopped suddenly and analyzed my expression. She lowered her hands reluctantly. As she did she noticed her fingers-missing- and now her hands were fading away from the reality surrounding her. She observed one hand then the other, and judging by the movement of her forearms she turned her hands around to see the back. But she saw what I saw. Nothing. With every drop of rain she became more transparent. I stood there scared for both of us. That’s when I saw her for the first time. How did she react? Her look of apathy grew into excitement. She began laughing and yawping throwing her arms higher into the air in praise. “Come, on!” she shouted again, and I smirked at her craziness. I took a deep breath and ran out to her. Twisting and dancing and running and laughing we giggled until we were so exhausted we fell to our hands and knees. I remember the mud squishing between my fingers. The wet blades of grass tickled my wrists. My hair was so wet, thin stands hid my face. I remember suddenly hearing my own laugh as well as silence in the background. I pushed my hair aside and realized I was alone there in the backyard. The wind then blew and I felt her presence dance around my soul- blowing chills up my arms and legs as if listening to a song that sang its message beyond the notes. She was there, but somewhere in the rain, with each drop, she disappeared into a world where she could truly be. I closed my eyes, interlocked my muddied fingers, and thanked God for that moment- it was the happiest she had ever been. I prayed that the light would always shine on her spirit. As the rain became a drizzle, I felt the sun approaching through the clouds. One at a time I cautiously opened my eyes. Water dripped from the leaves while the warm breeze tumbled them dry, and the sunlight streamed through the window of the Maple. Soon just as she faded away in the rain, she reappeared as the sun sparkled around her. No, the new happiness didn’t last. It was strange. It was as if nothing had happened. I mean in spirit. Clearly we both were in awe of the “magic” that seemed to descend on her, but as the sun began to dry our skin, it seemed to dry her spirit up too- like a sponge. So no. My answer is that the rain didn’t really change her. I think the rain just washed it away. You know, washed it away. Like the mud on my hands. The dirt. What dirt? Dirt. You know, anything that made her feel dirty. Anything that tarnished her, or darkened who she was. Dirt. I have no idea. Her house? Her mom? The picture she hid? The thrift store? Her mom’s boyfriend? I don’t know. All I do know is that I saw the real her that day in the rainfall, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Yes, that is all we seemed to do that summer. Or at least the only thing of substance I remember doing. It rained a lot that year. We would race from tree to tree so that even though she would disappear in the rain, she wouldn’t fade away enough I could lose her. That way we could still laugh together. You know, she really opened me up in a lot of ways. I realize now that there is always more to a person than the outside. I know that it doesn’t matter where your clothes come from, where you live, who raises you, what you experience, it’s all trivial. The body is just a shell to house our spirits. I learned that sinking for some is swimming for others. I learned that wearing a raincoat keeps us from feeling the rain. Not a storm in my life goes by that I don’t think about that day. The last time? Yes. I think of that too. It’s not something I talk about often...or ever, but if you think it could help... I just came back from college for the summer. She was a year behind me in school even though we were the same age. She was held back in middle school, I think. I can’t really remember. Anyway, I just got back about a week prior to seeing her. She had put on some weight and was very chatty. Atypical for sure. We bumped into each other and decided to get together, which was nice because we sort of lost touch when I went to high school. Why? Well let’s just say when three girls start hanging around together one always gets left out. In this case, it was me. Her mom accused me of telling her to lie, but it was really my cousin. She was grounded from me for a month. She could’ve easily told the truth but I guess she just rather hang around my cousin instead. That changed things for me. I started doing my own thing in high school and she got a group of friends in the middle school. By the time the year passed we were just different. I didn’t like the friends she had and was too busy preparing for college. Okay where was I? We decided to get together. A friend of mine and his good looking younger brother were throwing a party. I asked her to ride with me. That hour drive, I sat there listening to her talk non- stop. It was as if she needed to pour the last four years of her life out to me, but did so in a manner that mocked happiness. I heard about her boyfriend, her losing her virginity, her friend - the cutter - the time her boyfriend and her held knives to each other during a fight. The weed. The cocaine. Molly. I sat there in disbelief, confused on what to do or say. She spoke of things that in my life, in my family, would never be accepted. A way of life I always viewed as dangerous if not evil. My mind was thrown into overload and I wanted to scream “STOP! What are you doing? This isn’t you?” But then again maybe it was. It had been four years. She seemed so happy, laughing and joking as if it was no big deal. She was so excited telling how her new boyfriend got her a hit of acid this past Christmas. I was truly perplexed. She seemed so happy and yet how could she be? She was chatty, and open, and excited, and free to do what she wanted. The ride home was awkward and quiet. She had too much to drink and I didn’t drink at all. Never did. We got about ten minutes from my parent’s house and it started to sprinkle. The monotony from the wipers painfully slowed time, like listening to a ticking clock. I contemplated many times talking to her, begging her to stop, asking her why she was doing this. I knew in my heart the road she was on I couldn’t follow. I knew if I said nothing I would regret it, but if I said anything I may never see her again. How was I to choose? I spent the entire ride thinking about the pain I would feel when our roads diverged, that I failed to see in that moment we were traveling the same road together. Did we say anything to each other? “Do you remember that time we swam in the pond?” she asked. “It was a retaining pond, “I replied.” “We skinny dipped.” “Yeah it was all fun and games until the guy came out from the building.” “No one was supposed to be there! They were closed!” she retorted. “I just remember being mortified!” “Oh I didn’t care.” “Oh yeah, that’s why we both were under the water up to our necks” I quipped. “See, no harm done. He had no clue we were naked.” “Later on when I learned what a retaining pond was I felt sick.” “I just figured if it was good enough for that muskrat it was good enough for us” she said with a chuckle. No. We didn’t. As I turned down our street, she told me she would walk home from my house. I pulled into the drive and parked the car. The headlights reflected off the garage and blackened the world around us. Thunder roared and lightning struck my heart. She jerked her grey hoodie over her hair and pulled the door handle. “Wait!” She turned toward me, lost and found in the same moment. I hesitated. “It’s raining outside!”Her eyes searched mine back and forth. When she found what she was looking for, she smiled. “I know,” she said with certainty and pushed open the door. The interior light came on and jolted me from my intensity. The bang from the door closing was like a nail through a coffin. I wanted to make sure she made it home, so I quickly jogged to the center of the driveway. She was walking on the road. The street light cast her shadow over the cold, hard asphalt. As the rain fell, I watched her slowly start to disappear, drip by drip, drop by drop. She twirled. I smiled. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I watched her fade away into herself. Into the rain. Into the night. That was the last time I ever saw her. Do I have regrets? Of course. Who doesn’t. Would I do things differently? Maybe. Maybe not. There was something magical, something beautiful in her at the time. Watching the rain fall over her head, gently drip down her face, and then run over her neck and body--watching her circumstance wash away--I just couldn’t. It was like watching the one red candle in the reflection of the mirror. I just didn’t want it to end.