Rainchild by Nev
rating: PG
Notes: I wrote this for an assignment for my english class. I kinda liked the way it turned out, even if I wrote it after midnight on the morning it was due. Its supposed to be the story of when somebody threw me a lifeline. *shrugs*. I hope you like it -and please, PLEASE review! Oh, and its a one-shot.

Autumn has always been my favorite season. One reason that I preferred that season even over summer was the way the leaves changed colors. The rainbow of colors released created a whole new world out of a familiar backdrop. I loved the way everything seemed new. Another great thing about the fall was the way that the clouds always seemed heavy with rain. How they always moved lazily, as though someone had forgotten to tell them that summer had ended.

I used to watch the sky from a chair by our sliding glass door. I would watch with mounting anticipation as the sky darkened and the winds picked up. The hush always gave it away in the end. It was always very quiet right before it started. Finally the rain would come and I'd just sit and watch it for a moment. Then, suddenly, I would spring from my seat and run to my room so I could grab my shoes out from under my bed. It never occurred to me to put my shoes by the door.

I would flop onto my bed and slip my shoes right on. I never untied them, that way I wouldn't be held up if it rained. Once my shoes had been pulled on I would barrel back downstairs and head straight to the door. I would grab the door with both hands, take a deep breath, and yank it open. It was always broken, so it used to take some muscle to open and close it.

After I made sure the door was shut I would just run. I would charge as fast as I could, not even caring about the direction. Our yard was huge, so I always had enough space for a good chase. I would run, letting the cool rain pelt my body and feeling the slippery grass slide beneath my sneakers. I would run, listening to the persistent squeak of my rubber soled shoes on the grass; the harsh sound of my own breathing in the silence; and the splat of the rain as it met the ground. I would run until I was out of breath and couldn't run anymore. By that point I was usually laughing, so it was extra hard to catch my breath.

Then came the best part. I would stick my arms out, palms up, and spin. I would turn my face up into the rain and smile at the sky, and twirl like I was the only person in the world. As shy as I always was, I never worried about people watching me in the rain.
When the dizziness hit, I'd realize that I should go back inside. My arms would fall tiredly back to my sides, and I'd make a beeline straight to my room. I'd change into dry clothes, pick a book, and sit down in the chair by the glass door. I must have done it a million times.

One day in early autumn that didn't happen. It's the first time I remember not following my ritual. I had had a row with someone. I can't recall who, but that isn't important. I was so upset that I'd stormed out of the living room and hid in the sanctuary of my bedroom. I sat on the carpet and looked blankly out the window, without really seeing anything. Out of the blue I realized it was raining, and that I'd missed it. Since I was already troubled missing the rain was too much. I started to cry.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and sobbed into them. I wanted my mother to come to me and fix things like only she could. I didn't want to ask though, or to go searching for her. I didn't want anyone to see me crying. So I did the next best thing. I went into the rain.
I tried to run, but it just wasn't the same. So I walked to our driveway and stood there dumbly for a moment. I eventually sunk down against the tire of my mom's grey Buick. I was still crying but the rain mostly disguised it. After only a few moments the tears stopped and only the raindrops were left. I stayed seated though, by the car. I began to play with the pebbles on ground. Building cities and monuments out of rocks.

That is when my mother found me. I remember thinking it was strange that I hadn't heard the garage door open, but then, my mom was always quiet. She wasn't an impressive figure, petite and soft, hard to notice if you weren't looking. She walked over to me and everything around her lit up. It was like she had a shield against the rain, because I don't remember her being wet. She must have been, but Mom never seemed anything but perfect to me. Her hair and her eyes were so dark, almost black; and her skin so pale that the contrast reminded me of Snow White. She took my hand. She helped me up. She brought me inside.

Mom sat me down on her bed and put her arm over my shoulder, asking if I "wanted to tell her why I was out in the rain without a jacket". I told her why I was upset and started crying again. She tucked my head under her chin and whispered that I should, "let it all out, honey". The whisper was soft and raspy, as if it had never been used and was as new as the season. It was like she'd saved that voice just for me, just for then.

Hugging me tightly, she rocked me back and forth. I cuddled into her, wrapping my arms around her. Mom always smelled strongly of cigarettes, but it didn't make me cough. The scent, the warmth, and the motion made all my problems disappear. All that remained was the two of us, the smell, the coziness, and the rocking.

I felt better even after she pulled back to look at me. She smiled, Mom has a great smile- the kind that goes all the way to the eyes, and told me that everything was alright. She said, "It's okay to cry. It's okay to have fights, and it's okay that that makes you sad. It's even okay to go sit in the rain- but only if your wearing your jacket. And only if you tell me where you're going first".