English Rain
A/N I found a children's poetry book at work the other day, and I was bored so I browsed through its brightly coloured pages and child friendly poems and came across a page dedicated to rain. Getting to the point, it was actually quite beautiful in its own, childish, basic way, and I wanted to write about it. Some of the lines in this are from said poetry, so I apologise if my writing suddenly appears sophisticated and un characteristically beautiful, as that's the work of someone else. Disclaimer: The characters of Jack, Amy and Frecks are entirely fictional and entirely mine so if you steal them I'll slit your throat in your sleep :) ------ An umbrella and a raincoat are walking and talking together. The umbrella was scarlet red, and was carried by a boy with floppy, drenched brunette hair from the relentless rain. The umbrella itself did not belong to him, for he lacked the kind of common sense which demands such a thing as well as the aesthetic need for it. Its owner, rather, was the shorter girl walking along beside him, wearing a patent cobalt blue PVC raincoat, the kind you'd imagine Paddington Bear sporting. She hadn't leant him her umbrella out of the courtesy of their friendship as they did not have one. That faded what felt like a long time ago now, when the sun shone. Now the rain ran, and although both desperately desired to rekindle their friendship, both also knew it was wise not to. She leant him that umbrella because she had this innate, embedded politeness so that it was instinct for her to perform such a simple act of kindness, despite whatever social or awkward situation she found herself in. He accepted it for the simple reason that she offered it, and whatever she offered him, wether it be an umbrella the same scarlet shade as her hair or her equally as red heart on a plate, he'd accept. What brought the two here was a complete coincidence, although perhaps she should have known she would spot him, sat on the damp pavement outside the local pub. A cigarette dangling from his lips, a habit she never liked, both smoke and raindrops emitting from its bunt. Eyes closed, chin tilted towards the grey sky, allowing its rain to cry down upon him. She tried to walk past, shield her face with her umbrella and quicken her pace, but she was so endeared by his current self, like how she's always endeared by the simplest things and things as simple as him. So she didn't lower her umbrella, and she didn't walk any faster. Infact she slowed herself down, only slightly, to gaze upon his face and remember it for what it used to be. It was exactly the same. Except, perhaps, more sad than it was before. Its pale complexion tinting grey with rain water, tears of rain falling from his long eyelashes every now and then, running down his cheeks that were remarkably just as rosy as they were in the spring. His hair was still brown, only darker now because of the rain, and its shape was limp and lifeless, unable to be protected by his bowler hat. She tries to remember a time when he hasn't worn that hat, but finds no such memories. His right ear lobe still had what looked like a bullet wound punctured in its flesh, from when his earring was ripped out, a time she wasn't apart of. His left arm was still covered from shoulder to fingers of tattoos. Maybe he had added more, and this briefly pangs her with sadness as she still knows every tattoo on his sleeve and its meaning like the answers to her Chemistry exam the week prior. Then her heart sank into her stomach and the sadness flood through her like oxygenated blood from her lungs, or the rain on the streets, as she realised that all those physical attributes that she learnt to love were caused from that same one girl, who wasn't ever her. A wound, permanent ink, a hat that seemed to be glued to his scalp, were irreplaceable. So she found herself lift her chin, adjust her umbrella so the rain ran off it like a duck's back, and kept on walking. And that's when he decided to open his eyes. 'Amy?' The redhead stopped and looked at him, despite not wanting to, but again maybe it was that automatic politeness or maybe she just really had to look at him right now. If her heart was in her stomach, it was now in her intestines. His eyes were still just as blue, just as widely innocent like they always were. Gazing up at her like the childish boy he is, and it's that childish prominent trait about him that always made her swallow her own throat and she finds herself doing just that. Because she could never lie to a child, and he was never any different. She didn't say anything but he kept to talking to her as if she had anyway. 'Are you heading home?' (He knew this was her route.) Her somewhat dazed gaze suddenly fell, and she frowned and began to walk away again. It was the nonchalant question, asked like nothing had happened, like it was the most important question of all the ones she had left unanswered. She heard his converse against the wet cement as he called to her. 'Amy! Ame-Amy wait!' She turned and he stood against the pub's wall, cigarette underneath his shoe. 'Please just wait sec.' She stopped. 'Okay.' 'Okay?' '(I)Yes, okay.' 'No, are (I)you(I) okay?' 'Oh.' She swallowed a bit taken aback. 'Yeah, I guess.' He smiled. 'Good. Can I walk you home?' Now, her umbrella is held in his palm, and the rain weaves itself into the thickness of her red waves, raindrops glistening on the plastic of her raincoat, as they walk in step slowly towards her road. Both aren't, can't, look at each other, the ground incredibly more interesting. Conversation is just simple awkward pleasantries and vague catch ups that aren't really that interesting, but then: 'Have you seen her?' She asks abruptly. He looks down at her, but she doesn't, couldn't, return the favour, and it takes him a moment to digest her question before his head turns back towards the floor. 'No.' A short silence. 'Do you think you ever will?' She looks up at him this time, somewhat eagerly, but all hope immediately fades at the gruff tone of his response. 'Of course.' A slightly longer silence. 'I think she's changed her name.' He says. She smiles. 'You make it sound like she's filed a law suit against your stalking.' She actually thinks she's taken that remark too far and begins to feel guilty but then he quietly laughs. 'Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised.' Her laughter mingles with his and it's almost like spring again. 'It was raining when she left, too.' He says, all laughter gone from his voice. Her chin tilts up towards the sky and the rain runs down her face like being underneath the shower head. 'Some say it's sad.' He looks at her. 'Do you not?' A small smile lifts her mouth and that distant look that was far too intelligent for him to ever comprehend was in her eyes. 'I think it's a lot of things.' Then she looks at him, the rain water slipping down her neck. 'What do you think it is?' He immediately realises this is one of her smart questions which he'll never know the answer to, because there isn't one, and he doesn't know what she wants to hear because it's not about her thoughts it's about his. Lost for an answer that will adequately fulfil its need and will perform at the same intellect of her incredible brain, he takes in the face that he hasn't seen for months. Although wet, her hair's still a vibrant red, and her eyes are a green as dark as mowed grass or the leaves of jungle trees. And he finds himself saying: 'I think it's colourless.' She raises a red eyebrow, surprised and curious. 'Colourless?' 'Yeah, like there's no colour in the rain.' He begins to gesticulate with the one hand, the tattooed one, which isn't holding her umbrella's handle. 'It's just water, it doesn't brighten anyone's day. It just stains books and splashes cars.' The redhead smiles and nods but he doesn't like her silence and he's too confused from this abstract conversation so he asks what she(i) thinks. 'I think, just like anything, you can learn to love it.' He thinks that's all she has to say because she's silent afterwards, so he nods in understanding although he doesn't understand, (I) at all, and tries to ignore the rain but then her dainty voice echoes out into the pitter patter again. 'Instead of getting wet, you can let the rain kiss your skin.' He looks at her and to his utter surprise she's blushing and suddenly it's apparent that this isn't about the rain anymore. 'I think, instead of yelling and thundering outside your window it could be singing you a lullaby.' She stops suddenly and he does to, turning to stand in front of her. 'I think the rain can make pools on the pavement and you can find it an inconvenience. But it can also run all that away into the nearest drain pipe.' The rain is heavy now, or maybe it always was but he just feels its pressure hit his shoulders now, and she's standing soaked in this rain, this lovely awakening thing and so he drops her umbrella to the floor and her eyes don't even leave his to watch it make its descent. 'At night when I'm all alone, the rain is a happy surprise and plays a little sleep song on my roof. It keeps me awake but it's my friend and at least he said hello, telling me he's okay.' He steps towards her, kicking the umbrella out the way, and his breath bares down onto her face. 'A friend?' 'The rain is beautiful.' She says in the quietest voice. 'And I love the rain.' It's silent for a moment and all that can be heard is the singing liquid drops beating on their heads. Telling them they're okay. ----- The streets are empty that next morning, the two had gone their separate ways home. They probably won't speak for another several months but an aspect of worry is cleared now as opposed to the angst and dread that hung in the air like mist before. Frecks makes his way down the same road, still damp with rain puddles, and so are his ankles with the amount of people treading water there. A particularly tall woman wearing heels splashes enough water to spurt up his entire shin. He glares at her but she doesn't notice, too engrossed in her own morning, and he feels the water surround his shoes. Looking down, he realises this puddle's deeper than the rest, and his smart eyes follow the trail to a drain which is blocked by a red umbrella, its handle bent and broken. Rolling his eyes he walks over and picks up the umbrella, carrying it over his shoulder on his way home. As he opens the front door to his flat he drops said umbrella to the floor. Jack, who's sitting cross legged on Frecks' sofa with a video game controller in his hand, eyes the umbrella and smiles. 'Hey pal what's that?' He asks. 'It (I) was blocking the street.' Mumbles Frecks as he makes his way to the kitchen fridge. But Jack has no interest in his friend's reply and continues to grin at the offending object. Frecks sits down beside him with a can of Coke. 'Why are you grinning at it.' Jack only shakes his head slightly, a grin still plastered to his dimpled face. 'There is no colour in the rain, it's only water, wet and plain. But puddles, in the tiny weather, glisten like a peacock's feather.' Frecks eyes him suspiciously. 'When did you start reading Langston Hughes?'