Hello once again, and I am still in the process of working out my not-so-short-story dilemma, while at the same time trying to battle all the other happenings, mainly basically everything not related to writing. But they are my hobbies still and I enjoy them, you can almost smell the procrastination in me. But anyway, this was another piece done in the same style of Rain Boy, as in, it’s part of what I like to call, the Rain Series. In other words, it’s central themes divulge around Rain. This was uses Rain in a way to mask the insecurities of the main character. Though, there’s still more to it than that. Here you go, “Rain Song”.
I wanted him to hear me sing one last time. I loved singing. From as long as I can remember, I’ve always been singing. I loved singing for my parents, but they told me to never sing for my friends. I didn’t know why, and when I asked, they looked away. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents, so I listened and never sang to my friends. I soon found out that in doing so, I was lonely. I wanted my friends to listen to me sing, and I wanted them to clap and smile like my parents. And so I went and sang to my friends. They all smiled and cheered when my song was done. However, when I got home, my parents were enraged. They yelled at me, hit me, and threw me against the wall. They told me to never sing again.
But I still wanted to sing. I liked singing, and the joy it brought me, and the joy it used to bring to the people around me. I thought about a way I could sing without my parents knowing, and realized that no matter where I was, they would hear me sing. So, whenever it rained I would go outside to sing. The rain would drown out my voice and my parents wouldn’t know. It took me quite a while to try out my plan, and when I did, I was happy. When I heard it was raining, I would rush out with my umbrella and run towards the park where a sunroof would shield me from the rain. It was strange to sing in an empty park, but I didn’t care. After I was done singing, I would go back home, and my parents wouldn’t yell at me. My plan had worked.
Every day when it rained, I would go out to the same park to sing. My voice would be drowned out by the pitter patter of the rain, but I at least could hear my own voice and still be happy. I wondered whether I should invite my friends to listen to me sing, but I thought that if I did it would be hard to listen to me and they would not be very happy. So I sang to myself. It never occurred to me how lonely I seemed. I was just happy that I could sing again.
One day while I was singing in the rain, I saw him. He had short black hair, gentle brown eyes, and his sleeves were rolled up from the rain. I didn’t know when he had arrived, but he soon found shelter underneath the sunroof. I waited for him to leave before I sang, but he didn’t. The rain kept him in place, and it kept me spell bounded. It felt like I had an obligation to sing to keep up with tradition. Unknowingly so, I had never failed to come out to sing before. I wasn’t planning to end it that day. And so, without regard for his presence, without knowing his person, I began to sing. My voice began pouring into the rain, and I bellowed out every last chord in my body until the rain let out. Then he clapped. He began clapping for me and he smiled as I turned.
“People don’t usually sing in the rain. But that was beautiful.”
“You were listening?” My voice was quite strained, and so it took much more out of me to answer back.
“Of course I was. Didn’t give me much choice unless I wanted to get soaked.” He placed one hand out of the sunroof, and waited. Once he confirmed that there wasn’t any extra rain to be had, he walked out, and into the subjugating sunlight. He smiled back at me and then said, “Why don’t you sing now? While it’s nice out.” I looked at him, and then shook my head. He seemed down casted by my notion and then waved, “Well. Maybe next time, okay?” I nodded and waved him off. That was the last time I saw him.
I continued to sing everyday in the rain, but I never saw that boy. Eventually, my tradition became a want. I was hoping to see him again, to have someone to listen to my singing, to bring joy into someone’s life. But it never happened. I sang into the rain hoping that he would be there to listen. I sang into the rain hoping that wherever he was, he would clap and smile for me. I sang into the rain to dissuade myself that I could ever have hope. I soon raised my voice, and sang louder. I sang louder into the rain thinking that if he heard me, he would stop and listen. Except that never happened. My voice became even more starched by the end of every rain and soon I would have to take medicine so that my voice would not be lost. My parents at this point grew suspicious of my activities. They had no evidence that I was still singing, and so that suspicion slowly faded. As I went back to that park, I learned not to sing so loudly. I learned not to hold onto the hope that he might come back to listen. Instead, I sang for myself. My voice escaped my voice and entered my ears. It was drowned out by the rain, and no one would ever hear me sing. This was for the best, I thought. This was my own rain song.