When the Rain Stopped

February always seemed like a long month to me—ironic for how short it actually is.

When the Rain Stopped

The days dragged on with the sun rarely making an appearance and the sky dumping buckets of rain. I laid in bed relaxing after dance practice when a sudden wave of happiness compelled me; school was going well (even for a freshman), I had amazing friends, and dance could not be going any better. I picked up my phone and dialed speed dial two.

“Hey Boo,” Annie sang into the phone. Annie and I had been best friends since before I could remember, but preschool is the first time I could recall a memory of our friendship. Our time together was never boring. With our vivid imaginations, the two of us traveled from one make-believe world to another. From playing house to building fairy houses to being mermaids, we were always on an adventure. There were times as we got older that we would sleep at each other’s house for days on end. We thought we were sisters; secret sisters.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I answered, happy to hear her voice. She told me about her day, as did I. Laughter consumed our conversations—the raw emotion that no one else can see. Annie was the only one that knew all about me, things that I usually masked from the rest of the world, but that’s what friends are for. “What’s the weather gonna be tomorrow?” I asked, already knowing it was going to be rainy. However, for some reason, the way Annie usually answered that question did not make it sound that bad. I was a huge fan of the rain then; the way it sounds and feels as it slides down your skin—soothing, cleansing.

“Rainy, what did you think?” She answered in a tone much different from her normal singsong voice. This sudden shift shocked me a little, but I didn’t think about it as we said our goodbyes. “Love you, we’ll talk in the morning,” Annie said.

“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”

The next morning, I awoke to my alarm and loud claps of thunder. Guess Annie was right, I thought to myself as I rolled over, pulling my blanket back over my head. There was no way I could get out of bed this morning. I looked out my window to the rivers forming in the streets and the dark clouds that hid any sign of daybreak. I slowly tossed back the covers, stumbled out of bed, and hobbled to the bathroom to take my morning shower. Something about this morning felt off, and I did not like it. Right as that thought passed through my head, the thunder clashed again—a little louder this time, leaving the sky trembling with an aftershock. Thunder had always scared me a little. After my shower, I threw some jeans and a sweatshirt on; nothing special for this day. I heard my phone ring and I rushed to my room to answer it before my mom could yell at me. My mom hated me having a phone as it is, and if it were to wake her up that morning, let’s just say I would not be a happy camper. I looked at the caller ID before flipping it open. There I saw Annie’s face flashing on my screen, her tongue sticking out and face scrunched, still looking beautiful. Annie was just one of those girls that was always beautiful, no matter what—part of me hated her for that. No matter where we were or what we did, she had this eye capturing essence that was so beautiful. She was a powerful magnet, pulling every pair of eyes to her. She was not the type of beauty you find in a magazine, but a natural beauty, delicate, and innocent.

“Good morning!” I cheered into the phone. I was always so happy to hear her voice, so maybe she could be my sunshine on this rainy day, but there was no answer. “Hello?” I said again. But, still nothing. “Anne, I’m going to hang up if you don’t answer me!” Then I heard sobs. “Annie? Are you OK? Talk to me.”

“This isn’t Annie,” a muffled voice said.

“Oh, who is this? Why are you on Annie’s phone? Where is she?”

“It’s Catharine.... Annie’s gone.” A moment of silence then apprehended our conversation.

“What do you mean gone?” I questioned scared of what was going to come next.

“Dead.”

At that moment, memories came flooding back into my mind; every memory of Annie all coming so fast I could barely distinguish which memory was which. The only thing I knew was that they were all of Annie, all from the past, all memories.

I remember our long adventures to the beach when we woke up early in the morning, arriving just when the sun started to get warm so we didn’t need a sweatshirt. We ran and danced in the sand and chased each other into the water. We sprinted as fast as we could through the waves ignoring the burn that the cold Oregon ocean gave our bodies. We never wanted to the leave the water, feeling like mermaids in the vast world of the unknown. Even with blue lips, red skin, and shivering bodies, our parents had to threaten us to make us leave the water. After the late night bonfire with sticky s’mores, with that extra beach crunch we gathered our chairs, wet towels and sandy buckets, and made the long trek to the car. Finally, when we reached our destination Annie and I bundled up with a blanket in the back seat and fell asleep together.

Then the memory abruptly shifted.

“Holy, do you have the blankets?” Annie yelled at me, piercing the night.

“Ya, grab the candles,” I shouted back. With all our necessities, we climbed into our clubhouse. Blankets, tons of blankets, pillows, candles, and a cassette player. We leaned up against the wood of the clubhouse bundled up with the candles lit. This was our sanctuary.

“Holy, no matter how old we get, can we always stay friends? I can’t imagine living without you.”

We would stay up late sharing our secrets, dreams, and fears as we watched the candle dance with the wind. We imagined what our lives would be when we grew up—who we would marry, how many kids we would have, where we would live, but obviously it would be close to each other. Through the cracks of the wood, we peeked out, spotting the stars, playing connect the dots with the sky. In the morning, we woke with the sun shining though the opening of the walls of our sanctuary as the birds sang to us good morning. We laid there for a while in silence, listening to the morning, thinking about our conversations from the previous night. Content.

“Breakfast!” We heard my mom yell out from the kitchen window. We came running down the latter faster than our legs could take us, the smells captivating us the second we opened the door to the tree house. French toast, fresh berries, and warm maple syrup were set at the table when we came through the door.

Then the memory ended, just as it had come.

I dropped my phone on my floor, confused. There was no way this could be true, no way was my best friend dead. The rain outside seemed to pick up, if that was even possible, and the sky seemed to get darker as if death suddenly possessed it, making my body shake. I couldn’t move, just sat on my floor, frozen. Breathless. I tried closing my eyes, then opening them to see if I would wake up. “This was just a dream,” I told myself. A horrible nightmare, I was destined to wake up any moment now. Nevertheless, no, this was reality. I pretended nothing happened and finished getting dressed for school.

There were no thoughts in my head. I felt separated from my body; disconnected, as if I was on autopilot. Breakfast, school, class after class, silence. I did not say anything. I tried to focus on my classes, but I felt dead inside. I felt lost and confused- numb.

It was sixth period and math was extremely boring. I felt my body suddenly relax and an odd sense of control began to sink in. I began to feel that I was in possession of body once again. My body started hurting as my soul was reconnected with my being. My head pounding fast and I began to sweat with this sudden transformation.

“She’s gone,” I whispered under my breath. A few kids turned around and looked at me. I couldn’t breathe, my throat was closing in, and I needed to get out. I grabbed my books and ran out of the classroom. I did not know where I was going, but I just kept running. I could hear the classroom door slam behind me and echo down the empty hallway. I kept running. My throat was burning and I wanted to hide. I slowed down as I lost my breath, and reached for my phone. Out of habit, I dialed speed dial 2 and put the phone to my ear.

“Hey you’ve reached Annie, but you knew that cuz you called me...”

I dropped my phone; just let it slide from my hand and crash to the floor into pieces. Her voice, her voice, never again will I hear her voice. I sat down in the middle of the hall. I felt nervous. I needed to throw up. I crawled across the hall to the wall and convinced myself to calm down. I did not understand how she could be gone. How could she have left, just disappeared? She was here for so long, then one day, just gone?

The next morning, I woke up with my head pounding. I didn’t sleep much and felt my eyes sagging. My pillow was soaking. I must have cried in my sleep. I did not change out of my sweats, did not apply make-up; I did not care anymore. What was there to live for? It was all gone now. I walked down for breakfast, even though I knew if I ate I would throw up.

“Holy, you need to eat something,” my mom said sympathetically. I didn’t respond, just grabbed a banana and laid on the couch.

“Holy, there’s a letter for you on the counter,” my dad said as he rearranged the newspaper.

“Who is it from?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said as he tossed it to me. “It was on the front porch this morning.” My name was neatly printed in all caps on the front of the envelope.

Annie.

It was from her. I would know that hand writing anywhere.

“Holy, you don’t need to read that right now. Read it when you’re ready.”

I looked up at my mom; I felt the tears in my eyes again. I took a deep breath and looked at the clock. Shoot! I needed to leave for school. I shoved the letter in my bag, kissed my parents goodbye, and left.

That letter was then forgotten.

Few days later, her family and a few of her closest friends gathered at the cemetery on a beautiful, sunny February morning. The sky was blue and the birds were singing. It made me feel that Annie was happy—happy to be gone. I felt a stab in my stomach. It hurt to think that she was overjoyed to be out of this world. We sang our traditional prayers and the Rabbi played his guitar to soothe our pain. We stood around her casket that lay in the earth waiting for us to begin our mourning. I took the shovel and began covering her one scoop at a time. My tears began to soak into the soil, fertilizing it with my despair. The tears came harder as the sun shined down brighter, as if Annie was laughing, telling me she was safe where she was. I could not think about her being content. I needed her to hurt as I was, as her family was. I dropped the shovel and wiped my face turning the dirt on my fingers into mud as it blended with my tears.

We got in the car and drove to the synagogue. We sat in the pews, listening to stories about our beloved Annie. I was filled with anger and guilt. It was my fault that she was dead. I was her best friend. I should have known what was going on in her head. We supposedly told each other everything. Was her pain not incorporated with this everything? A warm, shaking hand on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Annie’s mom, Catherine.

“Holy would you talk? Annie...for Annie,” she said her voice shaking. I did not want to do anything for Annie, but I will do it for Catherine, for all the people that Annie hurt.

“Hi,” I said nervously as I stood in front of all the people that had loved her. I took a breath and continued. “Most of you know me as Annie’s best friend, because I was, or am. I’m standing here to express that we all share a selfish pain. We share a pain of loss and guilt. Everyone here feels that they could have done something to stop this, done something to help. But truth be told, if Annie needed help, she would have asked. She was known for asking for help. She didn’t think that this was worth it. As her best friend, I know she would want us to be happy, to celebrate her life instead of mourning her death. But I don’t think I know how to do that right now. I keep thinking that I will never hear her laugh again, that beautiful bubbly laugh, see her smile, that contagious infectious smile, or feel her strong arms when she hugs me. How can I be happy without these things?” I stood there for a moment in silence, not knowing what to say. I wanted to shout into the microphone that I loved her, but hated her for leaving me. I didn’t know how to live without her. I looked out at everyone, waiting for someone to give me an answer. Despite the silence and my confusion, everyone else was lost, too, looking for the same answers I was. I felt the hands on my shoulders again; I turned around to see Catherine. I fell into her open arms and she wrapped them tightly around me. She smelled like Annie. I took a deep breath, remembering my best friend. “I love you,” I whispered in her ear. Over the years that Annie and I had been friends, it was hard for Catherine to not become a mother figure to me, as well. Catherine had a small frame, but a large presence, which is where Annie got her essence. Being in Catherine’s arms at that moment made her feel so small and weak, words I never thought to associate with her before. It was so hard to watch her in this type of pain.

“Holy, I love you too, and so does Annie. Never forget that.”

After the service, we drove home and I went straight to my room. I looked around to see all the pictures of Annie and me. My room had always been a timeline of our relationship, but now that she was dead, the timeline needed to end. I began to cry and, filled with a selfish anger, I started tearing them off my wall, ripping them up. She’s gone! She’s gone! When all the pictures were off my wall, torn into pieces, I laid shaking on my floor in a ball, trying to stop crying. I took some deep breaths, remembering the words of Annie’s mom. “Holy, I love you too, and so does Annie. Never forget that.”

Two weeks passed in a blur of no emotion. I was sitting in class and decided to clean out my bag, rid myself of the possessions from the past few weeks, and get myself back on track. I had absorbed myself in school and dance; numb, silent, but still moving. I kept telling myself it’s what she would have wanted me to do. There I found the letter she wrote me, my name still printed in all caps on the envelope. Should I open it? I thought to myself. I sat there pondering the notion of connecting to her again. I didn’t know if I could take the pain. When she was alive, we constantly spoke to each other—every morning and every night and, of course, periodically throughout the day. Now with her gone, I still had not quite became accustomed to the fact that we could not talk. I slowly ripped the envelope careful not to tear the letter held within. I took a deep breath, slid the piece of paper out, and placed it on my desk. I stared at it for what seemed like forever and closed my eyes. Annie’s face appeared in my vision. Her long, brown hair curving around her body; her glowing eyes that sparkled even when there was no reason to, and of course her smile with the one dimple on her left cheek. I felt something wet slide down my cheek and I opened my eyes. I touched my face to feel that I had been crying. I wiped my eyes and asked to be excused. I took the letter and went to the bathroom. I locked myself in the stall and unfolded the piece of paper.

To my best friend~

I don’t know where to start. I guess I could start with goodbye, or I’m sorry, but I know neither of these things will make you feel any better. Holy, I didn’t leave you, I just left this world. It’s like I’m invisible, but I’m still here for you. Holy, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met...and I am so thankful to have had you in my life, it was an honor to call you my best friend, my secret sister. Now that I’m gone, I need you to keep going, keep dancing, keep up your school work, but most importantly, remember to love yourself. I know you really well, probably the best out of anyone you know, and I bet you’re blaming yourself for this, but Holy, it’s not your fault. If it weren’t for you, I probably would have done this a long time ago. I held on for you. I made it this far because I love you and I knew this would kill you, but Holy, I needed to leave. I was so upset on the inside and it was nothing that anyone could fix. So, I’m sorry that I did this to you—that I told you we would be friends forever, but I still feel that we will be. We will always have a bond that will connect us. I can’t ask anything of you, but I will keep my promise. I promised to always be there for you, and I will be. I will watch over you, and protect you. Just please don’t forget me. Please.

Love you forever and always.

Your best friend, your second half, your sister...Annie

I crumpled the note, scrunching it in my fist as tight as I could. I hated her! I was filled with an anger that I couldn’t explain; an anger that made me want to break something. I curled up into a little ball, pulling my knees to my chest and screamed, but my limbs barely muffled the sound of my piercing wail. I cried and the tears kept coming. I couldn’t stop. As much as I missed her, I hated her, too. At this moment, I wasn’t sad anymore, just filled with rage. She took her life away and threw all the people that loved her in the trash. She didn’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye. What was that supposed to mean? Did I not mean enough to her? Was I not worthy of a goodbye? Her death brought so many questions flooding into my mind about death itself, but more importantly, about the validity of our friendship. How much of our relationship was real if she was able to discard it in a matter of moments? I kicked open the stall door and ran out of the bathroom down the hall and out the door. It was pouring rain, a normal February afternoon. I ran through the trees and stopped in the middle of the park. It was dark and the trees seemed to be battling in a vicious dance with the wind. I turned my head to face the thick, dark clouds, letting the rain soak my body, hoping it would wash away my pain. I looked around to see that the park was empty. I peered back at the sky, which was getting darker by the second, creating a visual image of my feelings. “ANNIE!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I HOPE YOU’RE LISTENING. I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! CAN SEE HOW UNHAPPY I AM? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?” I took a deep breath and looked down at my soaking clothes. My eyes hurt from crying, so luckily I was out of tears. I took a deep breath and, little by little, made my way back to the school as the rain began to lighten up and the clouds slowly started to open. In the far off distance, the sun began to peak through the black clouds.

There is never a day I don’t think about Annie, but certain aspects of our world bring her closer to me. Whenever it rains, memories of that stormy February day flash across my mind and I wonder if she’s crying, if she needs help. But when I feel the sun warm my skin, I think of her smiling and laughing. When there is a light breeze, I can feel her whispering in my ear, and the strong winds remind me of her arms enfolding around my body. Even though she is gone, I still feel like she is here, just as she said she would be.

Occasionally, when I go to the forest, I will find the remainders of our fairy houses that we built over the years. Now and then, I will stop and build a new house to add to our fairy village, but then other times I sit and cry. I try to live every day with a smile on my face and be as happy as I can, but sometimes I can’t hold back my sadness that imprisons my body. It’s hard to be strong and hold this all in. Sometimes I need to let go and be angry. Annie hurt me by leaving, and I can’t always pretend that she didn’t. I feel ashamed when I express my feelings about her death, but I am a not Super Woman. She was my best friend for as long as I could remember, and even longer than that. I grew up telling her everything about everything. I had to teach myself to not call Annie’s answering machine every time I wanted to talk to her. For months, I found myself calling her machine leaving her long-winded messages about my life, wishing that she would come back and answer my questions about life. I wonder every day where she is. I know philosophers contemplate the afterlife as a phenomenon, but to me, it is a sense of concern. I want to know where my best friend is.

With Annie’s death, I found myself a new best friend—my pen. With this new relationship, I allowed myself to express my feelings without being ashamed of my fears; the fear that encompassed my body with Annie’s death was new to me. Living without the person that truly understands me is scary. She was the person that had been there by my side through it all. I wonder if she would like who I have grown into. Would I still be the girl she would be proud to call her best friend?