Rain Walker

The girl was a rain walker and she really was (though she wasn't, really) and looked best that way and knew it. Oh she looked good cutting down the street all slow like a movie with the plain black umbrella and mascara running just slightly, so right away you wanted to hold her(even though she wasn't really crying or really). And oh she knew all the streets where you'd happen to be walking and she knew the turns, the small glances, the methods and techniques required to get in your mind and stay there. And once she was there she would grow. Most everything lays it's eggs on or near the very food the baby needs. So the internal cambium of your skull would become laced with small black umbrellas, and when it rained they would unfurl and destroy practically everything.

And it would become a secret you don't want to tell anybody, especially not yourself; but if you told yourself and if you faced the fear or suspicion of knowledge that you'd lost it, somewhere along the way you'd lose it and the umbrellas would unfurl so thick and plain and black that you could not see. So you keep it secret like an unchecked tumor and when it rains you see her and you don't talk to her you just glance slightly at her slight glance and are afraid that if you talk to her she might really be or not be and either way you would never get over it. And the more you think about not thinking about it, you are thinking about it and now you are afraid to go outside when it rains, which means something is winning and it is not you. And now she is growing and you know you have no control or at least know you never did, which under other circumstances would make you more sane than ever, but when you wake up to find it raining you don't get out of bed and if it rains at night you don't open your eyes and all is plain and black. But you have moments.

You have moments when you cast all shackles and umbrellas and fears from yourself in an impulse similar to suicide and you need to get toilet paper so you walk to the store in the rain. And in the rain you see the black umbrella coming close and want to throw yourself in front of a bus, but when they get closer and you slightly glance you realize it is not her at all and just as a sigh is almost born like a sharp white light there is another- black umbrella. But this one is walking the other way and slightly glancing at another boy and when you see his face you know you are not the only one and that she is not the only one and that you have lost it and she is a rain walker like that story grandpa used to tell you that laced your skull with black umbrellas which had only been waiting for this moment to POP open and now you are blind and happy to no longer struggle. Then all the kids and the cops and the gossipy coffeehouse book club gals all call YOU the rain walker because you walk around in the rain with no umbrella and shout "how do ya do! how do ya do! how do ya do!" to every slightly frightened or totally disaffected passerby. And they will never know you were once a real person. And you well never know that all they hear you say is "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo!"