I’ve always loved the rain. To me it washed away all the evils of the world and gave nourishment to the living organisms that made up this planet. Every time it rains I go outside and just stand underneath it until my clothes becomes heavy with water and my body begins to shake from the cold and even then I’d stay out and just sit under the tree behind my house and watch it pour.

I live alone in a small two bedroom house out away from the main part of town that my father had built as a wedding present to my mother. He was a sentimental and old fashioned man who believed that the greatest gift a person could give was something that showed how much they really cared. So for my mother he built a house to say that this was a place they could be happy together until the day they died. The house wasn’t large and grand but it was surrounded by fields of grass in which my mother planted her vegetables, and there was a giant willow tree in the back that I can remember climbing on when I was little.

My mother was reserved but once you found something that she was passionate about she would talk for hours about why she felt the way she did. She loved to garden and play songs for us on the violin that was her most precious possession. I could never play it as good as her and instead chose the flute. I would spend most of my summers indoors listening to my mother play (she did not work but my father had a job in town) and reading books. It upset my father, having a son like me who would rather paint and listen to music and read instead of going out fishing and hunting with him.

Almost a week after my tenth birthday my mother passed away in her sleep. The coroner said that she had a form of cancer that neither me or my father knew about. Her funeral was lovely and many people that were friends came to give their speeches and say good bye. I can remember not shedding a single tear during the service, and neither did my father. After she passed my father began to spend more and more time in town and at work and out fishing until I would only see him on Sunday when he would come home just to restock on coffee for a trip or grab some clean clothes. Then, one day when I was twelve, he never came home. I never knew what happened to him, if he killed himself or if he just ran away, but I understood why he would do it.

I will never hate him for what he did, because I know that my mother was the one person that gave him so much joy in life and I also know that people would say that my actions were almost identical to hers. So I was now alone, in the house my father built, at age twelve. Most young boys would have been heart broken and would have hated everything to do with life, but I did not cry and I did not hate. I got a job in town helping out people with random work they needed done and I kept going to school every day and at home I would continue doing my chores and took care of my mothers vegetables. Life went on and my child hood dissipated.

I stayed in the house, and even now I’m still here, with nothing but my memories and my books to keep me company. As I grew older I had friends, but they all came and went as we aged. The one person who stayed with me was named Roger Evans. He was the first person to not tease me in high school for my quiet nature. I was actually shocked when he would invite me to his house to hang out after school. He was tall, athletic, and even though he wasn’t one of the smartest people at school he had one of those characters that just drew everyone in around him, whereas I was short and overly thin and my nose was always in a book. He taught me how to trust people more and to be more open about how I felt. I will admit that I fell in love with him. The summer before our Senior year of high school was the first time I cried but I honestly believe that that was when I finally started to live. It was because of him.



I was running as fast as I could outside just as I heard the sound of thunder and looked up at the sky. A drop of water fell and landed right on my forehead. Behind me Roger was laughing as I stood there with my nose pointed at the sky and my eyes closed.

“Man, you sure are weird” he said as he walked over to me. It was pouring now. “If you feel like getting sick then go ahead and stay out here but I am starving so I’m going back inside.” He grabbed my shoulders and I turned around to face him. He was a good six inches taller than me so I had to look up to see his face properly. His brown hair was flattened from the water and his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest.

“Can I just stay out just a little bit longer?” I jokingly asked. I would tease him like this because he was always babying me and treating me like you would a child. He just laughed and began to pull me towards the house. Once inside I went and grabbed him a towel and began to prepare dinner while he walked into the bathroom to dry off. Most nights were like this, and it had gotten to the point where I left the door ulocked every day for him to come over when he felt like it.

"Is it alright that I borrow one of your shirts and just bring it back tomorrow? I really don't feel like wearing my wet one." He walked out of the bathroom in the process of pulling one of my old sweaters over his head. I looked quikly away.

"Sure, go ahead I don't wear that one anyways. You're not staying over?" I put the food on a platter and set it down on the table and grabbed some plates.

"Naw, I need to get into town early so that I can help out my dad at his work. Since he busted his back he can't do much lifting so I have to take over until he fully heals." Rogers father was the one man I didn't think I could trust. It's not that he was a bad man, I just didn't like how a person never knew exactly what he was thinking. I also got the impression that he didn't like his son hanging around with a boy like me. He was old-fashioned like my father but I don't think he was like him at all and he seemed to not be as open and trusting as my father was. Ever since his wife and Rogers mother left the previous year I wouldn't go over to his house unless I knew he wasn't there.

After dinner we cleaned up and I walked Roger out to the closest road and said goodbye. It had stopped raining and the air had that clean, damp smell. When I couldn't see him anymore I went and grabbed one of my favorite books out of my room and went back outside to sit under the tree in the wet grass. After a few pages I set it down and took a few deep breaths because I couldn't concentrate on the familiar text. My mind was filled with thoughts of Roger. He had always been my best friend and I loved him like a brother and maybe a bit more.

I stood up and walked back into the house and took a shower before going to bed. Before I fell asleep I lay there thinking about the past years and all the things he's done for me.



The next afternoon I decided to go out and tend to my mothers vegetables. Before she died we would do this every Wednesday with just the two of us and she used to tell me stories of Peter Cottontail running from the angry farmer. It was a hot day, so I grew tired faster and decided to lay down and watch the clouds.

"I won't save you if you die of heat stroke." I slowly opened my eyes and saw Roger leaning over me. His face was so close that for a few seconds I stopped breathing until he backed away and bent to help me up. I don't know how long I had been asleep, but the sky was beginning to darken as the sun set. I didn't say anything as he pulled me to my feet and slowly we began to make our way to the house.

"What are you doing here?" I asked when we got inside and sat at the kitchen table.

"I got off early so I decided to come over and see if you wanted to come with me to my house for a bit and since my dad has a date tonight I thought it'd be fine if you stayed over. Is that OK?" His smile was so innocent and his eyes danced with youth that I couldn't say no. So together we walked down the dusty road into town underneath the setting sun. It was dark by the time we got there.

Once there we went into his room and looked at some of his old comics like we did when we were young. We were laughing so hard and haveing such a good time that we didn't even hear his father come home and open the bedroom door.

"I didn't know you were having a friend over." He looked me over once before leaning against the door frame.

"Hey dad. Yeah I thought it'd be fine if he stayed over since you were meeting Sheila tonight." He quickly stood up and shoved his hands inside of his back pockets. Every since I've known Roger he would only do this when he lied or was nervous. I thought it was the latter and looked at his father suspiciously.

"Well, as you can see I'm home so why don't you show him the door and then go to bed?" He left the room and Roger ran after him. I heard a door slam and then the house grew earily silent.

"But that's not fair!" I could hear them shouting through the walls and I tried my hardest to listen.

"You know how I feel about people like him."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Damnit boy, can't you see how he looks at you?"

"Were just friends. Besides, what if I can never see him again? You know how close we are."

"He's a freak! I never unerstood how your mother could let you associate with wierdo's like him. I will be so happy when you make new friends in the city. And this time they won't be abandoned fags!"

"But dad..."

"No 'buts'. I want you to walk him home and tell him that we're leaving tomorrow. Understood?"

"Why can't I stay here and live on my own like him? Why do I have to go THERE with you?"

I didn't hear the rest of their argument because at that point I had ran out as fast as I could.

I did not stop running until I was home and I collapsed when I made it to the big willow tree behind the house. My mind was over flowing with thoughts of what I had heard. Never in my life had I imagined that Roger would leave me. He was my savior, my confidence, my life. He made me feel happy and warm and I would be lost without him.

I remembered the first day we met. If he wouldn't have been walking by the libraray to go to lunch we wouldv'e never seen eachother. This thought made me sad and as I sat underneath the tree I cried for the first time. When my mother passed I hadn't shed a tear, and even when my father left I still held it in. But knowing that Roger would leave was the final blow to my heart. I was racked with chokes and sobs and they wouldn't stop. What amazed me was how painful yet soothing they were, so I gave up and just my body deal with the heartache in the only way it knew possible. I cried for hours and soon I saw the sun come up.



The next day it was raining but I stayed indoors and took out my flute for the first time in years. Just holding it brightened my mood and I found myself playing as I envisioned my childhood. I was so entrapped that I didn't see or hear Roger come in and sit down to listen to me.

"Hey," I dropped my flute "I thought I'd come by and tell you everything." He was soaked from the rain and despite myself my heart lept. I sat down on the couch and looked at him straight in the face. He got up, sat next to me and said "You see, my dad just got this job in the city and we've known about it for a while now. It's pretty far, so I'm going with him to finish off school. I know I should've said something..."

"Why didn't you?" I interrupted him and he sighed.

"I wanted to spend these last days with you as if nothing was changeing. I thought that if you didn't know than you wouldn't be depressed and make a huge show of it. I just wanted you to be happy for a bit longer."

His voice broke and then I realised that perhaps he loved me as well. In his own way, of course. I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned his face to me. His eyes were cloudy and red and my heart just stopped.

"I love you." I said it aloud for the first time and it felt so good that I cried. "I don't know why, but I do. You've always been there and I don't kow what I would've done if we'd never met. I love you." He wrapped his arms around me and together we cried and wept and sobed until the sun was setting.

"I'll try my hardest to come and see you." He said this as we walked outside. It was still raining but neither of us noticed it. "I'll send you my new address so we can stay in touch." I didn't reply because I knew that we would never see eachother again. So, for the last time I walked him to the road. When I couldn't see him anymore I looked up at the sky and tried my hardest to cleanse my soul.





That was over sixty years ago and I am still in this house. Roger did send letters, and for a few months we continued to talk. But like all of my other friends, we drifted apart as we aged. Right now it's raining.

I had always loved the rain. To me it washed away all the evils of the world and gave nourishment to the living organisms that made up this planet. Every time it rains I go outside and just stand underneath it until my clothes becomes heavy with water and my body begins to shake from the cold and even then I stay out and just sit under the tree behind my house and watch it pour.

So here I am sitting underneath the tree behind the house my father built as a wedding present to my mother, watching it rain for the last time. And as I watch it I remember my life and my parents, but mostly I think of Roger, my first and final love. As I close my eyes and allow my body to become slack, I can feel the rain and hear him telling me to come inside and eat dinner.