𝚘𝚗𝚎

Rain is such a funny aspect of life. It comes when you least expect it, washing away the beautiful sunshine on this earth. Sometimes it's a light drizzle, barely having any effect on you. Other times, it's a monsoon of heavy water bulldozing in with dark clouds.

I see rain as a reflection of so many different things. It shows vulnerability to the softness of the world. The streets become a liquid madness, disrupting the hardness of the once-dry concrete.

I also see it as the universe crying. Not every single day is going to be bright and happy, with rainbows and flowers all around. It can be dark, gray, completely and utterly depressing.

Well, everyday is completely and utterly depressing when you live in the gloomy state of Washington. And if you live the same life that I do, then there's really no way around the darkness that is consumed by rain.

It's the same routine every single day. I sit in my bay window, which is the only place I feel safe, and simply watch the rain. My brown orbs focus on the small droplets sliding down the glass, racing to get to the end. I lean my head against the window, keep my grip on my little black diary, and watch the rain for hours.

I normally write things like "today, I'm sad," or "it's never going to get better." Sometimes I even start with, "I miss him so much that nothing matters anymore."

Today, I'm met with a blank page. A black ink pen is twirling around my fingers, but nothing is being written. There's no expression in me, I feel empty inside.

I used to be happy. It's shocking, but it's the truth. I was energetic, bubbly, could spark up a conversation with the wall if I had to.

Now, I'm mute. I've barely spoken two words since the accident that occurred ten months ago. It's almost been a full 365 days.

Nothing physically happened to me, I wasn't the one who suffered from the feeling of water filling up my lungs. But it put an emotional strain on my entire life.

Water is a funny thing. It's so innocent, yet so dangerous. I'm staring at the small droplets that rest on my window. They're barely a speck, something that won't harm you. Yet, you have the ocean. It can swallow you whole and never spit you back out.

I'm so trapped in my sad thoughts that I don't notice my mother enter my small bedroom. She's carrying a laundry basket on her hip, her eyes scanning over my room.

"Need anything washed?" She casually says while looking around.

I shake my head and force my eyes to take notice of the empty page in front of me. I never have writer's block. Not that I'm writing anything spectacular, it's just my inner thoughts.

"Hope?" My mother asks again.

A huff exhales from my lips as I make eye contact with her. I guess she didn't see me shake my head at her question. "No."

"No, what?" She furrows her eyebrows.

"No, I don't need anything washed." I simply state with a low voice.

"There's got to be something." She disagrees and heads over to the hamper in my closet.

I pick up my pen and write down the first words on my fresh sheet of paper.

Dear Diary,

I wish my mother would open her eyes. The act she puts on makes me sick to my stomach. She thinks everything is okay, that last summer didn't happen. My father is even worse, he completely tuned out the situation. They refuse to believe that our perfect little family is tarnished. It was set on fire and burned down to the ground. I don't know how they wake up every morning acting like everything is fine. It's wicked to even think about. Do they not see it? Do they not see what happened to their children? It seems like they completely forgot they had children. They sure don't appreciate them when they're alive and they definitely don't appreciate them when they're dead.

"You're always sitting in that window." Her voice causes my eyes to shoot up. I can see her head shaking back and forth, even though her back is facing me. "It's summer, you just graduated high school. You should go out and make some friends."

"It's raining." That's the answer I respond with. She says the same thing to me every single day, and I say the same answer in return.

"It's stopping now." She folds a few of my shirts and places them in the laundry basket. "We can go work on the garden."

"I'm good." I shortly respond.

"Did you think anymore about college? What are you going to do in September?"

Here we go, the college talk. We have the same chat everyday that goes absolutely nowhere.

"No, I haven't thought about it." Wow, a full sentence. That's more than she usually gets.

"Well, you should start." She nags while continuing to tidy up. "Did you hear about Linda?"

I stare blankly at my diary as she mentions the elderly woman who lives across the street. "What about her?" I mutter.

"Her grandsons are staying with her for the entire summer. They just arrived."

My head turns back to the window. It's funny what can change in a split second. I always have a perfect view of our court, since my room is on the second floor.

Linda lives in a small white house across the street. Her husband died two years ago and she's been alone ever since. Well, I think she has a cat, but that's it. No sign of any children, no mention of grandchildren.

My eyes narrow when I spot two boys grabbing suitcases out of the trunk of her 1998 Sedan. The thing barely runs properly, she even crashed into her mailbox on accident.

"Grandsons?" I mumble while gluing my eyes to them.

"I know, I was just as surprised. She told your father that they were living with her. I was unaware that she had any children, let alone grandchildren."

"Twins." Is the only other word I can think of saying.

They look around my age, maybe a year or two older. One of them is grabbing another bag from the backseat. He has darker hair than his brother, and a different sense of style. He's wearing a plain hoodie and sweatpants.

The other twin, the one standing on the side with crossed arms, is wearing a white t-shirt with black jeans. He looks annoyed, like he doesn't want to be there. I don't blame him, what are they going to do in this dull town?

"Apparently they're nineteen." My mother chimes back in.

My staring must be noticeable, because the boy looks up. The one with the white t-shirt and rugged facial expression.

He must feel my eyes seeping through him, because suddenly he's staring right at me. His arms stay crossed and he doesn't move a muscle. He simply makes eye contact with me from the space between us.

I rip my eyes away from him, slightly moving out of the view. I don't want to seem impolite by staring at him like he's some science fair project.

"Look at that, the rain stopped." My mother says while walking out of my room.

I roll my eyes and place my pen into the diary, closing it shut. Rising from the bay window, I walk over to the closet and throw on a denim jacket. I find it amusing that I'm still wearing a jacket in the middle of June. That's how crappy the weather is here.

My eyes land on my phone charging on the nightstand. I contemplate taking it, but nobody would contact me anyway. Sighing, I walk out of my bedroom and head down the steps.

"Hope, are you going out?" My father says with a shocked expression.

"Yeah, I'll be back soon." I mutter while walking over to the front door.

"Where are you going? We were just about to eat dinner." My mother says from the kitchen.

"Out." I quickly respond. I'm not in the mood to talk to either one of my dysfunctional parents.

The cool air hits me as I step outside. I notice the twins across the street have made their way into Linda's small house, since they are no longer in the driveway.

Shaking off the thought, I go into the garage to get my bicycle. I could probably use a new one, but I don't complain. It gets me where I need to be and is sufficient enough.

As I grab onto the handlebars, my eyes make contact with the worn out lacrosse stick sitting on the shelf. I freeze for a moment, feeling a lump form in my throat. Forcing myself to look away, I hop onto my bike and start pedaling out of the garage. Once I'm down my driveway and no where near my block, I let out a breath.

The wind blows through my light brown hair as my legs pedal through our small town of Renton. It's probably the smallest town in the entire state. There's nothing to do here and it always rains, especially within the past year.

I don't go out much, but when I do go out, it's always to the same place. My grip tightens on the handlebars as I continue over to my destination. Luckily it isn't far, it's about a fifteen minute bike ride.

Pulling through the entrance always gives me such an eerie feeling. Sadness automatically chills my bones as I pass the hundreds of tombstones around me.

Cemeteries always turn my emotions low. Since I'm here everyday, I've become familiar with the different types of graves. Some are brand new, some are extremely old. They're always putting in a new one or digging up dirt for it, that's how many people die.

Hopping off my bike, I wheel the old thing over to my spot. My converse scrape across the wet grass as I approach my destination. A large gray tombstone that I never forget to see. If I ever missed a day, I would never forgive myself.

I put down the kickstand and sit in front of it. I cross my legs together and allow my eyes to take in the sight in front of me. The words still sting.

Hunter Patrick Myers

December 6th, 1997 - August 18th, 2018

A beloved son, brother and friend.

Tears already well up my eyes as I pick at the thin blades of grass. I can feel my fragile heart shattering all over again. Even though this happens everyday, I can never leave him. We promised to never leave each other, and I always keep my promises.

"Hunt, I can't take mom and dad anymore." I sigh while looking down at the grass. "They don't comprehend what happened to you. They know that you're dead, but it hasn't resonated with them. They don't grieve, they don't cry."

Chills run up and down my back as the wind begins to pick up. My cheeks are wet from my freshly fallen tears. I automatically wipe them away.

"I feel stuck in that house. I should probably go away to college but there's no way I would be able to focus. Senior year was horrible and I doubt it would get better." I continue to vent to my invisible brother. "I keep waiting for it to get better, but it doesn't."

I feel totally lost in life. The past ten months have been extremely hard. Despite it being my name, I feel like there's no hope for me. The minute I lost my best friend I knew I would be forever frozen.

"I just don't know what to do anymore." I whisper while looking back up to the grave.

I spend a few more minutes sitting, talking, and taking in the sight around me. Eventually I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, and get back on my bike. Tomorrow is a new day to visit Hunter. Maybe I won't cry then.

As I ride back over to my house, the sun is turning the town a tint of orange. It's getting lower and lower in the sky. I hate riding around at night. Something about the darkness skeeves me out.

My feet pick up the pace as the darkness takes over me. It was inevitable to face. Making a right turn onto my block, it's now pitch black. The street lamps are the little bit of light looming over the familiar houses. I slowly get off the bike and start to walk it toward my driveway.

I'm about to reach it, when I stop in my tracks. A weird feeling floods my core, a feeling of eyes peeled onto me. Slowly turning around, my vision latches onto Linda's house.

The upstairs bedroom light is on, and her grandson is staring right at me. He's not being subtle at all. I had the decency to move away when he caught me looking, but he doesn't. He simply stands in front of the window, arms crossed over his body just like before.

I nervously gulp as I stare back at him. Our eyes are locked in this odd trance. I quickly break it by looking away. Walking over to the garage, I open the door and disappear behind it without looking back at the window across the street.