For the Love of Raindrops

by Beth Michele

  Trey moves around the room, setting up some weights and taking out what look like giant rubber bands. “Today we’re going to stretch first, like always, but then we’re going to do some weights, and work with the resistance bands to continue to build your upper body strength.” He looks me over as he places the weights down beside my chair. “You look different.”

  “Is it my new wheels?” I smile, and he chuckles as I twist my torso, then slide myself down onto the mat.

  “Whoa. I can’t believe how much you’ve deprived me. You’re really pretty when you actually smile.” He extends my left leg, then bends it up toward the knee. Heat washes over my cheeks but disappears quickly.

  “Okay, hold up right there. Let’s just get something straight. You need to know that I’m madly in love with a guy I ate worms with when I was six.” And then my skin prickles with awareness at how easy that was—how the words just came together and fell from my lips, uninhibited, without thought. Because that’s how I really feel.

  “Hey.” He switches to my other leg, but not before yielding his hands in surrender. “Just paying you a compliment, Sunshine. So,” he hesitates, “where is this mystery man then?” I don’t respond because I’m not interested in discussing Dylan with him.

  “Ah, say no more,” he gleans from my silence, “I had one of those, too.”

  “What do you mean?” I lean up on my elbows because now he’s got me curious.

  “Well, seven years ago, I was engaged to be married… to Chloe.” The smile on his face vanishes and he pauses with a hand on my knee. “I loved her with everything I had. Anyway,” his hand starts moving again, but his eyes are unfocused and lost. “I was skiing with some buddies of mine and I took a bad fall on the mountain. Was in a coma for about six months, and when I came out of it, I couldn’t walk.” His gaze wanders back to mine. “I won’t bore you with all of the details, but she told me she loved me and that she didn’t care whether I could walk or not. Not even three weeks in, she said she couldn’t handle it, me being in a wheelchair.”

  He laughs, but it’s tainted with bitterness. “I told her she obviously didn’t love me. She told me love had nothing to do with it. And I told her love has everything to do with it. And then she left me.”

  “God, Trey, I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, but it’s okay.” He squares his shoulders, his lips thinning into a straight line. “Because then I became determined to walk again, just to spite her. And three years later, I did walk. And not only did I walk, but I went into physical therapy so I could help others do the same.”

  “Wow. I really am sorry about Chloe, but so happy that you’re well again.”

  “Thanks.” His smile returns, fiendish in ways. “I kind of left out the part about looking her up and making sure she knew I could walk again, oh, and about screwing one of her good friends right under her nose.”

  “Ah, the silver lining.” I flip him a smirk and he grins, his inky hair dropping down over his eyes.

  “Precisely. So, I guess the point in telling you my story is that there’s hope, you know—for walking, and for finding someone who will stand by you, no matter what, whether or not you walk again. Chloe just wasn’t my someone.”

  “You know what, Trey? That mystery man, he is my someone.”

  “SO, HOW LONG are you going to be gone, man?” Braden asks as he wanders around my room, picking up pictures and studying my personal items.

  “Stop touching my shit.” I smirk and he flips me off over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe a week or two. I told you to close up the shop and come with me.” I yank a backpack down from the shelf in my closet and stuff some toiletries in there. Then I grab the picture of Evie and me, staring at it a little too long before I place it in the zippered pocket, tucking it away with my sadness.

  “Well, we could certainly storm the crap out of New York City. They wouldn’t know what hit them. But we’ll have plenty of chances, though, especially if you plan on going to school there. I’ll be visiting so often you’ll be sick of my sorry mug. Aww,” he pauses and I glance over to find him holding a picture of Evie and me on our bikes in fourth grade. “Look at Red and her pigtails. What a cutie.”

  “Hey, Braden? Will you do something for me?” I drop the backpack on the bed and wait until he turns so I have his full attention.

  He places the picture frame on the dresser then leans back against it, folding his arms over his chest. “Sure, man, anything.”

  “Will you just check in on Evie while I’m gone? Make sure she’s okay. See if she needs anything?”

  “You got it.” He smiles, but it’s tentative, and I know he can read my hesitation. “Just go and… do whatever it is you plan on doing there.” He walks toward me with a cocky grin. “I’ll take care of things here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “All right.” He grips me hard and slaps me on the back. “Safe travels and call me when you land and if you spot any hot chicks. Which will be every second considering it’s New York City. I’ll see ya.”

  “Later.” I resume packing once he takes off, throwing random shit I’m not even sure I’ll need into my bag.

  “Are you sure you want to go, dear?” Gran asks, appearing at the door as she watches me haphazardly toss clothes into my suitcase. You’d think I was anxious to leave, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Yeah. Just for a little while. I need to get away and clear my head. I can’t hang around here. Now that I don’t have to worry about the diner anymore, I don’t know what to do with myself. I figure I’ll spend some time getting to know the city, hit up some museums, whatever.”

  “What about Evie?”

  Hearing her name makes the hurt coil in my stomach all over again, and I don’t want to hurt anymore.

  I collapse into a heap on the bed, balling up a t-shirt with my hands. “I’d give anything to at least have our friendship back. But… everything is different. She doesn’t want me, Gran. She thinks I look at her as some sort of obligation now, and she couldn’t be more wrong. She needs space, and so do I at this point. So, I’m just going to put some distance between us.”

  “She’ll come around.”

  “Yeah.” But even as I say the word, my body rebels. I’m just not sure I believe it anymore.

  THE NURSE LEAVES the bathroom and I finish scrubbing my upper body while sitting in the shower chair. It’s not so bad really. The only part that’s still a bit weird is having her twist my limbs in various ways so she can wash the areas I can’t reach.

  After the incident with Dylan, the agency ended up sending me a new nurse, Sheila. She’s much tougher than the other one. She doesn’t take any crap and she doesn’t treat me like I’m a delicate flower. I’ve come to appreciate that. It’s a daily reminder that I’m not fragile, or even broken for that matter— just slightly bent, and I can live with that.

  Before the accident, I would just do. Now I have to think about whether or not I can actually “do” what I’m thinking, and if not, then I adjust. Things I would have taken for granted before, like entering a building or whether I can fit into a certain space. And I’m sure I’ll have many other challenges to face, but I’m willing to meet them head on now.

  My mind veers off to Trey and his story. It was actually pretty inspiring. He’s walking now, and he’s used that experience to better himself by helping others. I’m wondering if I can find a way to do the same.

  “All set?” Sheila calls, giving a tight knock on the door to let me know she’s on her way in. I appreciate that she realizes I still have boundaries, and respects them.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  She shuts the shower off, then uses the towel to dry me while I’m sitting. When that’s done, she takes my right arm and loops it around her shoulder, lifting me from the chair. The sight of my feet dragging along the floor is still odd. Even though I have some feeling in my legs, I still can’t do much with them. But I’m going to try like hell to change that. Someday I hope to
walk again, and maybe even run. I miss it.

  But there’s something else I miss even more. Goose bumps march over my skin and my stomach is jittery with nerves. My other hope is that Dylan can forgive me. I know that I’ve been incredibly distant and I want to see if we can start over. I miss my best friend.

  I pick out something pretty to wear and since Sheila’s here, she helps me dress. Thanks to Trey, I’ve become very good at maneuvering my body in different ways so I can take care of my lower half. At some point, the nurse will no longer be here and I’ll be on my own. I also know when that time comes, I’ll be ready.

  I blow dry my hair, thankful that I still have the use of my arms and the rest of my upper body. The Tic-Tacs Nora left on my dresser catch my eye, and I smile before inhaling about a dozen for luck.

  Since I’m unable to get myself up to Dylan’s porch, I ask Sheila to come along as my personal door knocker. Then I wheel myself down the ramp with Sheila by my side, one last big breath for courage.

  My heart hammers against my ribs the closer I get to Dylan’s house. In my mind, I’m trying to sort out what I’m going to say—which is ridiculous. Above all, Dylan is my friend. I don’t need to practice as if this is some sort of audition and he needs to decide if I’m the one. He’s already told me that. I just refused to believe it.

  Sheila raps on the door and I shout out a “thanks” before she walks back across the street.

  While I’m waiting, I fix my hair so it rests over my shoulders and smooth out my skirt. There’s a subtle tremor in my hands and I fold my fingers together to calm my nerves. I even take a couple of slow, meditative breaths, smiling as I think about the Buddha in my living room.

  Grandma Molly opens the door after what seems like forever. She’s wearing a bright yellow apron, her fingers clutching onto the handle of a broom. Small flecks of dust stick to her hair and pants.

  “Hello, Evie.” She greets me with a warm smile that instantly settles my nerves. Walking down the steps of the porch, she comes over and kisses my cheek. “I’m happy to see you. And looking so well, too.”

  “Thanks, Grandma Molly. I’m working on it.” I snag my lip between my teeth, then let it go. “I was wondering if you could get Dylan for me.”

  She blinks, shuffling her feet before looking back to me. “Dylan isn’t here, dear. He went to New York.”

  “Oh.” I break eye contact and stare down at my legs. My hand automatically goes to my stomach, trying to suppress the sudden ache while the oddest sensation washes over me—like I’m sinking in quicksand. But then I remind myself that I have no right to feel this way. Not once have I reached for Dylan’s hand to help me. Instead, I’ve forced him to stand there and watch, while I fell deeper. So, I certainly can’t blame him for giving up on me.

  “When will he be back?” I squeak out the words and the sympathetic expression on her face makes me tear up. She places her hand over mine.

  “Maybe in a week or two. I’m not quite sure.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I spin my wheelchair around, doing everything in my power not to cry right now. Especially since I did this to myself.

  “Evie, dear, wait.” The heels of her shoes slap the pavement until she’s standing beside me. “You know, I try not to be one of those meddling grandmas, but when it comes to my boys, I just can’t help it.” She appears to be mulling something over in her head, and after a minute, she nods and lets out a decisive breath. “Come with me.”

  Curiosity leads me to follow her as she rounds the jagged path on the side of the house. We turn the corner and my hands leave the wheels of the chair and fly over my mouth. Tears slant down my cheeks and my vision blurs. I blink them away when I feel Grandma Molly’s comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “He knows you think the ramp is an eyesore. But he had one put in back here, so you could get inside the house, and,” she adds, her words threaded with emotion, “he said he still wanted you to be able to come up to the deck and look at the stars with him.”

  Dylan.

  I can’t gather a coherent thought. Waves of feeling slam against my chest, making me dizzy.

  “Come,” she says, walking behind me and pushing me up the ramp.

  An eeriness claws at my skin when we get inside. The last time I was in here was the night of the accident. I can still feel the press of Dylan’s chin into my collarbone. The scent of his soap. His arms cocooning me as we stared at the picture on the wall. Grandma’s quiet tone brings me back.

  “I’d like to show you something.” She wheels me to a door at the end of the hall. It’s a room where Dylan used to hide when we were younger. I’ve only been in here a few times over the years, but I know it’s filled with some of his mother’s belongings.

  As Grandma Molly’s hand twists the knob, I hear her mumble Dylan’s name and something about forgiveness before the door opens and she flicks the light switch on the wall.

  My lips part on a loud gasp that echoes in the quiet room. Drawings. They are everywhere. Taped to the walls. Sitting on easels. Some even in frames. And the most beautiful thing? I recognize every one of them.

  Our swing in the park. Me, sitting on the swing. A charcoal drawing of us on our bicycles. Under the stars. In the rain. At the beach. Moments. One after another. A history of our friendship, our life together thus far. But it’s the three in the back of the room that capture my attention. The first—me in my wheelchair, staring out the window, head bowed slightly, eyes so very sad, drawn from the perspective of looking in. The second, right next to it—my eyes shining, cheekbones angled into a glorious smile—still in my wheelchair.

  The tears are falling so fast I can’t keep up with them, but it’s the third one that makes my heart constrict, my lungs unable to take in any air. It’s me in the wheelchair again. Dylan is sitting beside me, his head resting on my shoulder, his hand in mine. We’re looking up at a sky filled with stars, happy. I see love. So much love it’s filling me from the inside out. It makes me feel invincible, like I could do anything, be anything, as long as I have that love.

  I’m vaguely aware of a creaking sound and Grandma Molly setting a box on the small, wooden desk. She walks by me and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving the room, the door closing softly behind her.

  I wheel myself over to the desk, wiping away the tears that soak my skin. Atop of it sits a black circular box. It almost looks like one of those old-fashioned hat boxes. I reach out with a hand that begins to shake, afraid to see what’s in there, especially after the pictures. I inhale a breath and remove the top, only to discover letters. I lift the stack up and set them on my lap. But they’re not letters. They are poems. And as I flip through them, I see my name, over and over again.

  My Evie,

  You make me see color. Beautiful dabs of yellow and orange, splotches of pink darting across the surface of the sky. It’s blinding and stunning all at once. Until I’m stripped of everything. Until all that’s left is feeling, dripping from my bones.

  Then another.

  She smiled…

  And it pumped life into his veins.

  Love into his heart.

  Page after page of Dylan’s words. And I scroll through them all. There’s one at the very bottom that looks like it was torn in two, a single piece of tape bringing it back to life. The handwriting is a young Dylan.

  Your smile is like the sun

  Your eyes are like the ocean

  Your heart is my safe place

  Tears sting my eyes, shielding me from more words that are ripping open my chest. Dylan’s heart is everywhere, spilling from the walls, bleeding onto the paper. It’s too much. I bend over, wrapping my arms around myself, continuing to cry softly. I don’t even realize Grandma Molly is in the room until her voice breaks through the silence, her hand resting on my arm.

  “Dylan loves you, Evie. Not a love born from obligation, but one grown over time, based in friendship, but bound by so much more. That’s not the kind of love you push away. That’s th
e kind of love you embrace.”

  THREE DAYS IN New York and it’s easy to see why this is such a great city. There’s an energy here that is contagious, and I get why people call it The City That Never Sleeps. There’s a constant buzz no matter the time of day.

  So far, I’ve been to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the top of the Empire State Building, and one of the biggest freaking toy stores I’ve ever seen in my life. I even bought myself a few rockets.

  But I can’t deny that Evie is on my mind. I miss her so much. I miss our friendship. There’s not a corner of my heart that isn’t filled with longing. None of this makes any sense without her. We were going to do this together. And now—it’s as if someone let the air out of my sails.

  Part of me wants to pick up my shit and get out of here. But then what? She doesn’t want me right now. Maybe she never will.

  I collapse back against the bed with a hard sigh. There was a girl at Starbucks this morning who saw the brochure I had from Parsons. She started chatting me up. Was she nice? Sure. Pretty? Kind of. Didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t see anything past her smile. Because when I looked behind her, all I saw was Evie. Like a ghost.

  I dig my cell phone out of my jeans, which is no easy feat lying down. Sliding it unlocked and opening up the text screen, my fingers hover over the keys. I’ve already started and deleted a hundred messages to her. I wonder what she’s doing. If she misses me.

  A strange sort of awareness takes hold. My mother. Having to go on without a piece of herself must have been crushing. I can’t begin to imagine the pain she endured, the devastation that led her to want to leave this earth. My heart weeps for her now and even forgives her for the way she treated me. Though it still hurts, I understand.

  While I would never take my own life, it definitely feels empty now. Barren. Because the one person I share every part of myself with, the one who sits on the ledge next to me—has jumped.