Waiting for the Rain (Short Story)

Waiting for the Rain

      Everyone always said I was a beautiful girl. But for some god awful reason, I never believed it. I always said everything I am was because of how others made me. My mother thought differently than everyone else. "You're an ugly disgrace." I learned to live with mental abuse. I was never really bullied in school, always had a lot of friends. I wasn't much of an open girl, but for some reason a lot of people enjoyed being around me.  My mother made me start wearing makeup at the age of five. Pretty ridiculous right? She would always tell me "you're not a pretty girl. This will make you pretty. Just like all the other girls." On the bright side, I'm a lot better at makeup than all the other girls in my grade. My mom is a model. Her view of perfection is much different than everyone else. She was a perfect example of every guys fantasy. Long blonde hair, perfect figure, bright blue eyes, and of course big boobs. I always thought my mother was the most beautiful woman ever. I guess that's why I never really let her mental abuse get me. I wanted to be just like her. Sad part was, I was the complete opposite. I wasn't the skinniest. My hair was a dirty blonde that was so curly it almost looked like a fro. My mom use to wake me up hours before school so she could straighten it. Everyday after school she would make me do my makeup and wash it off and do it all over again till it was perfect. Some would say that was torture, but I felt like it was my mom and I's bonding time. There was something about it that I loved.

      My mom never let me say no to a boy either. Unless he was "unattractive." I never have been one to judge people on looks. I thought everyone was beautiful. . . Everyone is beautiful. Despite what anyone says. I remember this one boy, William Dose. He use to have the biggest crush on me. What a sweet boy he was. My mother thought other wise. She thought he was ugly, even said it to his face once. I remember because he cried. People say crying is a sign of weakness. "Man up you unworthy fool!" My mother told him. I remember that day so vividly because that was the day I fought back. My mother took everything from me. William never talked to me again. My mother soon moved us out of that town, that state, because she didn't want me having a bad reputation. I was beyond pissed at her. I had to leave everything. Literally start completely over. That was whenever we lived in California. She moved us the whole way to Ohio.

      My whole life was changed. Everything seemed so much more dull. It was always rainy. On the bright side of things though, is that my mother got custody of my brother. At least that's what she wants me to think. She's trying to hide the fact that our dad overdosed. I'm not stupid. My mother never wanted my brother. That's why my father ended up with my brother when they got divorced. My brother is 3 years older than me. He's 17. My mother ended up sending him to boot camp a few times, for no apparent reason. My parents divorced whenever my mom was pregnant with me, so I never met my father or brother. My brother moved in with us when he was 15, the same time we moved to Ohio. I started having a harder time making friends at school. My brother ended up becoming my best friend. My brothers biggest inspiration was a man named Shane Koyczan. Almost everything my brother ever learned was because of him. My brother is the wisest man I have ever met. He sees a lesson in everything. He always quoted Shane "It's suppose to hurt." That stuck with me forever.

      My brother would change your life. I believe he could. I remember he once told me "As soon as I turn 18 I'm getting the hell out of here." He hated my mother more than anything. Couldn't blame him. My brother used Shane's "send flowers list" from his poem "Heaven, or Whatever." He always told my mom that she was at the top of his send flowers list. She never knew what that meant. I remember walking into her room and she sitting hunched over at the side of her bed, balling her eyes out. "What's wrong, mommy?"

      "What does he mean?" I wanted to hug her. Just scream so she could understand what it's like to hurt. She isn't hurting. It's all part of her act. Sympathy. That's all she wanted. She always told us we were ungrateful and she'd kill us herself if she could. I guess that's why we never really felt bad for her.

      Finally, the day came. My brothers 18th birthday. Nothing was ever the same after that day. I remember the pain whenever I saw him crawl into that car. I never thought that would be the last day I ever saw him. "I love you, Annabell." I hate him for that. He left me whenever he said he never would. Watching him put his duffel bag into the trunk of that army van, it hurt. "I'll be back to get you, Anna. I promise it. Be strong, for me." He stepped into that van way to easy. He wanted to leave me. He wanted to get away. He didn't care as much as I thought he did. That hurt. It hurt. Everything hurt. I hate him, but I love him. I watched him drive away, wanting to run after him. I didn't. I had to be strong. My mother held my shoulders to help fight the temptation. My mom was happy he went where he did. She was hoping he'd get killed.

      Two years pass. No sign of my brother. No word. He stopped sending me letters. I sent him a letter almost everyday. "Mommy, what happened?"

      "You stupid girl, his face got pierced." I lost my breath. My knees got weak. I felt like dying right there. I ran out into the street. I could smell rain but there wasn't any. I wasn't the only thing missing something. The world was missing rain. My brother always loved the rain. Every time it stormed he'd leave the house without a word and just walked until it all stopped. He took it with him. I remember the day of his funeral. Closed casket because of his wounds. My mother didn't go. She dropped me off and left. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I had to be strong. I just wish I could see him one more time. I wish I could tell him just how much I love him and thank him for everything he's ever done for me. But I couldn't, and I have to live with that.

      Now, everyday I go outside and wait for the rain. It never rained. I would never get that back, I will never get him back. That hurt. . . I always carried his funeral card around with me. He was so handsome. I believed he was the most handsome guy ever. The card read at the top "In Loving Memory of Our Soldier, Jackson Harris Hut."

I miss you Jackson. I'll always stay strong, for you.

I hope you enjoyed this short story. I wrote it for a friend. Feedback is always appreciated!