When it Rains Tears

Chapter #1 Cold, Grey, Mornings

      I stumble inside, my boots making slish-slosh sounds. Water coats me from head to toe, but it's not just water, it's memories. I try to wipe off them off with my head. Holding my breath, as I relive the moment. I hate it, every second. My jean shorts, and dark red v-neck T-shirt create puddles as I walk into the living room. My grandmother sat in her usual cushion throne. Selfish. She got to sit in here and avoid the searing rain, while I had to go and endure until the rain ended. I hated that woman. I hated a lot of things, but I never let it show.

     I couldn't. There it was again. That word. That awful word, it had been haunting me my entire life. The phrase my grandmother taught me rang in my head, you wouldn't, shouldn't, couldn't.

     I shivered because I just remembered that I was dripping with water. Also, because I could feel my grandmother's icy glare cut through me. I heard her clear her throat, a clear sign that she wanted me to pay attention to her, and whatever snobbish thing she had to say to me.

     ¨Piper, go to the bathroom immediately and get dry. I've told you not to leave puddles on the ground. I could step in them. Now go!¨ She waved me away with her hand, and of course, I obeyed.

     I trudged up the stairs, literally. My boots were heavy with water, which made it hard to walk, let alone lift my feet. I tried vainly to keep the water from sloshing onto the stairs. Heh, like that worked. As soon I reached the top, I was gasping for breath. Not just from physical effort, but emotional too. The rain had done a number on me. It wasn't usually this bad, but a cold-front swept in last night. I wish I didn't have to keep the weather under constant radar. But I couldn't, sucks to be me.

     Flipping on the bathroom light, I stepped into the tub. I pulled off my heavy boots, and pour the gallon of water of them both. I then turned on the bathroom shower, and quickly to undressed. The wet clothes were hard to pull off, leaving red marks on my cold skin. I  turned the water to hot, I'm so ever so grateful that the shower water was warm, and didn't capsule any tear stained moments. 

     After I was warmed from the shower, I turned it off, grabbed a towel, and headed for my room. I quickly got dressed in a warm sweater, and fuzzy sweats. My damp blonde hair rested on my shoulders, getting my sweater soaked. My blue eyes wandered toward the window. Puddles of rainfall lay along the street, steaming into the storm drain.  The sky was grey, and looked solemn. Heh, so much for 'there's a rainbow after every rainfall.'

     I shivered as I remembered the cold touch of memories. Their sadness seeping through my clothes, entering all of my receiving nerves. People cried a lot, and I mean a lot. Like little children do for stupid things, or adults whose lives may never be the same. Everyone cries, it's just human nature, well everyone but me.  I wouldn't,  I  shouldn't,  I couldn't. 

    I cringed as I recited those cursed words in my head. I wish I didn't have to, but their were drilled in my head. Every since birth it seems. I sighed, and decided to reflect others sad moments, then reflect on my sad life. This memory, I got this morning. It was stuck in my mind like glue. I closed my eyes, and the memory began.

    It's a cold, grey, morning, just as it should be I guess. I cradle the small orange lump in my arms. It's lifeless, cold, dead. Then it hits me, Gingersnap is dead, and he'll never be coming back. A desperate cry escapes my dry mouth. A cry for Gingersnap, a cry of futile helplessness. A cry for loss, sadness, grief. A cry for my best friend, and realization that he's gone. Because of me. No, because of Rodney. But he blamed it on me, everybody believed him.

    We were playing outside like we usually do, but this time out front. We couldn't in the back, Rodney was out there. He was my bully, and lived behind me. We had a small picket fence, and he would hop it easily. He threatened me that if I told anyone he was bullying he'd kill Gingersnap. My cat was my only friend, others thought I was weird, strange. I was unwanted. Sadly, I never told, but Gingersnaps, he still died.

     I got Ginger's blue ball of yarn, and I chucked it around the yard. He would bat it back to me with his soft, furry paws. I heard some commotion in the backyard, but I didn't think it was important, but it was.

    I tossed to ball to the corner of the yard, when a sudden movement from the shadows caught my attention. Rodney jumped out, and snatched the blue yarn ball. 

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Anger boiled in my stomach.

"Give me back that ball, Rodney!" My small fists were clenched next to my side.

     "What are you going to do about it little girl?" I had it, I didn't care he punched me, I had to get that ball back. He wasn't going to ruin my fun with Gingersnap. I charged. A huge smirk appeared on his face. When I was inches away, he chucked the yarn into the street, and then shoved me down. 

     I fell to the ground watching helplessly as Gingersnaps chased the ball into the street.

Wham! 

     Tears collected on my cheeks, I started screaming, I couldn't stop screaming. Gingersnap lay in a bed of blood out in the middle of the road. I ran to him, cradling his lifeless body in my arms. My tears fell so carelessly, on his soft fur. My dark brown hair fell over my shoulder, my green eyes watching his back for any signs of breathing, of life. Clouds covered the sun, just as well. The sky grew dark and cold, like the body of my best friend.

    "PIPER!" My grandmothers sharp yelling roused me from the awful memory. A hard throng of pain poked at my heart. I wonder how hard it must be to loose your best friend. I've never had one, but I've read enough books to know that they were important, another rule I had broken. But that was a story for later.

    I scrambled down the stairs, my curly-ish hair was finally dry, and flew behind me. I ran into the kitchen, warm smells of bacon entering my nostrils. I sat down at the table, and waited anxiously for the meal. It struck me odd though, Grandma never made a meal this wonderful unless she had news, good or bad. My breath caught in my throat.

    Grandma set down a steaming plate in front of me, then sat on the other side of the table. "Piper, there's something I have to tell you." Good or bad? Good,or bad? Good, or bad?

     "We're moving to New York, you've done all you can here in Vermont." Definitely bad news. Anger surged inside me, we couldn't move! I lived here my entire life! This was were my mother and father lived, and this was where I wanted to live too!

I opened my to protest, but Grams cut me off. "I know you must be upset, Pips," I hated that nickname, with a burning passion. "but it's better for humanity, you know that." Humanity, that's all she cares about, not me, not my mom, not anyone. Except for humanity.

     "There's more people there, and studies have been showing that depression has been rising there, and the weather is having funny patterns. It's been raining a lot more there, Pips, you know what that means." Yes, I did. We had to move so I could so soak up people tears, yuck.

      Grandma always said that my curse was a gift, a gift that made other people happy. We had to sacrifice our feelings for the better of humanity. I hate humanity. I know that's selfish, but I want to be able to experience pain, sadness, loss. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because then you can really treasure the happy moments, they mean more then. But I couldn't cry, not ever.

      I always had to soak up other people's tears. Tears were rain, and rain was tears. When ever someone cries, their tear holds that sad memory. Then when enough sadness accumulates in the air, it rains. It rains sadness, and then people remember what was the saddest thing they've ever experienced. Unless, a tear catcher is there. 

     That's what I am, a tear catcher. I soak up other people's sadness so they didn't have to remember it. So they didn't get depressed. I get to experience their sadness for them. Yay. Without me, humanity would crumble, and dwell on sadness for forever. Slowly just wasting away. That's what Grandma says anyway.

      To add to that, I'm not allowed to cry. If I did, I would start crying for one thing, and then cry for all the sad tears I've ever soaked up. Causing floods, and chaos, tsunamis maybe, but I wouldn't be able to stop. I would die crying, and people would die because of me crying. That's another thing Gram always tells me. Do I believe it? I don't know, but I'm to afraid to start crying now. I could kill people. 

     I was moving to New York, and I was a tear catcher.

      Sucks to be me.