Whenever it rained, she was always there. She would swing her bright red curls back and forth as she danced in my garden. As winter came along, she came more frequently, always dancing in the same area.
I remember the first time I had seen her, I was mesmerised by the beauty of her that I didn't run to her so that I could force her out my garden. I knew she must have been trespassing on our land, but I didn't have the nerve to tell her to leave. I made stories up about the red-headed girl, she seemed to be my only friend since no one else wanted to be. In my dreams, we went on adventures around the world and she stood up to my bullies at school.
After a while, I told my parents about her, but they never saw her as I pointed a pale finger at her through the window. My parents thought I was mad; perhaps I was for watching her.
It never occurred to me how creepy I was acting, watching a girl older than me dancing in the garden in a white tunic, but she looked happy. I wasn't ready to talk to her, I didn't want to disturb the peace as she twirled.
I started to enjoy the rain as I skipped home from school; it meant that she would be there in my garden. My parents began to worry about me and they started to send me to a therapist to get over 'the girl in the rain'. I kept telling them that I was fine, but they didn't believe me.
I paced my room as water trickled down my window, it was beginning to turn spring, which meant the rain would come less and less. I couldn't bear to think of my best friend not being outside every day. That afternoon, on a wet Saturday, I slipped off my fluffy socks and walked barefoot down the stairs and to the back door.
I saw her closer now, I could even hear a soft murmur to whatever she was singing about. I opened the door and she did not turn to the squeaking noise of the hinges. Wrapping my green coat around me, I stepped on the soggy grass, feeling drips of rain on my head. As I tip-toed closer to the girl, the rain came heavier and I could barely see her through it. I was going to turn back but something drew me towards her, her red hair was bright now.
I touched her arm. A soft touch but enough for her to stop dancing and turn to me. Her eyes were an ocean blue, reminding me of the holidays to Cornwall in the summer. Her red lips curled up into a soft smile and she reached out a pale hand.
I took it.
She breathed my name as if she had said it every day and I realised it was the song that she had been singing earlier. In an instant, I felt myself let loose and I began to dance, humming a soft melody to relax me.
We danced until the rain stopped, just around dusk when the sun disappeared and she pulled my arm and took me somewhere different; to another garden in the rain. I could sense someone else watching us from the window and I felt the need to say their name in a soft melody.
The red-haired girl and I returned to my garden the next day, we danced for hours when my brother appeared with a small balloon in his hand. I wanted to wave to him and call out his name but I felt the urge to dance.
It was an odd day: one, because he let the balloon go and two, he passed right through me.
