The rain pours down, streaking the window with tears. I traced the raindrops as they race down the glass to the finish line.
“Kien,” she says softly patting my shoulder. I don’t look at her; it always hurts too much. Boys aren’t supposed to cry, but the sky cries, why can’t I? But I hate the rain, the tears, the tightness and pain in my chest when I think of her. I hate the droplets that patter down on the roof mocking my sadness, and I hate crying; I’m not supposed to.
“Kien,” she says again mussing my hair.
“What?” I say harshly.
I hate how I talk to her now, but I can’t help it; I hate her. She has turned my life into a vortex of never ending taunting and confusion. Sometimes I sit alone in the bathroom watching the water drip from the pipe and I don’t understand why I’m mad at her. It has nothing to do with me, but still it matters.
“I need to talk to you,” she sighs, “I need you to talk to me.”
I face my fear. She doesn’t look any different, long blond hair, blue eyes, large nose, tall. But she is different. Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t judge her, that everything would be okay, but I can’t kid myself - it won’t.
“You worry to much,” I tell myself; it’s her fault.
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask.
I hate even responding to her and I hate talking to her.
“You know,” she says, “I wish you could understand me. I thought that when I told everyone, you would be the one to understand, you would support me. I thought I saw a little bit of me in you.”
Ahh god, I hate when she does this. I almost feel like it’s me talking from her mouth. What? Did I really just think that? No, no, no, no. It’s all her, nothing to do with me.
I don’t respond, going back to watching the rain; at least it can cry, and is accepted.
“Kien!”
I hear hurt and tears in her voice. She doesn’t deserve to have tears, only the rain does.
“There is nothing I can do nor want to do,” I respond.
She lets out a small whimper, barely audible above the screaming of the rain. She starts to sob.
God, why does everything have to be so loud? I plug my ears, blocking out the pitter-patter of the tears, the scream of the rain, the sobs of my only sister. Hurt, hurt, hurt, that’s what she has caused. She doesn’t deserve to be my sister, I’m better then her.
But it isn’t enough, I can still see her. I can see the rain as it makes mud of the dirt and I can see Kerry walking in the front door. If there is anyone I hate more then my sister it’s Kerry. I detest how my heart relates to her. I have no power over it, but she feels familiar. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can still feel. I feel my sister’s warm breath on the back of my head and the brush of a skirt as Kerry bends down to greet my sister.
My eyes fly open. My ears rejoice at the ability to hear again.
“Go away!” I yell at Kerry, “You’re not welcome here!”
She doesn’t listen. She grasps my sister’s hand, gives her a kiss leading her out into the pouring rain, the only place they can be alone together. I watch them through the window. They run towards the park, hand in hand. They have given up being discreet, caring what the neighbors whispered or how the children fall silent when they pass. I am glad the skies are crying today. They should be crying, for me.
The rain deters the ones that taunt. No one throwing rocks at our window today. Or posting crude signs with dirty tape on the glass. The awful signs, the signs that have nothing to do with me, only my sister, but still some of them are directed at me. Maybe the others sense the fear I have of being like my sister and Kerry. Maybe they too fear being rejected by their community, bullied and confused.
I can’t see the girls anymore but I do see Callan walking with his hoodie over his head towards my house.
“No!” I think, “Not today, please!”
Callan and I - friends since lower school, friends in middle section, and higher section. I don’t know what we are anymore.
Callan lets himself in without knocking. I turn back to the window, pretending that I don’t see him walking through the door into the living space and sitting down next to me, brushing my leg with his. I feel a tingling sensation shoot up my leg and I tense.
It only started this past year. Whenever Callan is around I feel different, I feel a pull towards him and a liking more then just a friend. A little something, a something like my sister and Kerry. I hate it, I try to tell myself that it’s not me, but I know it is. I know Callan just thinks of me as a friend, and I am glad, but only glad when I think of all the consequences and what happened to Kerry and my sister. The other times it makes me mad and sad.
Whenever Callan is around, I try to think of Bella. Bella; she is beautiful, but I don’t feel any attraction to her like I know I’m supposed to. She hates being pared with me. The boy with the outcast sister, the boy with the sister who likes girls, the boy with this or that, is what they call me. Bella doesn’t want to be associated with that. I can’t blame her, but at the same time I hate her for it. Why can’t she just understand? Understand that it’s not me? Or is it? When Callan is around I try to think of her beautiful face, her curves her laugh, the things we are supposed to do as a pair, to distract me, from him. It doesn’t help. When I think of those things, I think of them with Callan, like my sister and Kerry. I sometimes cry with the rain when I can’t help myself thinking those thoughts. I hate those thoughts, they are not right, not how I should be thinking. No one would approve.
“How are you holding up?” Callan asks me.
He has been worried about me since my sister told our community. It breaks my heart. He sounds so earnest and naïve. He has no idea what goes through my head. It’s all my sister’s fault, not mine. She is the one that started it. It’s like a disease, spreading over me, one that has no cure, one that I am deathly afraid of.
“I’m OK,” it hurts to talk to him.
It hurts differently then talking to my sister. Talking to him tightens up my chest in a way of pain and love that I can’t even start to explain. It would take a million doctors to diagnose the flavor of this pain that I feel.
He sees my worried expression, “Is there something you want to talk about?”
For days I have tried to talk myself into telling him, and then talking myself out again. He might not understand, or worse, start to taunt like the others. I can’t deal with that, he is all I have now. When I don’t respond he goes to watching the rain.
There’s something about the rain, so lucky, so free. For a minute it gets to see the world, falling fast, racing, landing on a window, skidding to the sill, soaking into the damp wood, molding, rotting, deteriorating into nothing. It has no boundaries or rules, no one judges each droplet, no one judges its tears.
I finally find the courage to talk, “What do you think of my sister?”
He sighs, “Kian, you need to be more understanding, she can’t help what she is, it’s not her fault.”
I look at him stunned. I never thought that he would be accepting of my sister. I always thought that he was like the others, shunning her, thinking of her as less then dirt, laughing at her. I look at him, his eyes are so blue, deep, sad, beautiful.
“Snap out of it!” I scold myself. I respond to Callan, “You mean you don’t think that my sister is going to hell and is a disgrace to our community?”
“You think that?!” Callan asks me worriedly.
I am shocked and a little embarrassed.
“That’s what everyone else thinks,” I answer weakly.
Callan surprises me and asks, “What if I told you I was like your sister?”
“But you’re not!”
“What if I told you I was like your sister?” he repeats.
I just look at him. He was the last one I would think of being like my sister and Kerry.
“That’s a stupid question because you’re not!” I yell.
“God Kian, stop yelling, it was just a question!” he responds.
“Well it’s a stupid one, my sister is stupid, and those people are stupid!” I yell again, tears coming to my eyes.
No! I can’t cry; I won’t show I’m weak.
He looks hurt and defensive. “It’s not your right to judge us Kian! I thought you would understand!”
Us? Did he just say us?! “What do you mean ‘Us’?” I ask, but I already know.
“Are you really that blind Kian? I thought that one day you would finely see who I was, that I wouldn’t have to explain to you, that you would understand!”
“Well you’re wrong!”
I can’t believe he is doing this. The disease is spreading more and more, sucking what I know about myself into oblivion. I break down crying.
“How can you be the one crying? I should be the one with the tears!” My friend yells at me.
I don’t care it’s still raining, I can cry.
Callan runs out of the house.
“Wait!” I yell after him.
He is already out in the rain. His brown hair soaked, rain dripping off of his chin, or are they tears? He slows down, but doesn’t stop. I run to catch up, breathing heavily, the rain turning to steam on my burning face. We walk to the bench, outside of the park. My sister and Kerry are long gone. We sit in silence for a while as the rain lessens.
I keep sneaking glances at him. His head is resting on his knees, pulled up tight against him. I wish I were the one he was holding tight. No I don’t, I can’t think that way, I can’t catch this disease.
“So I guess you’re just going to reject me like your sister and never talk to me again,” he finely blurts out.
I look at his turned head, wet with rain and covered with twigs and leaves from the overhanging tree. I know I can’t do that to him, I won’t do that to him, he is too much like me, too much of what I want.
“No,” I say simply.
He turns to me, his hair spraying water into my eyes, mixing with the tears.
“Why do you act like this Kian?” he asks.
I cringe when he says my name.
“Like what?” I respond.
“You act like you have to be exactly what the community wants you to be, when really it’s not who you are. What’s the use of living if you can’t be you? Why are you hiding?”
I close my eyes, letting the sliver of sun through the clouds shine on my face. I can’t cry anymore, it has stopped raining. I dry my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater, watching my tears soak into the fabric.
“You can’t live in our community and be all of that,” I respond, my voice faltering
He looks at me, seeming to read my mind, “I guess you’re right. I can’t live here…we can’t live here.”
“I can’t leave my community, that would mean leaving my family…” I answer, my voice catching.
“Really Kian? You don’t care about your family, you’re just scared.”
I know he is right; I don’t care about what they want for me. My sister is the only one I have feelings for, and they are often feelings of hate. Though I can start to feel the tide of rage easing back, just like the rain, it’s a relief.
“Maybe I am scared, maybe you should be too. You go around saying what you want and not caring how that will affect you later. How do you think you are going to get a job? How do you think you’re going to make a family?? How do you think that you are going to survive with everyone against you…?” I brake down sobbing, but it’s not raining, something is wrong.
“Everyone isn’t against me,” he said quietly.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Well…” Callan answers, “are you?”
I feel a pang in my chest, I want to take back what I said. He is just as unsure as me.
“I am….”
He doesn’t let me finish, quickly cutting me off.
“Before you tell me, I need to do something. I don’t know what you’re going to say, I’m scared.”
He looks down at his sodden shoes, leaves falling out of his hair, then he looks at me.
We stand, just like that, staring into each other’s eyes. Suddenly he pulls me to him and kisses me. Our lips only meet for a split second, warmth flooding into my chilled face, until in shock I pull away.
“I’m so sorry!” He says almost too embarrassed for words, his cheeks burning red.
I stand in complete shock for a minute, my fingers fiddling with a leaf from his hair.
“No, no, it’s okay, but I can’t,” I respond, trying not to smile.
“Why?” he asks.
He looks so sad.
“It’s not raining,” I answer simply, “I can’t cry, I can’t even cry tears of joy.”