We met on a dreary day in August.

I was sitting at the bus stop, rain slithering through the holes in my backpack and creeping toward my doc martins which were resting against coarse fabric.

I didn't want them to get wet.

My feet were naked, covered only by rainbow socks. The real kind, not the socks that hide under your shoes like they're ashamed, but good socks whose bright colors spanned their way up to just under my knee. The rain soaked through.

The first words he spoke to me were "You're going to catch a cold."

I peeled my feet up from the ground and rested them on the bench so they could dry. "What are you, my mother?"

Then he chuckled. "No, I'm Oliver."

"That's nice," I said. I looked back out at the rain.

Oliver sat next to me, long and gangly, like a cricket. Oliver was a cricket boy. The cricket boy told me he was in a band, and he was in town visiting his uncle. He brushed his scruffy hair out of his face when he talked. It was nice.

His words slipped out almost lyricaly through his smooth lips, that when parted revealed crooked teeth. Crooked words.

We watched the rain fall on the ground into puddles. He said that once any drop fell, odds are you could never find it again.

He was probably right.

I looked over at the cricket boy, his breath puffing out against the rain. The cricket boy looked at me, his hair plastered to his head, and smiled a crooked, cricket smile.

And then I leaned in and kissed him in the rain.

The buss creaked over, settling in front of us like a Monday. That is, dreaded but unavoidable. Exhaust hissed out and disappeared among the rain.

We both got up, my rainbow toes gripping the pavement, and I leaned in and kissed him good bye. Then I turned away, walking on.

"Aren't you going on the bus?" The cricket boy asked, one hand gripping the Monday metal, the other laying like limp spaghetti against his side.

I smiled and shook my head no.

"What's your name?" He asked.

I hesitated, the the corners of my mouth curved up into a smile. "Raindrop." I said, then I slipped away into the puddle as the Monday bus bore the cricket boy away.

And he was right- I never saw him again.