Letters After The Rain

She was there again, standing still in the rain with her eminent companion: a purple umbrella.

I imagined that she was closing her eyes as she peregrinated into her world and breathed in the tranquility of the air. She looked so peaceful and elegant, radiating her own serenity into the world behind my bedroom window. I saw her every time it rained for the past couple of weeks, and I always knew it was she, for she had the same umbrella with her each time it rained and stood in the same area of the pavement. I could never see her face, for her umbrella masked her beautiful face, and her dark wavy hair was only a curtain that concealed it even further.

I wasn’t outside as she was, but I could see her through the glass covered with condensation. I knew I sounded like a creeper, watching her every move through my window without her notice, but I actually wasn’t. I was only admiring her ability to make the rain seem less somber than it really was.

She had captured my attention within the first few seconds I had first seen her. She constantly made me want to know more about her and figure out why she had an affinity for something as natural as the rain. She seemed to find solace in the rain, while the majority of the girls in my school seemed to loathe it because it ruined their overly straightened hair. Unlike every other girl I knew, she allowed her long wavy hair to cascade down her face and glisten with the help of the clouds’ endless teardrops.

She was always standing a few meters away from my window when it was pouring outside, or when the clouds concealed any traces of sunlight. She would never move an inch unless she would feel ready to walk away from the site. There was never a time when she wasn’t in a reverie, ignoring reality and living in her own world.

I wasn’t sure if she was even aware of how others perceived her elegance and how fascinating she truly was. I wanted to let her know that she never failed to awe me, but I didn’t want to make her run away from me. If the only way I was able to observe her were by living in the deafening silence, then I wouldn’t run outside and scare her away.

Besides, I was too busy watching her make the April showers look vivacious and repel any imperfections that would ruin her aesthetic atmosphere. Her artistic ability would easily shatter any artwork I had ever made, and it would help her make even the most repulsive images look beautiful.

Then, I saw the most startling action she had ever performed: she was twirling. She no longer stood in the rain, frozen in crystal drops. Instead, she was spinning around in circles with her umbrella in hand. I never knew that she had any terpsichorean talent, but her twirls could make any ballerina envious of her grace and poise.

I could have sworn that I also heard laughter shatter my window and leave a beautiful melody in my mind. I knew that I would never forget her exquisite song, and I would always replay it in my mind when she was no longer standing there and bemusing me. She was definitely an enigma that always made me wonder who she really was, and I was trying to decipher her puzzle.

It exasperated me that I could never figure out which piece of her puzzle belonged together, or where she had hidden all of them. I needed to know more about her and talk to her instead of just marveling at her from afar. All I was asking for was a chance to meet her, but I guess it was too much to request for my simple wish.

She didn’t even have to like me back, even though I wished for her to return my affections. I would be complacent if she would just talk to me or glance towards my direction at least once before my senior year of high school was over. I wanted to become friends with her and sneak out at night to meet up with her at the playground near my house. I wanted to lie down on my backyard with her at night and admire her up close as she watched the stars. I wanted to do all of this and more, but I had no idea if she would ever be willing to do so. I didn’t even know her first name.

All I knew for sure was that she was my anonymous muse, and the girl drawn in the pages of my sketchbook. She inspired each drawn portrait and scarred her beauty into each one. I wanted to show her my drawings, but I was scared of rejection. No one had ever rejected me before because I had never asked anyone out on a date, but I knew that her refusal to say yes would shatter my fragile pride and leave me wounded in the dust.

But I didn’t care about my pride anymore because all I wanted was for her to notice me in the same way as I saw her. I wanted her to give me her time of day and approach me. If only she knew who I was and vice versa.

I didn’t know how she would ever notice me because I was always one of those reclusive people who preferred to distance himself away from the crowd. My peers only knew me at school as the art freak whose teacher would display his drawings on the walls of the classroom. I didn’t actually mind the reputation I had because I frankly didn’t care of how others perceived me.

I didn’t have many friends either. I was once close friends with my neighbor Kyle, but he had graduated from high school last year, and he was studying sociology at an out-of-state college, so I never really had the chance to see him again. I also lost contact with him, so I wasn’t sure if our friendship was still intact.

I used to hang out with his group of friends before he graduated, but they were all druggies or drinkers. I didn’t have anything against people who enjoyed getting high before class or partying at night, but the thought of doing drugs or drinking at parties never appealed to me that much. I wasn’t particularly fond of socializing with others that much either, nor did I ever talk to someone unless for some odd reason I had to.

However, I was willing to be gregarious for her, if she was willing to talk to me. I was sure that it couldn’t be too difficult to speak to her because I did know how to talk; I just often didn’t like to speak, which was probably why I had a low participation grade in every class except for art. The only problem was that I had no idea how to approach her. I didn’t even know if she went to my school, for I had never seen her face, or if she even went to school. If she did attend, then she could have gone to the school that was over a mile away from mine.

I had to think of a way to capture her attention and make her realize that I existed. I remembered that before my mother had passed away, she had given me a small silver necklace to give to the girl I was in love with. I wasn’t sure if I was in love with my Jane Doe yet, but I knew that she was the girl that my mother was talking about when I was younger.

Maybe it was too sudden to give her a necklace, but I needed something that would catch her eye and make her wonder why a star-shaped necklace was randomly hanging on the bush beside her. I wanted her to accept it and respond back to the gift I would give her. I didn’t know if she would smile when she saw it or feel repulsed by it, but it was a risk that I was willing to take.

I grabbed the sharpened pencil and tattered notebook from my desk before I went back to my spot near the windowsill. I tore a small sheet of paper from my notebook and wrote the following note:

Dear Jane Doe,

Please don’t be startled by this letter. I am only admiring you from afar and wish for you to accept this necklace.

Sincerely,
Your secret admirer

P.S. In case you were wondering if this note is for you, then yes, it is for you, the girl with the purple umbrella.

I somehow found a way to attach the note to the necklace without it slipping away, and I placed the two items in a small compartment inside my book bag for safekeeping. I would place the necklace on a visible part of the bush when I would arrive home from school. I would have to wait impatiently by the windowsill for her to come and see her gift. I was hoping that she would cherish it and respond to my note with gratitude.

My affections were unrequited on her part, but perhaps I could change her mind if she would just take the time to read the note tomorrow afternoon. I knew that she would be standing in the same site tomorrow, for the weatherman had said that it would be mostly cloudy or there would be light showers throughout the afternoon.

I heaved a sigh as I watched her walk away from the site with radiance that lit up the cascading tears. Her purple umbrella no longer marked the striking contrast between her atmosphere and the reality I wanted to disappear. I yearned to peregrinate into her world and leave mine behind without a trace.