The Rain Always Passes (short story)

Butterflies can’t fly in the rain. This is what floats through Leilah's mind as she lies eagle spread on wet gravel, hands scrunching the small pebbles underneath her palms, squinting her eyes as raindrops pellet down onto her face. Watching the sky, she remembers her mothers nickname for her from when she was young, “butterfly” - but laying on the ground, defeated, she can't imagine raising her wings now. Too hollowed out to cry, she lets the rain do it for her, embracing each drop as the downpour licks her face, rolling off her cheeks. Her shoulder throbs, a reminder of why she was lying here in the first place. Because her presence was enough of a disease that the sneering group of kids in her grade were unable to ignore it. 

After the rain has washed away enough of her agony, Leilah pushes herself up off the ground and picks up her backpack, worn and tearing at the seams, and sets off for the only place she can call “home”, the orphanage. She trudges down the footpath, feet squelching, her left sole flapping open with each step as if attempting to scream all the words she could never have the courage to say. As the rain subsides, she looks down at her soaked uniform and starts to think of how she’ll be scolded once she gets back. Laughter catches her ear. Looking up, she gazes at a group of teenagers her age at a park sitting casually on the swings and playground equipment they’re far too big for. Talking with amusement in their voices, carefree, as if they have no concerns, nothing to think about, nothing to worry about. 

Leilah watches until her curiosity evolves into envy, yearning for friends she could joke with and forget about the things she was forced to remember - that she was alone. A shell of somebody who was never born, wandering aimlessly. Snapping her head forward, she continues on her path to the orphanage to resume her routine of sameness, when a white flicker enters the corner of her eye. Glancing up, she sees a raggedy cat, white fur tinted beige, cowering on the tallest branch of a tree off the side of the footpath. Leilah stops in her place, looking around for anyone else who has noticed, who is going to do something, but all that plagues the air is the laughter from the group of teenagers. Resolute, she sets her bag down and makes her way towards the tree.

She looks up at the cat - it's trembling, backing away from the edge of the branch. She can't help but see herself in it - alone, scared, vulnerable, ignored. A part of her thinks that if she could save it, maybe she had a chance of saving herself. Placing her foot into a divot in the tree trunk, she heaves herself up onto the lowest branch, grasping the one above her for support. She's closer to the cat now, but it’s still out of reach. She pulls herself up with her arms, using her feet to push herself higher into the tree, awkwardly twisted between branches. Leilah looks back at the cat, now level with her. Now she can reach it, but she’s not sure if it will cooperate. She decides to try anyways, extending one hand to the shaking cat and scooping it off the branch from underneath its belly and into her grasp. “Yes!” She exclaims, pulling it close to her chest. The cat, alarmed, begins to kick and fight its way out of her grip. 

“W-woah!” Leilah staggers to steady herself on the branch, while the cat continues its frantic attempt to reach ground. As it slithers out of her arms, she relinquishes her grip on the tree branch to hold the cat, clutching it tight as her foot slips from below her, sending her plummeting towards the ground. Stomach lurching as leaves spin in her vision, Leilah squeezes her eyes shut and grips the squirming cat. She lands on her back on the ground with a thud, the air knocked out of her lungs. Wheezing to regain her breath, she releases the cat, watching as it runs away, and can't help but laugh grateful for the lesson it taught her. Maybe she could become someone if she tried. Dizzy, she looks up at the sky, the corners of her mouth still curled, gazing at the sunlight trickling through the residual rainclouds. Her wings weren't broken after all. Then she remembers what else her mother used to say; the rain always passes.