Driving In The Pink Rain

The glimmering stars in the sky winked back at me through the rain-smothered window, forming pretty constellations I could name by heart. Pitter patter. The drops of water tried to cling onto the pane of glass, falling to their impending doom. The flowers down on my porch looked like splatters of paint, like something I would’ve painted while trying to imitate Pollock’s art in class. Pitter patter. The rain was hard, thudding down on everything like a giant stomping on a village. The cars on the road zipped past, different people going on their different paths.

I think I should get on with mine.

The moon was full and bright, while I sat in my bed by the window, doused in my thoughts. The clock read 12:07 AM. I watched the cars drive by, the only thing I paid attention to, reading their license plates.

CÑT 47

The car was a baby blue, and its headlights made the front look like the car was smiling, like maybe it was its birthday. The rims were also a light blue and I just wrote down the license plate number before the little car zoomed off.

I had been cooped up in my house for a while since my sister went into the hospital. Apparently it was a white van that had caused it, so I’ve been looking out for it. Revenge? I wasn’t so sure. I also started writing down the plates to form sentences, to see if I could uncover a message in them. With my notebook full of random numbers and letters, I haven’t found anything in two months. I stood guard dog for the whole time, maybe seeing one, two, five thousand cars go by. I could bet that I’ve seen all the cars out there, and their licence plates were recorded in my little book. Nothing I saw would line up, so I could only gaze at the cars and the moon for now.

                                                             🌧❤~💔~❤🌧

Another car scuttled past. It was a deep magenta Cadillac, and the face I saw when I looked at the front seemed to have a scowl as if it just smelled a dirty, week-old sock.

ONN 63

I scribbled it down with my pink gel pen. My notebook was also very special to me, as it was given by my sister. It was a minty green leather cover with white-lined paper. The front said, in gold letters, OVER THE RAINBOW AND BACK AGAIN. It was cheesy, but I didn’t mind it. All that mattered was that it was from my sister. I would’ve described her as tangerine. Bright, lively, joyful. Full of energy. Always ready to take the risks, even when they weren’t hers to take. We were the duo: bright, dark; up, down; day, night...when she went into the hospital, my life plunged into darkness. She might be still there, or maybe not: I don’t know. I haven’t checked on her since it happened, because I was too scared. Too scared to see what status she was in or how well she was. I saw it happened, so I was too much of a coward to see the result. I still am. I hope the stars will help me gather up my courage to see her, because I might be dying of loneliness at this point.

                                                             🌧❤~💔~❤🌧

A moss-green Jeep came along outside my window, blending into the dark, rain-soaked grass. It looked surprised, like her when I gave her a birthday gift, as if she thought I wasn’t nice enough to do that. 

YOR 11

Once I finished writing, I watched the gel gather up on the page at the lifting points of the letters. They glistened, like dewdrops on rose petals. Or like fresh icing on a donut. Like clean, glossy nail polish or the highlights on the exclusive pink M&Ms. Or like the silk on my sister’s dress, the one that was her favourite. The one that had her name embodied in it. “Small pink mountain flower” it meant, but it hurts to think of her name, still.

There’s always another day to try.

                                                             🌧❤~💔~❤🌧

A light grey land Rover drove by now, looking similar to the moon in the twilight sky. This one had a blank face, like how my sister would look when she saw a math question.

OWN 72

She had always been against why they’re called “Rovers”. She said it was “a violation of the word”, probably because she was a space fanatic. The stars, solar system and anything beyond fascinated her so much. My sister said she loved space because it gave her awareness, awareness that she was not the center of the universe. That there was always something bigger than her. If she didn’t get her way, there would be a bigger force over her. She liked to think that the Sun was the family’s mother; the rest of them were just the children, obeying her, and made their own things like the seasons, storms, eclipses. She used to say that hurricanes and tornadoes and floods were when they fought, but they always resolved in the end. 

At first I had thought that something had come over her for her to become mature, but my sister was my sister, after all.

                                                             🌧❤~💔~❤🌧

A light pink Volkswagen beetle crawled up the road, having a worried stare, reminding me so much of her that I couldn’t get the name out of my mind.

Linnea.

My buddy, my little mountain flower. The strong wind took you away too fast, too soon. I know you are out there, I feel it. No one had trodden on you yet. I will find you. Coming out of my trance, I looked at the last license plate number.

ṖTH 99

I had found something.

A message.

CÑT ONN YOR OWN ṖTH

Continue on your own path.

I sighed happily as little creeks flowed down my face.

I found something.

And yes, I will continue on Linnea.

I’ll continue on.

For you.

                                                             🌧❤~💔~❤🌧