A Summer Shower Heart

Talia's first cat was made of raindrops.

Her name was Dasani, because she'd come to life inside an empty water bottle belonging to the brand.

Technically speaking, she might have been alive before then. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Dasani took the form of a cat while inside the water bottle. She probably came to life in the hydrangeas. That was where Talia found her, after all.

She was 12 at the time, and it had been late May. That was easy to remember, because it was just shy of the first anniversary of her parents’ death. They'd died in a car accident, and Talia had been taken in by her grandmother. She and her grandmother didn't talk much, and she had no friends at her new school—she didn't put forth an effort to make any—so she spent most of her time alone.

At the time, she thought that was fine. If asked, she would have said she wasn't lonely, and she wouldn't have known she was lying.

The hydrangeas were planted in the park Talia passed on her way home from school, and they flanked a set of concrete steps. Normally, Talia didn't go into the park, but on that day, something about the hydrangeas drew her in. It had recently stopped raining, and the air was still thick and humid. Raindrops coated the flowers, making the petals sparkle in the newly emerged sun, as if they were made of glass and gemstones.

No one was in the park, so she stood on the stairs and leisurely admired the cloudy blues and purples of the blooms.

She didn't notice the lights right away. She thought they were just reflections from the sun. It wasn't until a heavy cloud passed overhead, casting the world in shadow, that she realized the glimmers coating the hydrangeas were coming from within the raindrops themselves.

Inside each droplet of water, she saw a tiny ball of pure, white light.

Perhaps because she was a child, or perhaps because it was simply human nature, she immediately coveted that light. In her backpack, she had a three-fourths-empty bottle of Dasani. Dumping out the water, she held the lip of the bottle to the flower petal and coaxed the shining drop inside.

A quick examination of the flowers unearthed more balls of lights. She went from petal to petal, gathering all that she could.

For all her effort, the amount of water she collected was incredibly minuscule. Nonetheless, it was brilliant, and she treasured it. She didn’t show it to her grandmother when she arrived home, too afraid that she might take it away. Talia's mother, and maybe even her father, would have recognized the glowing water for what it was, Talia was sure, but her grandmother probably would have said the light was less radiance and more radiation.

But Talia knew better. She'd captured a bit of magic, and it was just for her.

The next morning, when Talia awoke and retrieved the bottle, she saw a kitten inside.

It was a tiny thing. When Talia, in wondrous disbelief, twisted off the cap and gently tilted the bottle so the cat might escape its trappings, it passed through the mouth of the bottle with little effort. Once it was situated on her palm, she realized she could easily balance it on just two of her fingers.

It yawned, and Talia fell in love.

The kitten was made entirely of water. Talia could see through its body, and when it moved, padding around Talia’s hand, its fur rippled with petite waves. As it cautiously explored its new environment, a gentle dampness was left upon Talia’s palm, signifying its path.

It was a tangible thing, and it felt like proof that Talia wasn’t hallucinating.

The only parts of the animal that weren’t entirely composed of water were its eyes, which were made of the brilliant light that had drawn Talia to the raindrops in the first place. Those eyes looked up at her as the kitten flopped onto its back and meowed. Talia saw she was female.

She named her new kitten Dasani because she thought it sounded feminine, and also because she wasn't particularly creative. She spent some time gently playing with her, dangling a piece of thread she tore from her pillowcase over her palm and watching enraptured as Dasani batted at it. She pet her and marvelled over the dampness left behind on her fingertips.

She didn't consider how she might feed her new pet until she herself grew hungry. It was Saturday, and her grandmother was already outside in the garden. At the start of spring, she would frequently ask Talia if she wanted to help her as she tended to the garden. After countless rejections, she finally gave up.

Talia went to the bathroom first. She filled her grandmother's ring dish with water from the tap and, while she brushed her teeth, tried to coax Dasani to drink. The kitten refused, but Talia wasn’t concerned. She was made of water, after all. She probably didn't need to drink.

To keep her safe, Talia put Dasani in a sports bottle she grabbed from the kitchen. It was the type that had a spout, and she kept it open, in case Dasani required air. She didn't think she did, since she'd spent the night in a sealed bottle, but love made her cautious.

Leaning out the back door, she asked her grandmother if she could go for a bike ride. She felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach at the way her grandmother's face lit up at the request. Since her parents passed, Talia had spent each and every day indoors, heading out only to walk to and from school, or to join her grandmother on the occasional errand. Her grandmother probably thought she was healing. Once, Talia had caught her reading a book entitled The Grieving Process of Children. She didn’t know if it was a good book or not, but in her imagination, she pictured it as an instruction manual. As her grandmother gave her wholehearted permission, Talia found herself speculating whether the book contained a timeline for grief. Maybe it said a grieving child would return to outdoor activities after a year of seclusion. Maybe her grandmother was overjoyed because Talia's request had come right on time.

She biked to the pet store in the center of town. It took her forty minutes, and she had to cross a busy street, but she went anyway, and she brought all the money she had.

Her limited funds procured her a bottle of milk meant for kittens and a syringe, a container of wet cat food, and a blue, heart-shaped toy. Technically speaking, the toy was meant for puppies, but it was small and soft and relatively flat. For a kitten of Dasani's size, it seemed the perfect bed.

Stowing her purchases in her bag, she biked to the park and sat upon the deserted concrete steps near the hydrangeas. It had rained all through the night, and although the cool stairs were dry enough to sit on, the flowers still bore signs of the rain. She tried to feed Dasani the milk first, and then, when she refused the syringe, she attempted the wet food. She denied that as well.

When Dasani meowed and pawed at her palm, then crouched, bottom thrust into the air as if preparing to jump into the hydrangeas, Talia understood. Standing, she approached the flowers and held Dasani close to the blooms. She watched as she lapped at the raindrops decorating each petal. Talia threw away the milk and food. From that day on, she visited the park each morning, so that she might catch the morning dew, even on days when it didn't rain. Dasani would drink her fill, and that was all the substance she required.

From late May through September, Talia spent each and every day with Dasani, hiding her with care from teachers, classmates, and, of course, her grandmother. Then, one day, she noticed the hydrangeas were starting to brown. Dasani still drank, but she avoided the crisp, papery petals in favor of the ones that still held color. But as the days went by, and more and more petals turned, Dasani drank less and less. Accustomed to playing in the afternoon, she grew lethargic and began sleeping atop her plush bed for long stretches of time.

On the last day of September, Talia carefully set Dasani upon the only hydrangea petal she could find that still held a speck of color. Dasani meowed softly and, after licking Talia's finger, curled up and went to sleep. Talia watched as her body melted away, saturating the dry petal until there was nothing left but a small ball of light. Talia cupped her hands around it, hoping she might take it home and care for it until the hydrangeas bloomed again, and Dasani might return. But the light broke apart at her touch, sending a dozen tiny orbs flickering away on the wind.

Talia didn't go to school that day. Climbing the steps, she sat down behind the dry husks of the hydrangeas and cried.

She stayed there for three hours before her grandmother finally found her. She asked only a single question—“Are you hurt?”—and then, when Talia shook her head, sat down beside her in the dirt.

“Hydrangeas were your mother’s favorite flower,” her grandmother said after several long moments of silence. “She carried a bouquet of them when she married your father. When they bought their house, he planted some out front. She always liked the blue ones, but the hydrangeas he planted came in pink.” Her grandmother smiled. “Did you know it’s the soil’s pH that determines the color?”

Talia nodded. Her mother had told her that once.

“They sell products you can add to the soil in order to change the color. Your father gave it a try, but he must have bought the wrong kind. Their light pink hydrangeas came in almost hot pink.” She laughed, and Talia observed the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her grandmother had wrinkles, and she realized now that the ones around her mouth were from smiling.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her grandmother laugh.

“This summer was so hot, I’m sure these ones here had a hard time,” her grandmother continued, twisting so she could finger the dry flowers behind them. “I’ve heard it’s best to plant them in the early fall. I was thinking of planting some in the garden. I was hesitant at first, because I thought it might be too painful, since they remind me of your mother. But lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe that’s okay. The pain will always be there, but that’s only because I loved your mother so dearly.”

Her grandmother looked over at her, and Talia saw her eyes were wet.

“Would you like to help me plant them, Talia?”

Fresh tears trailed her cheeks as Talia hugged her grandmother, nodding silently as she cried against her.

She never found another cat like Dasani, and she never told anyone, not even her grandmother, about her. After the hydrangeas were planted, Talia went outside on her own one day and buried Dasani’s little heart-shaped bed beneath the soil.

At first, it hurt to look at the hydrangeas, but in time, she found herself burdened not with the memories of Dasani’s death, but of her short life.

She remembered the way she liked to bat at string.

She remembered the way she would crumple bits of paper until they disintegrated in her wet paws.

She remembered the way she would tear apart bits of leaves after drinking from the hydrangeas.

And she remembered the way her mother used to dance in place while she cooked.

And she remembered the way her father would sing under his breath while he did the dishes.

And she remembered how they both would kiss her goodbye before she left for school.

For the rest of her life, summer showers always reminded her of how fleeting life could be.

But when the clouds broke, and she gazed upon the flowers, glistening in the sun, she would remember something more important.

Life was fleeting. But love was as eternal as memory.