FEATURED STORY: The Day It Rained by Joey Reyes
I woke up.
There really is no other way to begin this story. Trust me, I wish the story began with something more exciting, like spaceships or vampires or covens. But my story began with me waking up.
It felt like every other morning, except when I woke up, I was dressed up in outdoor clothing instead of my usual pyjamas. I shrugged it off and just assumed I was so tired I forgot to change. It’s happened.
I rolled out of bed and fixed myself. For some reason, it was awfully quiet in the house. Usually there’s a ruckus everywhere with my mom and dad simultaneously attempting to cook breakfast, prepare for another day at work, and shouting at me to get up. But this morning, there was absolutely no noise. Just silence.
The silence freaked me out. For all I knew, my mom and dad could’ve been murdered and I was next. “Mom!” I shouted, walking out of my room. “Dad! I’m up!”
Still, no reply. It took me a second to realize that the house was filled with boxes, boxes everywhere. Were my parents spring cleaning?
I looked over at the table only to find something shocking. No messy breakfast. No overheated laptops. No scattered papers. Where had my parents gone?
Confused, I decided to walk over to my neighbour’s house. Mrs. Thompson and my mom were pretty close. She’d know something.
“Mrs. Thompson!” I said as I walked out of my house and towards her. Like always, she was watering her garden, like she did every morning. “Do you happen to know where my mom is?”
Mrs. Thompson still continued to water her plants, like she hadn’t even heard me. “Mrs. Thompson?” I said, practically hovering around her. “It’s me, Maxwell. I’m right in front of you.”
Still, she continued on like I wasn’t even there.
Geez, that’s rude.
That was when Mr. Thompson walked out of their house and handed Mrs. Thompson a glass of lemonade. “Here you go, honey,” he said. “As a reward for your hard work.”
“Are you guys doing this on purpose?” I asked, angry. “If you are -”
“It’s such a tragedy what happened to them, isn’t it?”
Wait, what?
The two were looking at my house now. Tragedy? Did something happen to my parents?
“I know, and at such a young age too,” Mrs. Thompson said.
Obviously I wasn’t getting any answers from these two, so I decided to turn to someone else. Jane would know. Jane would clarify all this.
“Hey, prick!”
I turned around to see two teenagers, a boy and a girl, laughing and pointing at me. They were from my school too. Oh great. What did these two want?
“Hey, dummy!”
I turned around again, and saw another guy waving at them. Oh, so they weren’t talking to me. I was just about to get out of the way, when the guy literally passed through me.
I’m serious. He passed through me.
“Okay, what just happened?” I said, nearing the three teens. “How did that -”
They were ignoring me too. Like Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.
“Okay, so do you guys know what the colour of the wind is?” one guy said, completely acting like I wasn’t even there.
“What?” the girl groaned.
“Blew!” the guy replied, and burst into laughter.
“Guys!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Still, it was like I hadn’t said a word. “It’s me! Maxwell! I’m from your school, remember? April? Christian? Drew? We were friends in third grade! Most of the time! I mean, I killed your pet turtle but still...”
No reply.
They barely even noticed I was there.
“Oh hey, did you hear about the Gerardis though?”
“I know! It’s so sad how they died at that car crash!”
What? My parents died? That can’t be. No. They’re joking.
“And it’s sad Maxwell died too,” Drew said. “We were pretty close in third grade. Of course, he did kill my pet turtle, but still...”
No.
I’m dead?
No.
No. No. No. I can’t be dead. How am I still here if I’m dead? And my parents aren’t dead either. I’ve got to get to Jane. Jane will clarify everything. I’ve got to get to Jane.
I was such in a rush to get to Jane I didn’t even bother to knock or ring the doorbell. I just ran inside without hesitation.
Not that it mattered, anyway. Because Jane’s parents didn’t notice me.
“Is she still in bed?” Jane’s mom asked her dad.
Her dad didn’t even bother replying. He simply nodded, not looking away from his paper.
Jane’s mom sighed. “Oh, Harold, what are we going to do?” she said. “I know it hurts, and it takes a while to get over it, but I’m afraid she’ll be like this forever!” She rubbed her temples and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her dad showed a sympathetic smile. “I think I’ll go bring her some hot chocolate and talk to her a bit.”
I followed her to Jane’s room.
“Jane, honey, you there?” she said as she opened the door. “I brought you some hot chocolate.”
And then I saw Jane. There she was, with headphones on so loud I could hear it, lying in bed with a book on her chest. I didn’t even bother saying anything. I knew from the look she gave her mom that she didn’t see me.
“Thanks,” Jane said sarcastically, getting up from bed and grabbing the cup from her mom. She took a small sip from it and stared at her mom. “What are you still doing here?”
“Jane, dear -”
“If this is another talk about letting go with your wise words of wisdom, I really don’t want to hear it,” Jane shouted angrily. “Mom, I have had enough, and when something like that happens to you, you don’t get over it that quickly!”
“I know, sweetie, but still -”
“If you really want me to get over it, then you’d just leave me alone!” I had never seen Jane this angry. She’d always been a sweet, perky girl, a bit on the ironic side but never this mad. What had happened?
Had I really died?
Jane’s mom said nothing, only gave a smile and left the room. Jane placed her headphones back on and continued reading her book. The Outsiders by S.E. Hilton.
I left the room too.
It always seems like everyone if afraid of dying, somehow. I always wondered why. Some people say it’s because they don’t want to die without doing anything remotely interesting in this world. Some people don’t want to die for fear of what happens next, whether there’s an afterlife or not. I’ll never admit it, but I happen to be both.
And then the Earth because this one big race, on who can live the longest. Everybody wants to win. Nobody ever plans to lose on purpose. Yes, there are people who take their own lives, but they never wanted it to end that way. They were merely victims of the situation.
I was the victim of an unfastened seatbelt.
I looked over at my tombstone, and I’m buried next to my parents. It’s been a whole week since I died. I didn’t know where my parents were, or what I was even doing on Earth. Shouldn’t I be in heaven right now? Or reincarnated?
All these questions hogged my head, but one question stood out: What now?
What was I going to do now? What do you do when you’re dead? I always expected a happy afterlife in heaven but this isn’t what I had in mind. Was I stuck here? I’ve read stories about this, mostly because Jane would force me to read this. Did I have some unfinished business I had to take care of?
I decided to go back to my house. Nobody was there, anyway.
And then I remembered. The boxes were all here because we were about to leave. We were supposed to move to a new town and my parents would start a new job. And then we died.
I kicked a box, and the tears came out. I was angry at God. How could he let me die so young? How could He take my life away from me, when I hadn’t even accomplished anything? And my parents, how could He? How could He end my life just right then and there, when I hadn’t done anything, when I hadn’t made an impact in the world?
Angry, I kicked another box. What came out was another surprise.
It was a journal.
It was empty, and I had meant to give it to Jane before we left. Of course, that never happened, because I died. Angry again, I kicked another box. Maybe someone would come in here and thought a theft had occurred, but I didn’t care.
Why’d I have to die?
I remember the first time I met Jane. It was third grade, and we became fast friends after that.
We used to be four in the group, actually. But times changed and high school happened and soon Jane and I were the only ones left.
But I didn’t mind. Jane was my best friend. We’d done everything together, and we even planned on going to college together after we graduated. She was going to be a famous writer. I was going to be a musician. We weren’t even sure if there was a college that supported both.
It may seem like Jane and I had a lot of differences, but if there’s one thing we had in common, it was the movies. Jane and I loved the movies. Jane’s favourite was It’s a Wonderful Life (she liked black and white films like that), and mine was The Breakfast Club. I know, it’s a cliché answer, but can you deny it? That movie was beautiful.
We even had a silly plan that we’d work together in a movie one day. She’d write the screenplay, and I’d do the score and soundtrack. The movie would be a smash hit! Jane and I always laughed at the idea of it.
Before the accident happened, I asked Jane if I could borrow her copy of A Wrinkle in Time. She laughed and told me yes, and that it was an awesome book. I gave her a thumps up and told her see you.
See you was the last thing I ever said to Jane.
Jane’s doorbell rang, and she rushed to open the door.
I could tell from the sound of her footsteps she wasn’t particularly excited to answer the door. But her parents weren’t there, and the doorbell wouldn’t stop ringing. Only she wasn’t greeted by a person.
When she opened the door, there was a journal on the welcome mat.
Jane grabbed it, confused, and opened the first page. Here is what it said:
Dear Jane,
Pretty cliché that I get you a journal for your goodbye gift, huh? This isn’t really goodbye though; we’ll see each other again someday. But while I’m gone, write in this journal, will you? You’re going to become a pretty famous writer someday, winner of the Pultizer Prize, but for now, write in this journal. Whatever you feel like writing, go ahead. It’s your journal.
Do you remember the first time we met? I was the new kid in town, and I didn’t have any friends. I was lost, and it was raining, and somehow, I stumbled upon your house. Your parents laughed and took me in, and while they called my parents, you and I played Connect Four. We became really good friends after that, and until now, we still are.
I hope you really do write a screenplay one day. I probably won’t do a score for a movie but I always thought you were braver than me and stronger than me. You are my best friend, Jane; and I hope for you the very best. You made my life better somehow. Every day I spent with you was a day to remember.
You made an impact on me, Jane. I hope I did to you too.
And I see Jane crying, rereading the letter over and over. “You did, Max,” she whispered. “You really did.”
This is where I come in. This is my one part. This is where I make an impact on someone’s life.
When I first realized I died, I was angry, not wanting it to be my time yet, thinking I hadn’t done anything significant. But I did. Maybe not to the world, but to one person. I was able to make a change to one person’s life. I was able to make it better. I was able to me remembered by something amazing.
And that, I think, is enough for me to say that I’ve lived my life to the fullest.
It’s funny how my whole life I cared about things not worth remembering, whether someone liked me or not, how I looked, what I was going to be in the future, when without even knowing I had already dome something worthwhile in my life. And in return, she did too.
So maybe I didn’t need the entire world to love me. Maybe I just needed one person.
I see a light. I know it’s always described as that, but it’s the only word that can describe it. A bright, shiny light, and I know what I have to do – walk towards it.
For a moment, I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid. If my life after is half as meaningful as my life before, then there’s nothing to be scared of. I hesitate because I know I’ll miss this place. And this life. And I’ll miss Jane.
But I know she’ll be all right.
I take a deep breath and leap.
There really is no other way to begin this story. Trust me, I wish the story began with something more exciting, like spaceships or vampires or covens. But my story began with me waking up.
It felt like every other morning, except when I woke up, I was dressed up in outdoor clothing instead of my usual pyjamas. I shrugged it off and just assumed I was so tired I forgot to change. It’s happened.
I rolled out of bed and fixed myself. For some reason, it was awfully quiet in the house. Usually there’s a ruckus everywhere with my mom and dad simultaneously attempting to cook breakfast, prepare for another day at work, and shouting at me to get up. But this morning, there was absolutely no noise. Just silence.
The silence freaked me out. For all I knew, my mom and dad could’ve been murdered and I was next. “Mom!” I shouted, walking out of my room. “Dad! I’m up!”
Still, no reply. It took me a second to realize that the house was filled with boxes, boxes everywhere. Were my parents spring cleaning?
I looked over at the table only to find something shocking. No messy breakfast. No overheated laptops. No scattered papers. Where had my parents gone?
Confused, I decided to walk over to my neighbour’s house. Mrs. Thompson and my mom were pretty close. She’d know something.
“Mrs. Thompson!” I said as I walked out of my house and towards her. Like always, she was watering her garden, like she did every morning. “Do you happen to know where my mom is?”
Mrs. Thompson still continued to water her plants, like she hadn’t even heard me. “Mrs. Thompson?” I said, practically hovering around her. “It’s me, Maxwell. I’m right in front of you.”
Still, she continued on like I wasn’t even there.
Geez, that’s rude.
That was when Mr. Thompson walked out of their house and handed Mrs. Thompson a glass of lemonade. “Here you go, honey,” he said. “As a reward for your hard work.”
“Are you guys doing this on purpose?” I asked, angry. “If you are -”
“It’s such a tragedy what happened to them, isn’t it?”
Wait, what?
The two were looking at my house now. Tragedy? Did something happen to my parents?
“I know, and at such a young age too,” Mrs. Thompson said.
Obviously I wasn’t getting any answers from these two, so I decided to turn to someone else. Jane would know. Jane would clarify all this.
“Hey, prick!”
I turned around to see two teenagers, a boy and a girl, laughing and pointing at me. They were from my school too. Oh great. What did these two want?
“Hey, dummy!”
I turned around again, and saw another guy waving at them. Oh, so they weren’t talking to me. I was just about to get out of the way, when the guy literally passed through me.
I’m serious. He passed through me.
“Okay, what just happened?” I said, nearing the three teens. “How did that -”
They were ignoring me too. Like Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.
“Okay, so do you guys know what the colour of the wind is?” one guy said, completely acting like I wasn’t even there.
“What?” the girl groaned.
“Blew!” the guy replied, and burst into laughter.
“Guys!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Still, it was like I hadn’t said a word. “It’s me! Maxwell! I’m from your school, remember? April? Christian? Drew? We were friends in third grade! Most of the time! I mean, I killed your pet turtle but still...”
No reply.
They barely even noticed I was there.
“Oh hey, did you hear about the Gerardis though?”
“I know! It’s so sad how they died at that car crash!”
What? My parents died? That can’t be. No. They’re joking.
“And it’s sad Maxwell died too,” Drew said. “We were pretty close in third grade. Of course, he did kill my pet turtle, but still...”
No.
I’m dead?
No.
No. No. No. I can’t be dead. How am I still here if I’m dead? And my parents aren’t dead either. I’ve got to get to Jane. Jane will clarify everything. I’ve got to get to Jane.
I was such in a rush to get to Jane I didn’t even bother to knock or ring the doorbell. I just ran inside without hesitation.
Not that it mattered, anyway. Because Jane’s parents didn’t notice me.
“Is she still in bed?” Jane’s mom asked her dad.
Her dad didn’t even bother replying. He simply nodded, not looking away from his paper.
Jane’s mom sighed. “Oh, Harold, what are we going to do?” she said. “I know it hurts, and it takes a while to get over it, but I’m afraid she’ll be like this forever!” She rubbed her temples and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her dad showed a sympathetic smile. “I think I’ll go bring her some hot chocolate and talk to her a bit.”
I followed her to Jane’s room.
“Jane, honey, you there?” she said as she opened the door. “I brought you some hot chocolate.”
And then I saw Jane. There she was, with headphones on so loud I could hear it, lying in bed with a book on her chest. I didn’t even bother saying anything. I knew from the look she gave her mom that she didn’t see me.
“Thanks,” Jane said sarcastically, getting up from bed and grabbing the cup from her mom. She took a small sip from it and stared at her mom. “What are you still doing here?”
“Jane, dear -”
“If this is another talk about letting go with your wise words of wisdom, I really don’t want to hear it,” Jane shouted angrily. “Mom, I have had enough, and when something like that happens to you, you don’t get over it that quickly!”
“I know, sweetie, but still -”
“If you really want me to get over it, then you’d just leave me alone!” I had never seen Jane this angry. She’d always been a sweet, perky girl, a bit on the ironic side but never this mad. What had happened?
Had I really died?
Jane’s mom said nothing, only gave a smile and left the room. Jane placed her headphones back on and continued reading her book. The Outsiders by S.E. Hilton.
I left the room too.
It always seems like everyone if afraid of dying, somehow. I always wondered why. Some people say it’s because they don’t want to die without doing anything remotely interesting in this world. Some people don’t want to die for fear of what happens next, whether there’s an afterlife or not. I’ll never admit it, but I happen to be both.
And then the Earth because this one big race, on who can live the longest. Everybody wants to win. Nobody ever plans to lose on purpose. Yes, there are people who take their own lives, but they never wanted it to end that way. They were merely victims of the situation.
I was the victim of an unfastened seatbelt.
I looked over at my tombstone, and I’m buried next to my parents. It’s been a whole week since I died. I didn’t know where my parents were, or what I was even doing on Earth. Shouldn’t I be in heaven right now? Or reincarnated?
All these questions hogged my head, but one question stood out: What now?
What was I going to do now? What do you do when you’re dead? I always expected a happy afterlife in heaven but this isn’t what I had in mind. Was I stuck here? I’ve read stories about this, mostly because Jane would force me to read this. Did I have some unfinished business I had to take care of?
I decided to go back to my house. Nobody was there, anyway.
And then I remembered. The boxes were all here because we were about to leave. We were supposed to move to a new town and my parents would start a new job. And then we died.
I kicked a box, and the tears came out. I was angry at God. How could he let me die so young? How could He take my life away from me, when I hadn’t even accomplished anything? And my parents, how could He? How could He end my life just right then and there, when I hadn’t done anything, when I hadn’t made an impact in the world?
Angry, I kicked another box. What came out was another surprise.
It was a journal.
It was empty, and I had meant to give it to Jane before we left. Of course, that never happened, because I died. Angry again, I kicked another box. Maybe someone would come in here and thought a theft had occurred, but I didn’t care.
Why’d I have to die?
I remember the first time I met Jane. It was third grade, and we became fast friends after that.
We used to be four in the group, actually. But times changed and high school happened and soon Jane and I were the only ones left.
But I didn’t mind. Jane was my best friend. We’d done everything together, and we even planned on going to college together after we graduated. She was going to be a famous writer. I was going to be a musician. We weren’t even sure if there was a college that supported both.
It may seem like Jane and I had a lot of differences, but if there’s one thing we had in common, it was the movies. Jane and I loved the movies. Jane’s favourite was It’s a Wonderful Life (she liked black and white films like that), and mine was The Breakfast Club. I know, it’s a cliché answer, but can you deny it? That movie was beautiful.
We even had a silly plan that we’d work together in a movie one day. She’d write the screenplay, and I’d do the score and soundtrack. The movie would be a smash hit! Jane and I always laughed at the idea of it.
Before the accident happened, I asked Jane if I could borrow her copy of A Wrinkle in Time. She laughed and told me yes, and that it was an awesome book. I gave her a thumps up and told her see you.
See you was the last thing I ever said to Jane.
Jane’s doorbell rang, and she rushed to open the door.
I could tell from the sound of her footsteps she wasn’t particularly excited to answer the door. But her parents weren’t there, and the doorbell wouldn’t stop ringing. Only she wasn’t greeted by a person.
When she opened the door, there was a journal on the welcome mat.
Jane grabbed it, confused, and opened the first page. Here is what it said:
Dear Jane,
Pretty cliché that I get you a journal for your goodbye gift, huh? This isn’t really goodbye though; we’ll see each other again someday. But while I’m gone, write in this journal, will you? You’re going to become a pretty famous writer someday, winner of the Pultizer Prize, but for now, write in this journal. Whatever you feel like writing, go ahead. It’s your journal.
Do you remember the first time we met? I was the new kid in town, and I didn’t have any friends. I was lost, and it was raining, and somehow, I stumbled upon your house. Your parents laughed and took me in, and while they called my parents, you and I played Connect Four. We became really good friends after that, and until now, we still are.
I hope you really do write a screenplay one day. I probably won’t do a score for a movie but I always thought you were braver than me and stronger than me. You are my best friend, Jane; and I hope for you the very best. You made my life better somehow. Every day I spent with you was a day to remember.
You made an impact on me, Jane. I hope I did to you too.
And I see Jane crying, rereading the letter over and over. “You did, Max,” she whispered. “You really did.”
This is where I come in. This is my one part. This is where I make an impact on someone’s life.
When I first realized I died, I was angry, not wanting it to be my time yet, thinking I hadn’t done anything significant. But I did. Maybe not to the world, but to one person. I was able to make a change to one person’s life. I was able to make it better. I was able to me remembered by something amazing.
And that, I think, is enough for me to say that I’ve lived my life to the fullest.
It’s funny how my whole life I cared about things not worth remembering, whether someone liked me or not, how I looked, what I was going to be in the future, when without even knowing I had already dome something worthwhile in my life. And in return, she did too.
So maybe I didn’t need the entire world to love me. Maybe I just needed one person.
I see a light. I know it’s always described as that, but it’s the only word that can describe it. A bright, shiny light, and I know what I have to do – walk towards it.
For a moment, I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid. If my life after is half as meaningful as my life before, then there’s nothing to be scared of. I hesitate because I know I’ll miss this place. And this life. And I’ll miss Jane.
But I know she’ll be all right.
I take a deep breath and leap.
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