~Dancing in the Rain~

It has always been there, that tree. It had been there since I remember, way back before I left. We planted it then, with our hands linked together. I wanted it to grow up and become big and strong, so we would have a tree of our own when we were both 50. I was wrong.

Going back in the vista of memories, I can remember how we planted it, how we danced around it, chanting songs. I was this little kid of two then, or perhaps even younger. Our childish voices echoed across the street.

Then we started school. Every day’s homework was done under the little tree; it had grown to become as high as I had been. Homework used to be a pain for other kids; for me and for her, homework is merely an excuse for us to be together, together with each other, together with the tree.

As the calendar pages flips and changes, I can now picture myself as a teenager, a gawky thin girl with so much freckles. She was this amazingly blonde symbol of femininity; so many boys wanted her. But she didn’t care. Oh no, not at all. We still hung out together. The excitement of having a very first job was shared under the tree back-to-back – our tree listened, and remembered; the thrill of having a very first kiss was whispered high in the branches – our tree listened, and remembered; the mixed feelings of having to go to the UK for further studies was revealed at the top of the canopy – our tree, of course, listened, and remembered too. But then I left, bringing everything with me, except for a longing for home, a yearning for my parents, and a dull ache deep inside me for her. We had been crying on each other’s shoulders and our parents had to pull us apart. She engraved our names on the bark of the tree and we vowed to see each other, under this very tree, in 50 years time.

A cool breeze takes me from my memories. As I lightly caress the smooth bark of the tree, I think of my angel, watching over me in the blue skies for eternity. I choose a leaf from the uppermost branches of the bough and inscribe: My friend, let us pine for the days, when I can take your delicate fingers in my hand and dance in the rain... I watch the leaf go fluttering up to the never-ending skies.

Almost instantly, a light drizzle comes raining on me, soothing my hungry heart. As if it was her saying: Let us feel the rain on our shoulders and dance here, right here next to our tree…