Conversations Under The Rain

It was windy today, and the wind fleeted through the trees. The leaves and flowers danced with it and gracefully glided down to the ground.

At a glance, one may think it was cute to see two little children sitting by a bench in the park, under a tall, commanding tree with delightful blossoms on it, watching the sky. Both solemn and quiet.

People bustled about, and most were ignoring the children sitting in the park, not far from the pathway. The people had their own troubles and the two children were left by their own.

No one thought of the little children, of where they came from. And where were their parents? And why were they alone? No one stops to think about their safety. No one cares.

And then, the rain sweeps a drizzle across the breezy sky, and the children lay quiet, unspeaking under the softly fallen rain.

People buzz about, busy seeking shelter, busy with their own lifes and busy ignoring the children, sitting on a bench, under the huge, magnificent tree that was partly sheltering them, and the droplets of water continue falling from the sky.

It is a harsh, cold world. It is a very lonely, very sad and very demanding world. Is caring a task too hard to bear? Is loving a job, we are bound by duty to do?

As the people continue with their lifes, the two little children continue sitting on the bench, looking at the sky that has now turn a murky grey.

“Is mummy ever coming?” a voice pipes out, a voice melodious and soft, full of innocence.

“No.” another speaks. This time, the voice is low, soft but harsh, full of sorrow, full of pain and full of hate.

No one hears them, no one but the blowing wind, the great wise tree, the lively leaves and the graceful flowers. And the falling rain.

“Why?” the first voice asks.

“She doesn’t want us. We cause her too much trouble. And she hates me, for looking like him,” the second one answers, his voice full of bitterness.

The first voice comes from a young girl, with wide, clear, innocent eyes and a darling smile. With a pure and naïve expression.

The second voice comes from a boy. He was slightly older than the girl, yet still a child. He has dark eyes, one full of pain, and of hate and of things that he had seen but should have not. His expression a grimace.

The girl has tears in her eyes and he is pained to see them.

He holds her pale, small hand in his. Another hand of his ruffles her hair and he mumbles, “Don’t cry. I’ll cry too.”

She makes sniffling sounds, but does not cry for she too does not want to see the tears trail down his face.

She clamps his hand and does not cry. He continues ruffling her hair, reassuring her that he will not leave.

“Who do you look like?” she asks.

He stiffens and his expression is that of a scowl.

“Father,” he says shortly, and she understand, for she knows that her mummy had always blamed her father for leaving the three of them, but she knew not what he looked like for she was still a baby when he had left.

Only her brother knew, and she knows he hates their father. The rain was getting heavier and the soft beat of the rain on the tree leaves calmed them. It was comforting. The wind continues circling them, forming ripples over the puddles. The leaves and flowers lay low. The tree silent. The rain falls.

She sees no one in the pathway where it had been busy before. She sees no one waving at them, no one waiting for them. No father, no mother. No one.

“Is the world so cruel to have left us?” she asks, her voice breaking. A lone tear falls.

He looks to where she is looking. He sees no one. He understands.

“Left us?” he says it out loud.

She nods. No tear falls, only the rain. Heavier and heavier. Heaven is crying. For them?

“I think the world never leaves us. We are stuck here after all,” he laughs, un-amused. “It is the people in the world.” His eyes are dark, and his smile, a grim, taut line.

“Why is it so?” her voice curious, her eyes wide, clear, wanting to know, for he was older, wiser, he knew things she did not.

“People have become selfish. As time passes, the people in the world, us, have been so caught up with materialistic wants. We have forgotten how is it to love, to care, to be with people,” he says, and the warmth leaves her. His hand that had held hers pulls away and she sees him brooding and she is frightened for his eyes spoke of hatred.

“Am I selfish then?” she holds his hand, willing him to change back to his more happy self.

He looks at her then, he is amused, she knows. He smiles, a sweet endearing smile that brightens up his face and she smiles back, happy that all is well.

“No,” he says. “You will never be.”

She laughs and the rain slows, the leaves and flowers dance again to their rhythm. The wind tugs at their clothes and its laughter, like a flute blown, can be heard.

“The world is not cruel then. But the people?” she questions. He nods, his smile gone, now grim again. But he did not brood and that relieved her.

“Would you change the world if you could?” she asks for she has heard this question from her mother before. The memory of her mummy whom has left them, made her ache inside.

“Why change the world?” he questions back.

“The world must have been cruel, for the people to adapt to it and becoming cruel themselves.” She says and he sees her logic.

He realized that she is right, for the people must have changed because of suffering.

“If I could change the world?” he says, watching the rain fall and hearing the steady cadence of the rain.

She waits for his answer patiently, putting both hands in the rain. She looks at her soggy socks and shoes, her muddy dress and smiles. She takes off them off, wiggling her toes in the rain. He looks at her, smiling, his dark eyes gentle and he mimics her, and they watched the rain in silence.

“I would make them remember.” He says abruptly. She looks at him, inquiring.

“To change the world, we must first change the people. If I could, I would make the people remember how to care and love again. Even in suffering, there is happiness. So we must care for others even when we suffer ourselves.”

“By having them remember, by making a little difference, by helping others, and by caring, we would have change this world to a better place,” he continues.

“Yes. Hate begets hate. Love begets love. To change this world, we should give lots of love and the love will help others, won’t it?” she says and laughs again.

“What goes around comes around,” he quoted as he laughed too.

“How do we start giving love?” he asks her, waiting for her answer that was always full of meaning.

“By a simple hello, or a little gesture of affection. A hug. A simple wave,” she says, her smile fading, she looks to a distance and he knows she sees no one.

He hugs her then, pulls away and ruffles her messy hair. She turns to him and smiles, dimpling both cheeks.

“That is a good start!” she says happily, but he sees in her eyes sadness.

He is distressed for he knows not the way back to where they had called home. His mother didn’t want them, and he aches. The rain falls lightly.

Is the world really that cruel to have left them alone?

Does anyone care?

A soft resounding splash breaks them from their stupor. A lady approaches them, bag in hand and wearing a suit.

“Hello,” The lady smiles warmly.

“Hello,” they say back. She smiles but he is wary and frowns.

“Where are your parents? What are you under the rain?” the lady kneels down, not caring whether her suit will be ruined by the muddy puddles. She is kind, they think and a surge of hope burns in them.

“She left us,” he says and the lady has a horrified expression on her face. The lady pulls them into an embrace and they are shocked. The hope goes stronger, they are happier.

Someone cares?

“It is sad.” The lady says. They see in her first a true smile, her eyes are kind and sweet.

The girl and boy are happy. The lady released them, and she smiles. They smile.

The rain stops falling. The wind laughs. The leaves and flowers dance. The tree stays silent as ever. The sun shines bright. Heaven smiles too.

The three leave. Hand in hand. The boy smiles, the girl laughs and the lady is happy.

Maybe the people aren’t that bad after all. For some remembered. Some cared. Some loved. Maybe the world isn’t that cruel after all. Or maybe, the people and the world have already begun to change. There is happiness behind suffering. The world is changing, maybe. Only we don’t seem to notice. It is a wonderful day after all. And the sun shines. And all is well.