The Falling Rain

Angelina turned away from Mira and watched the water droplets streak down the window in the graying light of the afternoon sky.

Mira let the silence hang in the air for a few moments before continuing to speak. “You can’t live like this - you can’t continue like this.”

“No shit, genius,” Angelina replied in a low mutter, never raising her head from the top of her hands. Her chin moved slightly with her words, but otherwise, she did not move; her eyes fixed on the window.

“You just have to-” Mira waved her arms around searching for the right words, “reset your password is all.”

Angelina lifted her head and slowly turned towards Mira, rising from the chair.

Attempting to flee the intensity of Angelina’s burning gaze, Mira wrung her hands nervously and took an involuntary step backward toward the dark kitchen.

“‘ Reset my password’? What am I, a fucking computer? I don’t need to reset my password; there is no password, there’s absolutely nothing.” Angelina threw up her hands and paused her threatening advance toward Mira. “Nothing,” she murmured, softer and with a hint of sadness coloring the edges of her words.

Her eyes dropped to the floor as the weight of her statement sunk in like an anchor, plunging into the depths of her chest and kicking up a flurry of sand in its wake.

Angelina retreated and sank back down on her chair, swinging her gaze back to the falling rain. The sky had darkened even further; among the towering buildings, she could see streaks of lightning in the distance. A few moments later, she heard the resonating boom following an especially spectacular flash of lightning.

Mira jumped at the sudden noise, but Angelina just stared at the spot where the lightning had been and imagined the branching pattern of black forking across the charred ground.

She smiled then. At what, she did not know; at the terrifying beauty of something so dark and destructive, or at the thought of a brief and sudden light in the darkness that was itself not necessarily good, but nonetheless welcome. That destruction and darkness still could produce momentary flashes of light, however brief and fleeting.

In her contemplation, her smile faded. She had not yet found that; the flash in the darkness or the light amidst the destruction. The brief spark of hope she desperately yearned for.

“Reset my password,” she mumbled into her hands she had resumed resting upon. “I wonder what that must be like. I wonder if that’s what meds do.”

“Well, you never know if you don’t try them.” Angelina snorted as she crossed her arms.

“My mother would call you a med-pusher, you know,” Angelina retorted.

Mira let out a scoff. “She can call me whatever she likes. You need those meds to reset your password - as in you’re not running on the right-“ she paused again, “operating system or you have too many viruses or too much RAM, I don’t know, something! Your brain’s just not wired right.” She faltered at the end of her sentence before continuing with a softer tone, “You need to reset your password as in rewire your brain. You are like this because of chemical imbalances. Circumstances play a role, yes. But you cannot possibly handle those circumstances if your brain is not wired properly; if your brain twists these situations and doesn’t allow you to feel happy as you should or as often as you should.” Mira let out a sigh again, exasperated. “You need the password reset. You need the meds. Fuck what your mother says. You never did listen to her anyway. Why start now?”

“Because if I don’t, she’ll blame my behavior on the meds or say that I’m a snowflake not strong enough to deal with anything on my own,” Angelina snapped, her eyes beginning to water.

Imagined arguments with her mother flashed in her head, including all the real insults her mother had flung at her before under the guise of “help” and “motherly love and advice.” She dreamt of yelling at her, at spitting back every bit of resentment and anger she felt. But when the time came, she was always quiet. She was taught to be, told to be, expected to be. Taught like a soldier to listen, if not to obey.

“I can’t,” Angelina whispered, the phrase coming out softly like a brief puff of air lost in the wind. She heard Mira come up behind her.

“You can,” she whispered back.

Angelina sniffled quietly. She had been staying with Mira at her place for some time now, unwilling to go back to her parents. They would call and question her, asking why and throwing blame at Mira when she was the only one that had truly helped her.

“How?” Angelina whispered.

Mira squatted next to her. “By doing something about it, seeing someone, not disregarding medication.”

Angelina paused for a moment and clenched her teeth, nodding tersely but still trying to mask the tears that threatened to spill.

“And I’ll be with you the whole time,” Mira said as she stood.

Angelina let out a soft chuckle and crooked an eyebrow as she turned to look at her. “Reset my password, huh?”

Mira threw up her hands in defeat. “Donald works with computers; what do you expect of me?”

Angelina didn’t have to think long before answering, “A better metaphor.”

Mira scoffed but didn’t protest. “Don’t make me actually reset the password on the router.” Mira grew smug and Angelina’s eyes widened in horror.

After a few seconds of a mock pleading face, Mira uncrossed her arms and gave way. “Fine, that’s too mean.”

Angelina smirked and rose from her chair. Outside, a sliver of sunlight peeked through the gray clouds, illuminating the now-empty chair.