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            When rain fell she would cry. All her carefully bottled and labeled frustrations would leave their jars and fill her eyes with emotions she didn’t understand. She would sit in her car and listen and sob, creating a simple song of sorrow. She never knew why the rain did this to her. Perhaps it was her close tie to the heavens. She had always looked, acted and generally been angelic; it was not surprising that when heaven cried, so did she.

            The drought came through once, and she disappeared.

            My heart broke unevenly, and I felt lopsided without her. I ate both scoops of ice cream and only listened to jazz. I glared and swore and took apart my jeep. I stood in the sprinklers for hours.

            Three months later, there was a rainbow.