How to Save a Friend in the Rain

“How long has she been out there?”

“Since 10 this morning, so six hours.”

“And when did it start raining?”

“One hour ago.”

“So she’s been sitting in the rain for a whole sixty minutes? What’s wrong with her?”

“I’m not sure. I tried asking her, but she didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to be with her car.”

“You mean that piece-of-shit Jeep?”

“Luke! Be nice.”

“Why? She can’t hear me from out there.”

Paula enters, the sound of rain crashing their conversation.

“Any luck?”

“No. She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t say anything, just occasionally mumbled something. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll go,” Taylor said.

“Are you saying I didn’t do a good enough job? Will she respond to you better? Does she like you more?”

“No, Paula. I’m just the last to try.”

Taylor grabs two umbrellas and braves the storm. Once she’s made it to her friend, she’s faced with a decision: to not sit on the muddy ground and look like a bad friend or ruin her pants for friendship. She looked down at the hand-me-down jeans she was wearing, gifted from her mother. They weren’t cool, retro bell bottoms or vintage Levi’s. No, these were a pair from the 2010s that she outgrew, and they happened to fit her daughter. Taylor sat down next to Allie. Her mother would have sat down too.

“Is it alright that I sit here?” Taylor asked.

Allie shrugged.

“I got you an umbrella.” Taylor held it out to Allie who did not bother to look at it, so she balanced her own umbrella’s handle on her shoulder, opened the other, and held it above her friend’s head. They sat under a small canopy, paying no mind to anything else. The storm or their friends looking through the apartment window. They were not a priority.

“Allie, what’s wrong?”

She shrugged.

“You must be cold. How about we go inside?”

She shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a no. How about we stand up and stretch those legs?”

She shrugged.

“You don’t even have to go pee? Maybe you need something to eat.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Taylor reaches into her pocket and grabs her phone. “What now, Mom? I’ll call her back.” She returns her phone to its place. Then, she looks to her friend now crying. Her face matches the rain.

“What’s wrong?”

“Call her back,” Steph squeaks out.

“What?”

“Call her back!”

Taylor looks forward to the car parked next to them: Steph’s Jeep given to her by her mom. She turns back to Steph, “Steph, did something happen to your mom?”

She nodded.

“What happened?”

She cried.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She shook her head.

Taylor assumed the worst and scowled at her friends inside growing disinterested, scrolling through their phones and chatting. As they were clueless about everything going on, Taylor was clueless as to how to solve it. What could she do? She wasn’t Steph’s mom.

“Steph, can we talk about this inside?”

Mute.

“Can you at least stand up?”

Mute.

Taylor stands up, checks her mom’s jeans for stains, saw plenty, looked back at her friend, and offered her hand. “Steph, you need to stand up.”

Mute.

“Your mother would want you to.”

Steph turned to her, looking at another person for the first time in seven hours.

“I said what I said. Now, get up and don’t let your mother down.”

“You don’t know her.”

“No, you’re wrong. I do. She took us out to lunch, a flea market, and a zip-line park. She made us jello shots to share with others in college and make new friends. She wanted us out there and living. She wants you on your own two feet, ready for the next adventure.”

Taylor’s rousing speech fell flat, as Steph remained still.

“Come on, Steph. You’ll freeze out here.”

“It’s a summer night in Florida. No, I won’t.”

“Don’t make me get mean.”

“Get mean. Try your best.”

“You’re freaking us out. You’re pushing your friends away, giving us no clue as to what’s going on, wasting our time on something we don’t know. Steph, I know you’re hurting right now for whatever reason, but there’s no need to drag us into it.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“But we’re your friends. You don’t have to ask. We’ll worry either way.”

“I don’t need you worrying.”

“Great! Then, let’s go inside and dry you off to stop our worries.”

“But I don’t care if you worry or not. I don’t care what you do.”

Taylor balled her fists and remembered her soaked jeans. Her mother would not quit despite the resistance, so she grabbed Steph’s wrist.

***

“What’s going on?”

“Are they fighting?”

“I don’t think so. If they are, Steph’s losing. She’s doing nothing.”

“What is Taylor doing?”

“I think she’s trying to get Steph to stand up or at least move.”

“Taylor tries too hard.”

“She gets it from her mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I met her once. We went out to dinner. Her mom wanted a table by the window and would not give up until she got it. Gave the host some hell.”

***

“Steph, come on!” Taylor grunted. “Get up!”

“Stop!”

Taylor paid no mind to her fallen umbrella. She only focused on getting Steph onto her feet and moving in the right direction. She didn’t know what her friend needed, but she knew she needed to get out of the rain.

“Taylor, stop!”

“I’ll stop once you quit acting like dead weight.”

“Fine!” Steph launches up, causing Taylor to stumble. Looking at her friend standing in the rain, Taylor smiles. No matter how soaked her jeans were, she knew they’d be okay -- the jeans and her friend.

“You did it,” Taylor said, smiling at her friend, proud enough to replicate her mother.

“Thanks,” Steph replied, eyes fixated on her Jeep.

“We can drive it once the suns up again.”

“Okay,” Steph agreed.

Taylor took Steph’s hand, admired the rain, and embraced the cleansing.