The rain is falling hard, but it lands softly on my skin. I feel the tiny hands comforting me, surrounding me, and giving me the strength to remain upright. In this sense, it feels like I’m not alone. I am debilitated by the fact that I am not alone. Why do we feel like this? I look down at my arm; the cold air has made mountains grow and rainbows sprout—rainbows the hands cannot latch onto. But I see them trying; time and time again I watch the hands in their attempts. I see a hand get a hold of a rainbow at its base and I let myself bask in its joy; finally! I am looking down, smiling, and watching this beautiful moment unfold.
            I imagine all of my emotions sitting in two separate pans connected by a single beam overhead. I try to question myself about how long it’s been, but I can’t seem to remember. The scale is idle, and it has been for a while now. I look down at my watch to catch a glimpse of the time—aware that I cannot spend much longer here, or I may disturb the peace. But the scene is so alluring, and my eyes are indulging in all there is to dissect. The scene is so beautiful and serene, in fact, that I start to worry that my gaze could alarm it. One of my emotions could catch me inspecting it and get freaked out. Maybe it would shake and disturb the balance, or maybe it could get so scared it jumps into the other pan—and what would that look like? Surely it would mean I had some involvement in transforming this tranquility into something unrecognizable; and who would I be then?
            I breathe slowly, preventing this movement from rattling through other parts of my body. With both feet planted on the ground, I act as if I’m a black spider mounted firmly to a wall. The wall color in this case is important, though, for beige isn’t really the camouflage it was seeking. But this spider grew tired; it had covered the entire surface area of this wall with its steps, and there was only so much stamina it could exhaust before collapsing at this spot. The spider feels too vulnerable here to feel the comfort it was seeking just moments before. How long has it been?
            My fingers hug the handle, and the door begrudgingly opens. I softly close the door behind me, which still sounds mad from my touching it. Needing help to feel balanced, I embrace support from my bed. My breath, as if jumping on a trampoline, rises high in my chest and then crashes into the mattress. My breath sinks so deep into the mattress that I can feel my back fusing with the fibers of my cotton sheets. I carefully slide my right hand down my left arm—patiently giving it the time to stop when it feels tugged, like an owner waiting for their dog to move away from a patch of grass along a sidewalk so that they can resume their walk. My fingertips report back to me that the rainbows that once reached out and embraced the thousands of tiny hands are now resting—they feel defeated perhaps, but maybe they are just recharging. My fingertips report back to me that the mountains that once hoped to grow as tall as the clouds have deflated and embraced the flatness of my skin. Without nourishment from the rain, their beauty has wilted—they feel forlorn perhaps, but maybe they are just healing. Maybe some sleep is all I need. I close my eyes and imagine lush mountains and bright rainbows rising high above the clouds.
            The morning breeze wakes me, and I instantaneously grab my arm—hoping to see if my dreams have crossed into reality. My eyes scan the landscape for mountains or rainbows, or for any sign that a mountain or rainbow will form. After some moments, I close my eyes, and as I release my breath, I allow these hopes to march out of my body. I breathe again, and this time, the air I release helps propel my body forward. While slouched over and leaning lopsidedly against my left arm with my legs crossed, my downcast eyes catch a glimpse of something by the floor; a spider, sitting motionless on the wall.
            His background isn’t offering him much of a shield, so I wonder if he is holding his breath—praying that somehow I don’t see him. I wonder if he can see me. Do you recognize me too? Still comfortably positioned in bed, I don’t react to his presence. And he doesn’t react to mine. I wonder why he chose to stop there; just inches away, the dark baseboards would’ve protected him far better than the light walls. What time is it? I go to check my phone, and when I glance back—where did he go?
            When I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone, the rain quickly plops itself on top of its screen. I act quickly to rub my phone down the side of my shirt, but this only creates smaller droplets and streaks that now coat its surface.
            I continue walking, aware of the growing silence around me. I was scared of this. My ears have gotten so used to the sound of the rain that my mind is tuning it out. I fear what will fill this silence. I look down once more at the little rain hand clutching onto its rainbow; this love feels so complete. My eyes—who are in disbelief—cry out, finally! The water from my eyes merges with the rain hands creating long fingers that reach down my face and pull my mouth into a smile.
            Wait, what happened? Something has happened, but my eyes are blurred from crying, so I am only left feeling like there has been a shift. I touch my face, trying to latch onto the fingers that once held up my smile and that are now retreating into my eye sockets. Where are you going? Please help me understand!
            I blink my eyes feverishly, as if my eyelids are windshield wipers working on full speed—but that are still falling behind on their task. By the time I can look out of my eyes, it is too late. I stare numbly at the rain hand slipping down the rainbow; it comes to a pause at the tip, as if trying to hold on much too late. I watch in confusion. What happened? Did the rain hand let go of the rainbow, or did the rainbow create an ungraspable surface? I watch the hand drop, disappearing into the pool of rain at my feet. I cry out—knowing that the hand was lost for good.
            “Kay?…Kay, you in here?” Where is she? I opened the door to her room, and felt slightly disappointed that I still couldn’t answer that question. She asked me to help her fix her artwork, and yet she’s not even here to greet me. I look around her room, trying to find the piece she was talking about. There! Really? It’s not even that bad. By the way she talked about it, I thought the frame would be swaying back and forth—broken, even. But no, it’s just unbalanced, a quick fix. That’s ironic, isn’t it, ‘unbalanced’, ha! And I’m here to fix a piece of her art depicting a scale! I crack myself up, really.
            There! All done. I turn my back toward the scale, but I feel drawn to turn back around. What’s this? How did I not notice you there? Somehow I repositioned the frame without noticing a small spider camouflaging itself in her artwork. And how funny that it has chosen a spot in the middle of the beam, and how funny that I noticed this only after re-balancing the scales. But, are you perfectly centered? My curiosity draws me to pull out a ruler and measure the distance from either side of the spider to the ends of the beam. No way.
            As I walk back to my car, I check my messages with Kay. Still no response. Back in her room, the spider is waiting to greet her if she’s able to see him. And the spider is hoping so, because he’s awfully excited to show her his work.

By: KPB 2022