Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

day was quiet for a Saturday, especially one this beautiful. The sun was warm, and the birds were singing joyously from the trees surrounding our houses. Spring was quickly approaching, and we were the only people outside in our part of the community. So, when the sound of an enormous vehicle rumbled down Daffodil Lane, shattering the peace and silence, Noah and I both jumped with a start. “Oh, that’s my dad,” he mumbled, sounding less than enthusiastic. It was odd to me that, from the beginning, the kid had mentioned that he had a father on a couple of occasions, but not once had I seen him. Why had months passed of me living in this town before I finally witnessed any evidence of a father? “You should go inside,” Noah said hurriedly, like he was on the verge of panicking. “Why?” I peered down the road, eager to catch a glimpse of this guy who never seemed to check on his family. “Because …” His breath escalated, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Because my dad doesn’t like me talking to people he doesn’t know, so … go … please.” I knew desperation when I heard it, and I listened out of respect for Noah. But I didn’t like the small, frightened tone of his voice, and it was for that reason that I stayed directly on the other side of my front door, watching through the flimsy curtain as the silver pickup truck came into view and parked sloppily outside of Ray and Noah’s house with its front tire up on the bricks surrounding her small front yard. I didn’t like that truck...