Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

“What's that in there?” He pointed at the white cap of the bottle sticking out of her pocket. Mom shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a headache.” “Oh, yeah? So, what are you taking for it?” “Something for a headache.” “Let me see.” Grampa held out a hand and waited for Mom to give the bottle to him. I didn't like this. I didn't feel good. My heart was going to blow up, and Mom was going to yell. I could see it in her frowny mouth and tomato-red face. “How about you just mind your own fucking business?” she shouted, proving me right once again. Grampa squeezed my shoulder. “Soldier, go downstairs and eat your pizza with your friends. Tell Gramma to come up here.” “B-but … but I have to pee,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was five again, not eight. Eight-year-olds weren’t supposed to sound like they were going to cry. “Go pee downstairs,” Grampa ordered. My bottom lip began to wriggle like a stupid baby. “B-but, but, but—” “Fucking hell, Soldier! Why the hell are you like this?! Get the fuck out of here!” Mom yelled at me, pointing her finger toward the stairs. I took one look at her angry eyes, and then I ran. I ran down the stairs to the bathroom with the baby-powder soap, slammed the door behind me, and wished so, so, so hard that my friends hadn’t heard my mom yell at me. I bet their moms didn't yell at them. I bet their moms didn't fight with their grammas and grampas. I peed and washed my hands with the gross soap and hoped my friends didn't ...