Red I see

Rain, rain, come again,
Little Rochel wants to play.
Rain on the green grass, rain on the tree,
And rain on the house-top
Rain on me.

The wind blew gently against Rochel as he lay in the damp grass, staring up at the sky. It had rained earlier in the morning.
His pale cheeks dusted with a pink flush glistened as a single dewdrop fell from the sky. A clear sign of a harsh rain that was expected later in the afternoon.

He was looking forward to the rain to drown out his sins.

His body trembled as cold air passed the thin fabric of the oversized beige shirt he always wore. It used to be yellow, but excessive washing had rid it of its warmth. It once belonged to his older stepbrother, before he ran away and died in front of a truck.

No one cried.

The next day, Mrs. T gave him a piece of candy. His first ever in a long while. Good riddance, she said.

Rochel was five back then. Now he was nine years old, nearing ten. Though he looked small for his age. The orphanage wasn’t too sure when he was born, so they randomly assigned him a birthdate, just like they had done for many others. His adopted parents were provided with all the information—Rochel’s likes, dislikes, favorite food, favorite toy—yet they didn’t care. He was just another vessel of payment from the government.

He sat up, looking around for the neighbors’ kids, who often played with him. They were nowhere to be seen. It was always around mid-afternoon they would hang out while their mothers were busy having a kitty party and gossiping about the lady who lived on the outskirts. He heard Mrs. T call her a ‘wrench.’ He didn’t know what the word meant.

He had heard Big D use that word when playing with the car.

Big D wasn’t nice, recalled Rochel.

Big D was mean, thought Rochel.

Big D hated him, Rochel understood.

He stood up, dusting the dirt and sticky grass from his off-white trousers that were about to fall down any second. He quickly pulled them up and tightened the ribbon Mrs. T had wrapped around his waist. He wore old, torn-apart brown shoes that got passed down from one kid to another in the T’s house. He had trouble walking with the soles of the shoes so thin that the pebbles underneath felt like thorns to his supple flesh. He whined to Mrs. T once, she slapped him in return. He never uttered a single word afterwards. His shoes pressed against the sticky muddy ground as he made his way over towards the house next door.

He had waited a long, long time for this. The front door was closed, so he walked past it, heading over to the window. They always kept their curtains parted, Rochel loved it. He could always watch them whenever he wanted.

The dull blue curtains were parted just as expected. He pushed into the bushes, leaning against the window. His palms pressed flat against the glass, his small button nose squashed against the window while his eyes squinted to see clearly what was going on inside. A bright smile crossed his face. He saw them.

Esme, the six-year-old little girl wearing a white shirt and a pink skirt. She fluttered her skirt, dancing around Mrs. Ronald. Rochel looked harder for his other friend: Ronald. Ronald, who was named after his father, James Lee Ronald, was wearing brown pants with a blue shirt and had just come down from the staircase. His friends were ready to play.

The day Rochel was brought to Mr. and Mrs. T’s house, he saw Ronald sitting in the backseat of their family. They had returned from an outing. Ronald held a brand new toy and ate ice-cream. Rochel could only watch from a distance. Mrs. Ronald noticed him and invited him. Rochel felt happiness after a long while. He learned Ronald was only a year and a half older than himself. And soon, their friendship blossomed like a red rose.

He watched them closely, his honey-like brown eyes followed Mrs. Ronald as she made her way over to the kitchen. Preparing something. She cooked well, Rochel remembered. It was better than what Mrs. T fed him and his older adopted siblings.

Boiled hamburger gravy. Every day. Morning, noon and evening.

Ronald was kind enough to invite Rochel to have lunch with them, and Mrs. Ronald was more than kind enough to cook the extra meal.

The Ronalds would always have two appetizers, one main course and a dessert.

Rochel looked forward to them, even sometimes giving Ronald puppy eyes so he could come over.

“Children, don’t play in the mud. Those shoes are new. You won’t want mud getting on them,” said Mrs. Ronald as she came outside wearing a tight brown skirt and a white blouse and a red ribbon in her brunette hair. She looked so beautiful, Rochel thought to himself.

Rochel quickly stood straight, stepping out of the bush, not to look like a creep standing outside their window and staring.

One of his older brothers was caught like this and was sent to the bad home with bars. Rochel didn’t want that, he wanted to go to a good home like the Ronald where every day you get to eat dessert.

“Hello, Mrs. Ronald,” Rochel said. His voice was soft and mellow as always.

“Oh, hi, Rochel. I am so sorry that Esme and Ronald took so long. You must have been waiting for a while.”

He hummed, averting his gaze as blush blossomed on his cheeks. Mrs. Ronald was so nice. He sometimes wished she were his mother instead of that hag Mrs. T.

Hag was another word he heard Mrs. T used to describe that woman living on the outskirts. Big D, annoyed by his curious questions, told him what it meant.

“Ugly old woman,” said Big D.

Mrs. T fit the description in his mind. The very next time Mrs. T used that word, Rochel told her that she was a hag. Mrs. T wasn’t happy.

Rochel, for the first time, felt the pain of being hit with an iron pipe.

It felt… painful.

“Come along now, children. Rochel is waiting.”
Mrs. Ronald tapped her heels against the floor. He noticed they were red. Pretty red he thought.

“Right, Mom.”

Rochel’s gaze lifted when Esme stepped up. He smiled, she smiled.

“Hi… Esme.”

He said, lifting his small pale hands and waving slightly.

She ran towards him, wrapping her arms around him. His fragile body shook from the heavy force Esme used to lunge at him.

Though he quickly recovered, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest.

“Ronald!”

Mrs. Ronald yelled. Even her yelling was sweet as she called for Ronald, Rochel couldn’t help but notice.

Ronald soon came out, tucking his shirt into his pants.

Rochel once stood in front of the mirror and tried to tuck his old, raggy white shirt into his trousers like Ronald always did. Ronald was always so proper. He needed to work on his manners to fit in with Ronald’s family.

If he became like Ronald, then… he would be happy.

“Hey, friend.”

Ronald said, making his way over towards Rochel. Rochel smiled faintly when he saw him.

“Okay, kids, be back before the rain hits. And don’t go too far.”

Ronald turned his gaze towards Rochel, who was staring dreamily at Mrs. Ronald, a plan already brewing in his mind.

“Got it, Ronald?”

Mrs. Ronald was also quick to catch Ronald’s mind racing with mischievous thoughts. She knew her son.

“Yes, yes.”

“Good. You may go on. And Rochel, I made chicken pot pie, so come here after playing.”

Rochel nodded, eager to get done with his work and come back home to the steaming chicken pie.

The rain was coming, and he was ready.