Krissy told me to go out to the car, so here I am, standing beside what used to be Grandma's pride and joy. The summer has only just started, and already her neglected rose garden is overrun with weeds. With a pang, I realize it is because she hasn't seen it in so long. She might not ever think about it, might have even completely forgetten it existed. I wish I had been thoughtful enough to come and offer my service.
A splash of water hits my cheek, making me blink. The fat, warm drops gently land on the sidewalk, one by one. A car passes on the main road next to the house. I don't move. I let the rain darken my shirt, forming a lopsided smattering of makeshift polka dots.
I fold my arms and rest them on the silver metal, leaning against the car. My eyes close. I breathe in and release the humid air. A deep, echoing chasm reopens within me; and I am filled with a grey, muddled sadness: for the roses, for the grief the unavoidable future will bring, for the deterioration of all living things, for the son who isn't as grateful as he should be and could do so much more to repay his parents' boundless charity.
I stand alone under the clouds and allow them to release their cleansing burden. My heart is heavy, but the rain has granted it a little peace.
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