Most of the time, when I introduce a new story here on Story Hoarder, it has some kind of prompt behind it’s inspiration. Not this one (at least not that I can remember). Star Rain is a story for my inner child — that piece of me that remembers whispered prayers and piles of prescriptions.
This is a 6 minute read.
STAR RAIN
The night sky draped over the back deck of Lila’s house. She looked up and whispered, “I wish Mama wouldn’t be sick anymore.” Lila had lost her faith in the doctors treating her mama, but she hadn’t yet lost her faith in the stars. The sky was clearer than it had been in weeks. There were stars speckling the blackness and she believed that one of them might finally be willing to help a little girl in need.
Lila was supposed to be in the kitchen pouring a glass of water, collecting and counting Mama’s nightly meds to bring up to her before bedtime. There was no such thing as “keep out of reach of children” in Lila’s house. If Lila couldn’t reach Mama’s pills, Mama wouldn’t have the energy to have taken them so long. Lila hated the smell, shape and color of every single one of the pills, that’s how she ended up outside. She wanted to air out the pills. She was sure the gross smell of the pills was terrible enough to make Mama throw up and it had already been a day filled with too much of that. Mama deserved a break.
When Lila opened the back door and felt the cool night breeze dance across her skin she was hopeful it would do the trick. It might have been a little victory in a seemingly unending battle she had no idea how to win. She was ready to settle for that alone until she caught a glimpse of the night sky above her. It gave her the idea that she might be able to help her Mama even more, and so she made her wish, “I wish Mama wouldn’t be sick anymore. I wish I could make her better.” The moment the whisper had left her lips, one of the white specks in the sky made a quick shift, skittering left and right, then in a spiral, until it chose a spot that appeared to be right over the center of Lila’s backyard where it began to rocket straight down.
It was a star falling right out of the sky.
Lila dropped the pills and ran with her hand outstretched as the bluish-white light streamed down, never growing bigger as perspective demanded it should. It fell into her palm with a gentle, cool bounce and she shoved it into her pocket as she ran back up to the deck to clean up her pill spill. Then she brought everything back into the kitchen, splayed it out on the counter, pulling the star out of her pocket placing it on the counter as well.
It was tiny.
It had stopped glowing.
It was bluish-gray.
It looked just like a pill.
Lila picked it up again. It was cool to the touch, but not cold. She smelled. She had expected to smell something like a blown-out birthday candle, or a barbecue coal — something burning — but that wasn’t it at all. It smelled like rain. As Lila inhaled deeply she thought about how maybe that made sense, too. This star had just fallen from the sky, just like a raindrop. Maybe it wasn’t a shooting star, maybe it was star rain. But Lila couldn’t think about that too long because — without warning — as she took another long whiff of the clean, wet smell, Lila smelled her way into a memory. She was whisked away to last summer, before her mama was sick, when she would still walk with her to the park with the playground and the pond where they fed all the ducks.
It was the day of the picnic. They had spent their whole morning making cheese and mustard sandwiches, cutting up strawberries and popping popcorn. Then they packed it up in Mama’s big tote bag along with a pack of Lila’s favorite fruit punch juice boxes and a giant towel, so they could picnic by the pond. They walked to the park, and Mama set up the entire feast while Lila worked diligently to shoo away some of the bolder ducks who tried to waddle too close to their food.
“Everything tastes better at a picnic,” Mama said, and Lila nodded vigorously through her second delightful mouthful of sandwich. Mama was right, even the memory of the sandwich bites tasted better than any she had had since. But those two bites were all that she got because, just as Lila put down her sandwich to see how delicious her strawberries would taste at a picnic, the rain started to fall in big, warm summer-glob raindrops.
“What is this?” Mama squealed, half-laughing as she stood up with arms outstretched.
“It’s rain, Mama,” Lila offered wondering if Mama really didn’t recognize it just because they were at a picnic. “Do we have to stay?”
Mama laughed a beautiful, unbridled laugh as her hair began to stick to sides of her face and said, “Of course not, Baby, but we’ve got a long way to get home!” She grabbed the popcorn and threw it out toward the pond’s edge like she had decided this weather deserved a party with flavorful confetti in the mix.
Lila’s eyes widened in surprise and delight over the silly scene her mother had choreographed before her.
“Leave the food for the animals, Lila! We have to run home!”
“Throw it?” Lila asked, holding her cup of strawberries. She had hoped she understood her mother completely because throwing her food in the air just like her Mama did seemed like the greatest thing in the world.
“Throw it high!” Mama screamed over the now pouring rain, echoing the delight she sensed in Lila.
Lila threw the strawberries as high as her little arms allowed and she laughed a high-pitched laughter reserved for only the funniest of things. Then she picked up her sandwich and threw it toward the tree she had chased a squirrel into earlier. Mama threw hers so far Lila didn’t even see where it landed. Then Mama scooped the juice boxes into her tote and shook out the big towel like she was one of those bull-fighters before shoving it messily into the bag as well. She grabbed Lila’s hand, bit her lip, leaned down to be face to face with her and said, “And now we run!”
Mama pulled Lila along an adventure of puddle jumps, singing, open-mouthed raindrop catching, and squeals of laughter all the way home.
Mama was so full of energy that day — so bright, so happy, so full of life. Lila slipped out of the memory and stared down at the cascade of colored ovals and circles on the counter before her. Now the brightest thing about Mama was her rainbow of pills.
Lila had nearly forgotten that version of Mama. She had definitely forgotten that day.
Lila set the star back down on the counter. She had an idea.
Mama’s room was lit only by the television sitting atop her dresser. The news was on. Lila brought Mama her pills and her water, setting them all down on her nightstand. She turned on the light and picked up the remote control to turn off the television.
“Mama,” she said gently as she put her hand on Mama’s shoulder. “It’s time to take your meds.” It was hard to tell if Mama was sleeping or just being quiet these days. She was so weak even when she was up. Lila always treated her like a sleeping baby just to be sure she never scared her.
“Oh Lila, Baby,” Mama said in an unused crackling voice as she slowly propped herself up into a sitting position on her bed. “Thank you so much. You are my angel for sure.” She reached over to her nightstand, grabbing the glass of water with one hand and scooping up the pills with the other. Lila was always fascinated at how Mama could swallow so many pills at once with one drink of water. Lila guessed it was easier for Mama to do it quickly, to not really look at all of them and not have a chance to smell all of them, so she wouldn’t throw up from all of that. Lila just hoped that would also help Mama swallow a star.
Mama didn’t notice the new bluish-gray pill in her palm as it jiggled among the colorful chemical poisons the doctors had prescribed. Lila wondered if she had done the right thing. She wondered if Mama felt it, or tasted it. She had faith in the stars, but she wasn’t sure if she understood them right. What if she was just supposed to hold on to the star, or have her mom smell it, or throw it back into the sky, or —
“Oh Lila,” Mama said, smiling. “I just had the funniest thought!” She laughed in a clear, solid way Lila hadn’t heard in a very long time. “The weatherman said it’s supposed to rain tomorrow —”
“Oh yeah?” Lila said tentatively, all too accustomed to allowing her Mama to rattle on about whatever she felt was important to discuss, but not used to this level of cheerfulness.
“Yeah!” Mama said, eyes bright and glazing over with the laugh she seemed to be trying to hold back. “I think we should go on a picnic!”
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Here in the Northern Hemisphere, Spring is upon us and for me — just like Lila and her mother — that means it is picnic season! What is your favorite Springtime activity?
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