"It Rained" — A Confession to Jack Thao

I don’t like it when it rains.

It’s wet, cold, and gloomy.

Did it also rain that November in 2013-

The last time I saw you?

Whether it was rain or snow,

something fell.

You weren’t quite my friend,

nor just an acquaintance.

Something in the middle-

We never knew how to name ourselves.

How you got a hold of my number,

I’ll never know.

But when you first called,

I didn’t recoil.

I was excited.

Happy.

Everyone had been so cruel-

Until You.

That glimmer of hope.

That brief spark of someone sees me,

not the labels that lament me.

Then, you were just as cruel upon meeting me.

Probably a teenage boy’s bluntness-was it?

Even after I blocked you,

Refused to speak to you,

You still managed to find a way

To get me to go out with you.

The Hmong New Year, was it?

Twice that weekend.

Just you and me.

Didn’t know that was the last time that I would see you.

If I had known, I would’ve captured the moment longer, held on to the memory longer.

But you were just so annoying.

Typical annoying Hmong boy.

I think we argued not long after.

You never raised your voice-

You simply let me lash out.

Then, as sensitive as I am,

I blocked you again.

Six months later,

I unblocked you.

And you called me-

After Death had already crossed out your name.

You said, “I’m sorry.”

And in that moment,

I didn’t understand it.

The next morning,

I learned of your passing.

Angry as I was,

Petty as I was,

I didn’t attend your funeral.

Eleven years danced away,

and even still,

I didn’t think of you much.

Though sometimes-

You visited me in dreams.

Just half of your face.

Never whole.

Until yesterday.

It rained in the dream.

You offered me an umbrella.

I saw your face,

Still that same annoying 19-year-old boy,

barely a man.

I took cover beneath your umbrella,

And instantly, I’m 20 again.

The walk to the building wasn’t long.

Our mouths moved-

But there was no dialogue.

And so in wake…

I finally visited.

And in the wake,

It Rained.