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Escorting the Sun

The day I met Rachel it wasn't raining in Walla Walla, Washington. Actually it was a sunny spring day in Ohio when I was navigating my scooter around some smaller kids on the church sidewalk. I looked up and saw her. She was wearing the strangest clothes I had ever seen: pink knit stockings, a shiny blue skirt, a long red sweater over a small yellow "Save the Whales" shirt, and a green artist's hat. She looked like a rainbow!

"Hello," she fixed her brown eyes on me as I hesitated to stare at her. "I'm Rachel."

"I'm Anna," I answered, clearing my throat.

"It's not raining in Washington," she told me without blinking. "So let's be friends."

"Okay," I agreed, too stunned to say otherwise.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at my scooter. I tried not to be offended, seeing as how my father constructed the contraption from some scrap we found in a junkyard.

"It's a scooter," I mumbled, blushing. "I haven't found any paint for it yet."

"Oh, it looks great," Rachel said quickly, watching me lean the handlebars against the church building before we walked through the glass doors. "I've just never seen one before."

"Oh," I managed casually, automatically steering her toward my Sunday School class. "Well, that's what we do for fun around here."

I've never been much of a popular girl at school or church. I never feel extraordinary, but that day I felt that I had escorted the sun into the class.

"Anna, will you introduce your friend?" my teacher asked.

My friend, I thought, smiling. "This is Rachel from Washington," I spoke boldly.

"Washington State," Rachel added.

Somehow the conversation and atmosphere of the class was more animated than normal. Even I spoke up once.

"Here's my new house number," Rachel handed me a slip of paper. "Call me and we can hang out sometime."

"Okay," was all I thought to say as she turned and was swallowed by the mass of people surging in the hallway. Then I remembered the race. Too late.

"Is Rachel there?" I whispered into the phone the next day. It was the first time I ever dialed anyone's number.

"Hi, Anna," Rachel answered, her voice dripping like a cloudy day.

"What's wrong?" I asked, carefully cradling the phone to my ear.

"I hate it when it rains, that's all."

"But it's not raining," I said, surprised. I pulled aside the living room curtain to make sure. "No, it's actually nice outside."

"Oh," she said, not sounding convinced.

"So you want to come over?" I tried to sound cheerful. "I need to practice for the race coming up and maybe you'd like to be in it too."

"On rainy days my friends and I went to the movies." Rachel still sounded depressed.

"Your parents let you do that?"

"Yeah, the mall was down the street so we could walk," she explained and continued to talk about Walla Walla, Washington for the next half hour.

I sighed. "So are you coming over?"

"Maybe when the weather's better," she replied and we hung up.

Although the sun was shining and the pavement was calling, I plopped disappointedly onto the couch next to my little brother. He was watching a countrywide weather program. He always watches the strangest shows.

My eyes drifted back toward the screen. My jaw dropped.

It was raining in Walla Walla, Washington.

The weather report the next day looked more promising. Rain was predicted on the other side of the country for late afternoon.

Rachel's mom brought her to my house after lunch. While our mothers talked in the kitchen, Rachel showed me what she had brought me.

"Paint!" I cried, watching her pull the can out of the back seat of her mom's black car.

"It's left over from painting my room," she said sheepishly. "It might not look too good."

"It'll be great," I assured her, overjoyed. I couldn't believe she had thought of me.

We painted my scooter a bright blue and left the chrome silver. I couldn't imagine a room covered in such a color, but my scooter looked nice at last.

When the paint was dry, I began teaching Rachel how to ride the scooter.

"It's like a skateboard with handlebars," she giggled, pushing off with one foot.

I finished raising the bars on my brother’s scooter and I pushed off to catch up. "That's because it is," I said, passing her easily. To show off, I cut a few corners and jumped the curb.

"How do you do that?" she asked, just like I hoped she would.

"Well," I explained, "we have scooter races every Sunday after church. We have a course all set up and you have to go over curbs and turn fast. It takes practice, but if you want to beat the boys you learn quickly.”

We practiced on the hills and curbs in the sidewalks down my street. Rachel was a fast learner.

"Let's race!" I suggested finally.

"You think I'm ready, Teacher?" Rachel teased.

I pointed to the end of the sidewalk and we were off. We were neck-and-neck until Rachel wiped out.

"Are you okay?" I cried, helping her up off the grass.

"Yeah," Rachel answered, seeming unhurt, but she wasn't smiling anymore. "It's starting to get slippery."

I glanced at the dry sidewalk. "Slippery?"

"Let's go inside," she commanded, dragging my scooter toward home.

Her mother took her home soon afterward. She didn't say much to me before she left.

"Everything okay, honey?" my mother asked when I dropped myself on the couch again.

"Does Rachel like me?" I asked her.

"Her mother says she talks of nothing else but you," she answered. "Which is a good thing because she's been very homesick for Washington."

“I just wish she could see what nice weather we’re having,” I muttered. I didn't need to turn on the television to learn the weather there.

On Sunday morning, I arrived at church with my family, wishing I'd been able to sneak a peek at the weather report before we left.

When I saw Rachel in class, I grinned and sat next to her. She nodded at me and looked like fog. Even her clothes gave the impression of puffy grey clouds holding water.

"There's a race today and I brought both scooters," I told her. She shrugged.

"Rain?" I whispered, knowing it was once again a clear Ohio day.

She nodded.

"Well," I smiled to myself, pulling out a black object. "This is for you."

She saw the umbrella in my hand and her face lit. "I'm glad you're my friend," she said.

I couldn't wait for the race.

-amanda johns 2004