Rain Slickers, Dandelions, and Traffic Lights

Allen Washburn sighed heavily as the public bus groaned to a halt next to his stop. The stormclouds hung low over the horizon, inky black and utterly dreary. Plump raindrops pelted the concrete, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. As the office worker dejectedly made his way to the front of the vehicle, he felt his stomach clench. Nine blocks. Nine entire city blocks in this dreadful weather, after a tragically long day at the office. In his nice suit, too.

Sighing seemed appropriate.

Nodding at the bus driver, Allen pulled out his faithful black umbrella and braced himself for the nasty weather outside. As soon as his foot hit the pavement, the heavy rain began to assault the slick fabric above his head, and Allen hunched his broad shoulders in a futile attempt to keep them dry. Staring at his soon-soaked dress shoes, the man narrowed his eyes and sped up his pace.

Barely five minutes into his dejected shuffle home, Allen suddenly stumbled across a little yellow mass. Having failed to look up, he had promptly collided with a small girl, clad in a bright rain slicker. The two bounced away from one another, each thrown off balance.

“Oh!” she exclaimed happily as Allen swung his arms around, his feet skidding on the slippery ground. The movement of his umbrella led to a swift drenching of his head and shoulders, and shivering, he quickly replaced it.

Allen finally glanced at his surroundings, and realized that he had reached the block’s corner. The harsh swish of passing cars, the roar of rain water tumbling down the gutters, and the soft breathing of the small girl who stood beaming before him filled his ears.

Allen blinked, a little put off by the young one’s grin. He had nearly toppled her over in his carelessness. She could have been at least a little upset.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Allen tipped his chin. “Are you alright?”

“I’m quite fine, sir!” the little girl piped, her freckled cheeks stretching even wider in a smile. Wild auburn wisps of hair poked out from beneath her bright yellow rain slicker hood, and eyes as green as grass shown from beneath the shadows of the storm. In her small hand she clutched one dandelion flower.

Allen smiled faintly, then turned and pressed the button to be able to cross the street. When he glanced over once more, the girl seemed to have drawn even closer to his side. She stared at the cars racing past, following their motions closely with wide eyes. Feeling rude if he stood in silence for much longer, Allen asked her, “What are you doing out on such an unpleasant evening?”

Without looking up, she replied cheerfully, “Being the sun, of course.”

Allen blinked, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t deal with children much. With none of his own, and his nieces and nephews hardly visiting anymore, there were simply no opportunities. The man wasn’t certain if the child was being silly, or serious. He had heard that it was best not to assume either, but how could he answer her if he didn’t pick a position?

Before he could decide, the little girl said, “My grandma told me that rain slickers are yellow so that you can be the sun when the rain comes. I’m letting the sun take a sick day!”

Allen nodded slowly. “I see.”

The girl nodded excitedly, rain slipping off of her hood. Her nose was pushed up slightly at the end, and for some reason she reminded Allen very much of a pixie, from old fairy tales he had once read, long ago. If he squinted, he could even see how her ears could be the tiniest bit pointed.

The street sign beeped, and Allen prepared to cross the road. To his great surprise, the little girl quickly slipped her free hand into his own, and began to tug him forwards. Her hand felt remarkably warm and soft in Allen’s grip, and he was suddenly struck by her immense innocence. When he hesitated to move forward, she quickly shot him another smile, her emerald eyes twinkling, and pulled harder. His feet moved without him asking, and the pair began across the damp asphalt, the rain sliding from his umbrella to splash onto her bright shiny hood.

“I’m Elliotte!” the little girl exclaimed, her teeth white against the dull gray of the sky. “And my grandma always says to find a hand to hold when you cross the street, you know. What’s yours?”

Allen’s mind seemed muddled, far too slow to keep up with this quick child.

“Allen,” he murmured absently, watching how the wisps of her red hair stirred in the breeze, like candle flames flickering in the twilight.

“That’s a nice name.”

By now they had crossed the road, and Elliotte released his hand to bounce onto the curb, balance for a moment, then continue. Allen noticed how she walked with a sort of poise, her arms slightly raised from her sides, as if she might take flight at any given moment. A little canary, she would be, Allen thought with a small smile. Bright yellow, and singing just loudly enough to be pleasing to the ear.

Elliotte fell back into step beside Allen, humming softly. Allen clutched his umbrella with both hands, suddenly missing her gentle touch.

The little girl slowly raised her hand to level with her face, fingers curled around the dandelion flower. She pursed her lips and kissed the tiny plant, then looked at Allen happily.

“My grandma says that dandelions are like the stars of the earth, you know. The yellow ones are like baby wishes. Everyone thinks the silver ones are best, the ones you blow on, but these are like children. They aren’t shooting stars, they aren’t full grown, but they’re like unborn promises, just waiting to happen. I like that.”

Smiling contentedly, Elliotte then rubbed the flower lightly under her chin, leaving streaks of pollen on her pale, freckled chin. She raised her eyebrows and waved the flower towards Allen, the thin green stalk waving in the breeze, droplets of rain working through its golden petals.

“Would you like to try, Allen?” she offered sweetly. Allen noticed how her lips were shaped like two of the flower petals pressed together, only light and pink and soft. “I love how smooth they are.”

Allen started shaking his head to turn down her offer, although he wasn’t sure why, when a large automobile materialized behind the small girl, barrelling past on the street. A huge wave of street water rose in a mist and enveloped the pair, soaking Allen’s dress pants thoroughly. While he looked down in dismay, Elliotte instead laughed aloud. It was a shrill, joyous sound that sliced through the foggy evening air, tapering away bit by bit to a low giggle. Now her red hair was no longer a gathering of flame wisps, but soggy tendrils hanging around her cheekbones. But she seemed utterly delighted.

Tucking the dandelion back into her slicker pocket, Elliotte turned from Allen to point towards a traffic light up the street. As they continued to walk, she babbled on, her green eyes never leaving the light ahead.

“I’ve noticed something lately, Mr. Allen,” she stated matter-of-factly. “At traffic lights, the middle one, the yellow one, that is, is often overlooked, you know. People don’t like to slow down until they absolutely have to, just keep going and going and then they’re just stopping altogether. I think it’s a shame. I’ve been thinking that maybe if people slowed down more once in a while, maybe they’d see the dandelions, or stop to wonder why rain slickers are yellow.”

Allen glanced at the the yellow traffic light, which quickly shifted to its more familiar crimson color. His eyes wandered back to the little slicker-clad girl beside him, and suddenly he was a bit melancholy about the fact that his apartment was only a block away by now. Elliotte simply grinned at him, her rain boots squeaking through the shallow puddles along the sidewalk cracks.

“You’re a peculiar girl,” was all that Allen could manage.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Elliotte agreed easily, tilting her head thoughtfully. “My counselor tells me that I am quite odd compared to some of the other children my age. I would like to become an artist, or a writer, or a sculptor, or something else creative, but she says that if I keep dreaming and imagining stories or reasons for why things are so, I’ll never do anything practical. She says there is no room for little writers, little artists, little dreamers. They don’t make lots of money, they don’t become famous or talk on the television. But here’s what I think, Mr. Allen.”

Allen had reached his apartment doorstep, damp and cold, and yet, he was absolutely dreading turning his back on this strange young girl to go inside, and lapse into silence once more. To not hear her song-like voice exploring the world around her.

“What do you think, Elliotte?” he whispered, cherishing this young one’s innocence, her earnest awe in all things beautiful, and her excitement towards all that approached her.

“I think, if everything’s got to be so practical, I wonder, why is it that rain slickers needed to be yellow in the first place?”

Allen laughed aloud, softly at first, then growing in volume as he thought about it more. Elliotte beamed, her own slicker gleaming with precipitation, her orange freckles bright on pale skin.

“I think you’re right, Elliotte. Yellow slickers aren’t very practical, I suppose.”

“Unless you want to be the sun,” she claimed brightly. “That’s quite practical, to me!”

Allen smiled deeply, an unfamiliar feeling of warmth spreading inexplicably through his cold, tired body. This little girl had somehow made his whole day seem radiant, as if she really were a miniature sun shining into his walk home and brightening his day.

“Thanks for walking me home, Elliotte,” Allen said, his smile fading slightly as he realized that he’d soon have to turn to his doorstep. “It was a true pleasure.”

“Oh, but we’ll meet again, Mr. Allen!” Elliotte cried joyfully, spinning around quickly in the drizzle. “I can walk you home again tomorrow, too, if you’d like.” She paused and looked at him earnestly, emerald eyes serious for once.

Allen’s lips melted into another smile. “I would adore that, Ms. Elliotte.” She beamed back at him, and once again he was struck by her pixie-like mannerisms. “Until tomorrow?”

“Oh yes!” Elliotte said, turning to dance away, her steps thrown with such playful purposefulness that Allen felt she was headed on a great adventure, with a destination only she could reach. The small girl in the yellow rain slicker threw up one hand to wave to the businessman standing at his front door, who had been merely a stranger to her only minutes before.

“We will talk soon, Mr. Allen! After all,” she raised her arms to her sides as if she were going to take flight at that moment. “Everyone needs a hand to hold when crossing the street!”

When Allen had finished watching the young lady skip around the corner and disappear into the stormy evening, he glanced down, and spotted a curious yellow smudge on the concrete of his doorstep.

There on the harsh grit of the paved ground lay a delicate dandelion, an unborn promise.

A young star of the earth.