AUTHOR: EMILY RAE-BRINSDEN
Rain had followed Poppy throughout her entire life, the background track to all the monumental
moments that ended up making her, well, her.
Poppy lost her first tooth in the rain. She had been playing outside during a storm, yellow
gumboots sticky with mud and sunflower-patterned raincoat the only thing providing her warmth
when she had slipped on the wet grass of the backyard. Poppy had immediately begun to cry—
despite the fact that six-year-olds were big girls, and big girls don’t cry—and Poppy’s mother, who
had been watching her from the kitchen window, had run out with tissues to wipe away the blood
from a cut on her chin. When Poppy had gone to talk to her mother, she had spat out a tooth
instead: luckily, it had been wobbly anyway.
Poppy’s baby sister, Iris, had been born in the middle of a thunderstorm. It had been the first time
she had slept over at somebody else’s, as the neighbours were looking after her while her parents
were at the hospital. And luckily, they had a twelve-year-old daughter of their own. The two had
watched cartoons in the afternoon, Poppy checking her driveway after the end of every show to
see if her parents were home—because while she knew her mother was having her baby sister,
she didn’t quite know how long the ‘having’ took. She had eaten dinner with her neighbours,
swapping her carrot sticks for lettuce with their teenage son, and then she had eaten ice cream
for dessert. The rain was still going when it came time for bed, and her parents were still out:
Poppy had slept on a spare mattress in the neighbour’s daughter room, and the two quietly played
games with her stuffed toys and squealed at the rumbling of thunder and crackling of lightning,
as most little girls would do.
Poppy’s thirteenth birthday had taken place on a rainy day. The wet weather didn’t ruin the day,
however; while the family had been planning on going to the zoo to celebrate, Poppy had much
more fun opening her presents in the morning, and then playing with them with a one-year-old Iris
for the rest of the day while her parents watched and took photos.
•••
“Poppy,” Iris called, one day when the sky was grey and pouring, “do you like the rain?”
Poppy looked up from the book she was reading across the living room, only now noticing that
Iris had given up her colouring to press her face up against the glass and watch the storm.
Poppy crouched down, placing a hand against Iris’ head as she joined her in watching the ongoing
storm. Poppy thought for a moment before replying; and because rain followed Poppy wherever
she went she replied: “yeah. I do. It’s reassuring… reminds me of the things I love the most.” She
scooped Iris up in her arms and kissed all over her chubby little face, “just like you!”
The kisses made Iris smile.