Dad used to love the rain. I thought to myself as I waited for the bus, my butterfly rainboots pinching my big and middle toes.

I checked my watch. Three more minutes to go. This bus was usually on time, but then again the rain might slow it down. There was a short Hispanic lady with her young son on the other side of the bus stop. He had a coat on, but she didn’t. It made me smile to look at them, him leaning on her as they slowly became soaked under the minimal glass cover. Reminded me of my dad, long before the stress of his new job had started to turn his hair gray and the cigarettes increased from 1 pack to 2 packs a day.

Still smiling as I reminisced, the mother sensed that I was staring and she glanced at me. Boldly, she didn’t look away, but she did scoot farther to the end of bench, eyes narrowed in distrust. Realizing I was making her uncomfortable, I stared down at my jeans, and not for the second time this evening since I got out of my late night grad class, I wished for a car that I couldn’t afford yet. It was times like these that I tried to practice the visualization techniques that my yoga teacher taught every Monday and Wednesday. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember my father’s happy disposition every time it rained. He would tilt his head back towards the sky, his hair soaked to the point it looked like black ink. Whenever it was nights like these, he even slept better towards the end, when the chemo was no longer doing anything to help his lungs, and the doctors just told us to make him as comfortable as possible. I would put “rain sounds” on repeat from YouTube, and he’d fall right to sleep until one day he didn’t wake up anymore.

It was these memories that helped past the time until the bus grudgingly pulled up in front of us, it’s wheels gliding with the puddles instead of forcing their way through.

I wanted to offer the woman and her son umbrella, but they’d probably just think I was creepy. My shoulders were hunched from the cold, my favorite boots that made my toes pinch in a dull agony. And besides, I needed it just as much as they did. I was about to board the bus after them when the strong wind turned it upside down, and forced it out of my hands. I jumped after it where it landed a few more feet. At some point, I tripped in a puddle, and when I picked myself up, the bus was gliding away.

“Hey!” I screamed, but the driver trudged along, ignoring me. I clenched my fist, my head down, until a clap of thunder made me look up, and it was there that I saw something which made me freeze. A skeleton stood before me, it’s eyes sunken in, my umbrella in its hand. It wore a heavy black coat, and a white scarf that covered it’s mouth. It’s eyes looked almost glassy, but the whiteness of the skull stood out against the dark contrast of the jacket. My breath became shallow and I was sure my heart skipped several beats. I swallowed, and I screamed at myself to run, but frozen with fear. No sound escaped my mouth. It wasn’t until the Skeleton raised its hand that I saw a butterfly in its left hand. Its electric blue wings flapped leisurely, as if it was a beautiful summer day instead of a dark and stormy night. My breath escaped me in a sharp gasp, and my hands flew to my mouth.

The Skeleton didn’t say a word.

I slowly lowered my hands and whispered, so softly I could barely hear myself. “Dad?”

A moment passed and I was sure the Skeleton hadn’t heard me, but just as I was about to lift one boot of the ground, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and in the blink of an eye, the Skeleton was gone.

My umbrella was still in the middle of the street, but it looked like it was back to normal.

I slowly bent to pick it up. You’re just shaking from the cold, I told myself, and started the long walk back home.