Between the bed and the cot we sat, along with two sheets of papers and a box of crayons, readying ourselves for our favourite pastime- drawing. After much debate, we decided to draw the rain. We drew out our pencil sketches of the rain and were eager to add colour between the lines. I was a model host, and I always put my guest’s needs before mine. “Here” I said, and handed her the blue crayon. “You should colour your rain first”.
“Thank you”.
But I saw her rain and was appalled. She had drawn zig-zag lines for the rain, instead of droplets.
“That’s not how the rain is”, I snapped.
She raised her head and cast her big brown eyes on my droplet rain artwork.
“It is like this, that’s not how the rain looks”.
“No, it does not”. I was adamant. I wouldn’t let her get away with her thunderbolt like rain.
We spent the next few minutes oscillating our eyes from one drawing to the other.
“Let’s go to our mothers”, she finally said, dissipating the silence.
“Yes”.
The resolution of how the rain should be drawn either didn’t happen or is a memory lost in the countless memories I’ve made with my best friend since that summer day, when those two 4-year olds argued about the rain.
Wool Gathering 