Rain

Christian Jackson '26

The sound of glass shattering makes me wince. It was loud enough for me to hear all the way from my car. My parents must have miscalculated the windows being unlocked. I wish they had taken it as a sign to forfeit and come back to the car; the window is now another complication.

Rain begins to patter on my windshield, softly as I stare at the suburban home in front of me. I roll up my back windows, I had rolled them down earlier to bring in some cool air, since the night was warm. I consider turning on my windshield wipers, but I don’t. I let the raindrops assemble to obscure my view completely; I don’t want to see the home my parents are now moving through stealthily.

I float away from the situation as the rain consumes the car. The neighborhood outside is nice, affluent, the type of neighborhood a person dreams to live in with a family of their own. The family living in the house I no longer can see is in for a surprise when they return from their trip to find their home ransacked. The mansions here are breathtaking.

Jobs. I wonder what the owners of the mansion do for a living. Married? Kids? I formulate an image of what their life must look like. But instead of a faceless, picture-perfect family in the fantasy, it’s my family. One day, once we hit enough neighborhoods, we’ll buy a similar house in a similar neighborhood. That’s what my parents say. They never say home.

Our house is nice. Mansions like this one are what contribute to our stable lifestyle, more specifically the valuables inside the mansions. The rain obscures the house, protecting it from my eyes. 

I roll down my window again, the front one this time. My parents should be leaving the home within a few minutes. I need to see them coming.

A few drops of rain fall into my lap in the driver's seat, not smooth like tears but uncomfortably warm like sweat. I wonder to myself if I’m a bad person; The thought is a tradition, something I ponder every time my parents do their job. Every time I let them, stay silent and drive them away from the house. That’s my role. 

That’s when I see them returning, two black silhouettes bobbing across the front lawn. I unlock the car, not watching as they move whatever loot they have into the trunk. They acknowledge me as they slide into the seats, slick with rain. I put the car in drive and my mom complains about the wet seats, the leather’s going to crack. My dad orders me to turn on my windshields, what’s the matter with me? The rain seems to lighten as I do what I’m told and drive them away.