Jamie’s mother loved birthdays and stories and the rain. She also loved drugs. Unfortunately, she loved the latter much more than the former. When she was younger, Jamie always said “if mama never got addicted to drugs she would have been the best mama in the world.” Now, at thirteen, Jamie counters with “she would also be alive.”

Jamie’s mother, Celia, was the only person Jamie had ever loved. When she wasn’t under the
control of a pill or powder, Celia was beautiful. When being alive was enough of a high, Celia was
passionate about her daughter. She’d comb Jamie’s long, thick hair and tell her stories about the boys
she’d fallen in love with. One time, on Jamie’s birthday, her mother told Jamie about what it felt like to be kissed in the rain. Jamie’s face turned bright red and she touched her lips.

“One day, Jay, a boy’s going to kiss you just like your daddy kissed me.”

Celia didn’t talk much about her husband. This was mostly due to the fact that Jamie’s father’s
death had cut her deep. She always told Jamie, “Baby girl, when you find that kind of love, you hold on to it for dear life, because you ain’t ever gonna get it again.”

Celia found the kind of love you hold on to for dear life. She also lost it and she knew goddamn
well she was never going to find it again. That didn’t stop the men from looking. Jamie would catch
wanting eyes travel down the length of her mother’s body every time she walked into a room. Celia was
gorgeous and she knew it. The girls at Jamie’s school said she looked just like her mother. Jamie just
didn’t know how to wear her beauty and her mother didn’t live long enough to teach her.

Yesterday was Jamie’s birthday. She turned thirteen. Celia loved birthdays. She said it was a time to celebrate ourselves. A time to celebrate being alive.

Little clear droplets hit the hardwood panels of the deck. Celia loved the rain and Jamie did too.

Sometimes when it was raining, if Celia was clean and Jamie had finished the dishes, they would run outside and open their mouths. Drops of rain would hit their hungry tongues and they’d laugh till their stomachs hurt.

Now, Jamie didn’t like to think much of birthdays or stories or the rain.