We stand in the rain on the last day I will see him for months and months. His eyes are fixed on me, and a tear seeps down his cheek. He reaches out a calloused hand and takes mine. Kids skip past us up and down the stairs. They slide down the ramp beside the stairs. The adults stand inside, behind the glass church doors, talking, singing, laughing… But I cry, and my tears spill down my cheeks and no one can see them, except for him standing across from me in the early September rain. The flowers are still blooming amongst the rock décor beside the concrete stairs. But I cry, And the tears roll down my cheeks. His hair is light blonde and drenched as it is, I can see his scalp. His red polo is now maroon, his jeans are dark already and I cannot tell that they are soaked. His wet hand is gripping mine, “Don’t forget me.” The single tall oak tree beside the church sways in the wind. Its dead brown leaves break off the branches and twist away with the gusts of wind. “Don’t forget me.” The parking lot has accumulated puddles of water, a sheen that reflects the thick grey clouds overhead. He is staring at me, so I say “I won’t.” But somehow both of us know… We know. Maybe it’s the wind, maybe the clouds. And I cry, and my tears are hidden by the early September rain.