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Spring Rain
Angela Lin
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Honourable Mention
Lilac Imber was a new student who moved to my class at an odd time
in the year. Everyone had already developed solid friendship circles
by this point, and normally they were not keen on expanding them.
Despite this, her cheery attitude encouraged everyone to include and
get along with her and she instantly became popular. If you could
describe Lilac, you would probably say she seemed like spring—calm,
beautiful and happy. But in reality, she’s shown me over the time I
knew her that her heart has been filled with rain.
The story began five years ago. Along with countless other people,
I quickly befriended the popular new girl. Unlike the others, however,
I felt like I was particularly close to her, because we had several
common interests and spent almost every day together before,
during and after school. I bonded with her faster than I’d ever
bonded with anyone before, not that I’d done that much bonding to
begin with. It wasn’t like I was completely friendless before Lilac; it
was just that I had only had ‘friends’. No ‘best friends’, no ‘soul
mates’, no ‘companions’—nothing of the sort. She was a nice change
because I had finally found someone I could share my snarky
comments, quirky humour and embarrassing secrets with. And
though Lilac did share her darkest secrets, in turn, with me (like how
when she was little she hugged a random woman in the supermarket
because she was wearing the same outfit as her mum), she always
seemed a little distant and mysterious no matter how close we
became as friends. She never shared much about her family, nor had
I ever met any of her relatives through the course of the three and a
half years I’d known her. Furthermore, whenever we’d hung out at
her tiny apartment after school, we had always been alone because
apparently her parents worked all week apart from weekends; even
public holidays. I could never come over on weekends, either,
because Lilac worked all Saturday and Sunday at her part-time job
which was at a café in the city.
The last time I ever spoke to Lilac was during our final year of
high school. It was just another normal day near the end of the third
term. Lilac and I were walking to her apartment as it was not far
from the school, and the weather was nice because it was spring. At
this point, I’d known her for a little over three years. As we were
walking, I was complaining about how my parents were being stingy
about some petty problem I no longer remember. This wasn’t the
first time I’d grumbled about my parents, but on this particular
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