That morning as she opened her umbrella and stepped into the rain, she felt the first stirrings of freedom. The molds of flesh she had accumulated over the years no longer seemed to imprison her. Today they were wide canvases eager to be touched. And painted. 

So she walked even as the raindrops gathered speed. Even as the mud splayed myriad patterns on her tunic. Even as her shoes felt wet and squishy. 

The morning walkers had trooped out of the park. The watchman's wife had gone back to her cooking. The park stretched before her wet and empty.

That was when she saw them. Boys! As she walked past them, a voice reached her.

“Walker! Walker!”

Slowly the voice became a chorus. 

“Walker! Walker!”

“Walker! Walker!”

“Walker! Walker!”

As the voices tore through her mind, she realized she was no longer in the park. She was sixteen and on a wide, empty street. And as she cycled in trepidation, a motorbike whizzed past her and a calloused hand roughly grabbed her breast.

Under the umbrella, she felt hot. She did not want to remember that hand. Not now.

She continued to walk. As she neared the bend, once more the voices reached her. Leering, mocking voices.

"Madddumm…can we walk with you under the umbrella?"

"Madddumm…can we walk with you under the umbrella?"

"Madddumm…can we walk with you under the umbrella?"

Something snapped within her. She turned her back abruptly and looked at the youngsters. They were four of them. As water streamed down their faces, they looked surprised. Perhaps, they hadn’t expected her to turn back. As she hardened her stare, they began to shift uncomfortably. Silence returned to the park. She watched as they rose from their seats. And walked out through the gate.

She continued to stare. At their wet, receding backs.

As the rain came down in sheets, she began to walk.

“Tell me,” she wanted to shout to the lot, “Had it been a man, would you have sung the same cacophonous song?”

But she did not. Outside the park, the young men disappeared into the rain.

As she resumed her walk, the answers no longer mattered. They were insignificant. The emptiness felt strangely intimate. Like a long lost lover.