October 29, 2012
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reunion, not the weather
“In my dream I was pinned to a glass wall by a sheet of rain. If I moved, I would be drenched. I couldn’t even move my head to look down at the tiny part of the concrete I was standing on that was dry. I could see thirty feet away a safe place, but if I went for it I would be soaked before I got there.”
Her arms were crossed and she leaned forward on the counter and looked out the rain-speckled window. We sat in blue chairs with high metal legs that made our feet dangle. I could tell I didn’t know her by the coarseness of her taut cheeks, a message that she had welled something up long ago and never told me.
“I don’t think people desire anything,” she said.
“That’s a ridiculous thing to say.”
“I wonder if these streets go anywhere. If I could drive somewhere on them and feel like I were somewhere else entirely.”
“I miss your voice in my head,” I reflected.
“I’m not God.”
“No one is,” I shrugged.
The door jingled as people walked in and out and my belief in a connection with her would snap as I craned my head to see who it was. I felt hated by people who saw me.
“The correct answer to ‘do you love me?’ is always No.”
“I know.”
Cars drove through puddles and people in hoodies looked down as they were doused by the grey sky above them. All cursed in their minds and did not know that the rain had nothing to do with it. We sat there for awhile until we grew uncomfortable with the amount of truth we realized in each other’s presence. I may have pretended to text, or she went to the bathroom, but pretty soon things were back to normal.
