The principal had summoned her to the office ten minutes ago, yet was still on the phone! She was missing an important lecture in her Latin class. She looked around the room, at the wall clock, then the principal, then the floor, then the wall clock again, and all the while her left foot was tapping, tapping. She crossed her arms and gazed at the principal. The principal spoke in low tones and she couldn't make out what he was saying. Her eyes wandered to the small pocket watch she always carried with her. She popped it open for the billionth time, and read the inscription, "To my dearest daughter, for whom I would do anything." She smiled at the watch and the thought of her father -- Then snapped it shut and gently returned it to her pocket, its permanent resting place.
Her attention was arrested at once by the click of the receiver and the voice of the principal, now addressing her. "You're father was killed in a car accident three hours ago. I'm sorry to inform you like this, but…" She heard no more. She glanced at the wall clock, and noticed its hands had stopped moving. With glassy eyes she eyed the frozen principal and calmly turned and walked out of the office.
Without seeing, without hearing, she wandered stiff limbed into the snow covered school yard. A boom of thunder coaxed her face to the sky. The weather had been transformed from a cheery morning to a black, churning mass of ravenous storm clouds. She wryly smiled at the change and walked with heavy steps onward. Her face was fixed in granite while her fingers groped for her pocket watch. She clutched at it and marched through the schoolyard, past the far north-east end, and into the forest which bordered it.
The white ground covering between the trees did nothing to light them. They seemed to drink what little light managed to enter their shrouded haven, preserving the vast darkness they enjoyed. She walked in their deep shadow for another twenty minutes, glancing neither to the right, nor to the left, following a trail she had followed many times before. She seemed not to see the frozen lake which loomed just ahead of her, but she clutched more tightly to the watch. As she took her first steps onto the thin ice, she turned her face away from the sickening crack of ice breaking to face the murderous sky. She plunged into the hole in the lake, her fingers like rock around the watch, her face upturned to the boiling clouds with a smile on it as sinister as the storm.
The principal had called her into the office ten minutes ago, yet was still on the phone! She was missing an important lecture in her Latin class. Her eyes searched the room, drifting to the wall dock periodically, while she impatiently tapped her foot. Her gaze fell on the principal. He was talking in very low tones on the phone1 and she couldn't make out what he said, but she really wasn't that interested. She reached into her pocket for her small pocket watch, and popped it open. She couldn't help but smile at the inscription, "To my dearest daughter, for whom I would do anything." Her father was her best friend1 her sole confidant--she had never been very social, and after her mother died she had withdrawn even more. Her father had done everything for her already, and she knew she could always count on him. She snapped the watch shut, and slid it back to its resting place.
The click of the receiver brought her attention back to the principal who now addressed her, "You're father was killed in a car accident three hours ago. I'm sorry to inform you like this, but..." In shock, her hearing shut itself off in defense. Her subconcious refused to allow her to hear what the principal was saying. She felt that time had stopped, and glanced at the clock on the wall. For her, it had. She could no longer see the hands move, and the principal was a statue. She glared at the statue that had so matter-of-factly ruined her life for ever, turned on her heel, and walked out of the office.
Her muscles, her body would not cooperate with her. She moved stiffly into the snowy schoolyard, her senses flashing red malfunction lights. A boom of thunder coaxed her face to the sky. She saw the tremendous transformation from that bright morning to the now ravenous black clouds, and smiled wryly as she saw the same transformation in herself. She felt very little, but knew the raging storm inside her would very soon break loose, and overpower her. She knew it was just a matter of time before she felt the full impact, and she had already formulated a plan, as she always did in a crisis. She marched steadily onward, through the schoolyard, to the forest past the north-east end. The trees drained the forest of all light, but it didn't matter. She had walked this path many times. Where it led was one of her favorite places of meditation, but that was not why she was going there now. She stared straight ahead welcoming the permanent repose she was about to enter. As the frozen lake loomed just ahead of her, she clutched at the watch more tightly, and took her first steps onto the thin ice. She turned her face away from the sickening sound of ice breaking, and looked at the boiling mass of sky just above her as she plunged into the lake, on her face plastered a smile as sinister as the storm.
So she sat in the coffee shop with a newspaper and a steaming cup, and she fixed her eyes upon the New York street outside the window. Her appearance was that of a woman who looked a bit older than she should have. Her makeup was perfect and her clothes were sharp and tailored, but her back was rounded a bit and her mouth turned down slightly at the corners.
The silence in the shop filled her ears as she perched on her seat. She took a long drink from her coffee cup and licked her lips. Other patrons sat absorbed in their own business -- reading, sipping, thinking. She took up a napkin and began to tear it into little tiny pieces until it became a withered pile in front of her.
The skies seemed to inflate in darkness and then rain began to fall in a downpour. A few coffee shop patrons stood and went to the windows, craning their necks up and then down at the rain-slicked city. "So it's raining," they said collectively, and nodded at the sky.
She glanced up a minute and noted the rain herself, then tightened her lips and pulled her leather jacket about her shoulders. Picking up some of the napkin pile, she let a few pieces fall like limp confetti.
A bell tinkled and a blast of cold air blotted out the fading warmth in the shop as a man dressed in a black pinstripe suit entered, a loose black coat slung about his shoulders and an umbrella in his hand. Her eyes brushed over him a moment, and then she jerked back to her paper in silence.
"Cafe au lait, please," he smiled. Steaming cup in hand, he walked to the door and made his exit to the sound of the bell. She stood and pitched her empty cup into the trash, wincing a bit at the noise it made, and then she tugged her coat tight about her arms and went out the door herself.
He was standing underneath the awning above the door, gazing out at the rain and the streets it moistened. She stood straight up in the frigid air and performed her various adjustments: tucking a strand of inky hair behind her ear, tugging at her black leather gloves, clearing her throat so that the sound vibrated in the air. The man sipped his steaming cup and ran a thumb along the handle of his black umbrella.
She put one hand out from under the awning and watched her glove collect water. "I hate the rain," she said suddenly, pulling in the hand and stuffing it into her pocket. Her face whitened a little but she said nothing more.
The man turned and looked at her for a moment with very green eyes, and then he too put his hand out to feel the drizzle. "I love the rain"" he said finally, and his eyes took in the sleek modern buildings now dewy in the rain shower.
Her back hunched over a little more and she turned up the collar of her light jacket around her neck. "Well, I hate it." She stared at a large puddle that lay just in front of the awning and pressed her lips together tightly.
The rain pelted down and the puddle grew larger by the second. Suddenly a smile came over his features and he thrust his umbrella into her hand. He ran out into the rain, laughing and lifting his face to the sky. In a matter of seconds he was soaked through; his suit drenched and mottled and his hair a tangle of wet dark curls. He laughed again and faced her with raindrops framing his eyelashes.
She stood gripping his umbrella and gaped at him. Her mouth opened and closed and she put a gloved hand out into the rain again. "Wait --" she cried, while the hand that held the umbrella started to shake.
"No, keep it," he called back. "I wouldn't want you to hate this!" She blinked and he was off and running down the street; the echo of his laugh cascading off the dripping world. A few pedestrians under their umbrellas jumped aside as he splashed by and watched him until he turned a comer and was gone.
She stood quietly underneath the awning, looking at the umbrella. The rain drummed threateningly above her.
Suddenly the corners of her lips turned up, and she stepped out into the rain underneath the man's umbrella. Again the rain poured down above her. She stuck out a hand, then a smile overtook her face completely. She flung down the umbrella and threw her face up to the cold wetness of it all. The rain seeped into her leather jacket and her lipstick began to fade but she marched down the street and turned the corner. The passersby stared after her but as her face was uplifted to the sky she never saw them.
So she sat in the coffee shop and thought of all that came before and all that would come since--endless parades of silent mornings with no other companions but a paper, a coffee cup, and a silent loneliness that lingered somewhere in the back of her heart. That loneliness gnawed at her now as she lifted her cup to her lips (chapped in the bitter New York cold) and took a long ugly drink that spread none of its warmth inside her.
She was thirty now, she thought bitterly. Thirty and painfully single were words that when put together spelled doom for a woman in this new age of technology and numbers and cybernetic relationships. Sometimes it was difficult to think on the woman she had always planned to be: married, two children, contemplating china sets and silverware. Perhaps it was all a washed-up fifties mentality. Her dulled black eyes flicked around the coffee shop and a certain kind of despair filled her as she realized that most patrons were like herself: pensive, inconspicuous, and alone.
It began to rain and inwardly she groused at the sty. She hadn't thought to bring an umbrella and now her new leather coat would be spoiled, just as the now-forgotten warmth inside her was spoiled from too many years of bitterness left simmering on the back burner. The patrons began shuffling uneasily to the windows, creating operas of disdain and stating the blatantly obvious: "So it's raining." "Oh my! Raining." "Raining again." How she wished they would all melt in the downpour like so many paper dolls of the same mold.
The bell on the door tinkled and a pair of eclectic black shoes stepped inside the dwindling glow of the coffee shop. The man wearing them shook a black umbrella out the door and then stepped up to the counter with a placid air of indifference. She eyed him hungrily for a moment and thought of the nice piece of work he was, and then she returned to her paper and coffee with an inner laugh--as if he would ever look at her!
"Cafe au lait, please," he ordered easily, and, cup in hand, went to the door once more to head out into the rain. She stood and pitched her empty cup into the trash with a blast of anger at herself and pulled her soon-to-be-destroyed coat around her shoulders savagely. The bell tinkled in an ironic way as she stepped outside into the cold.
To her surprise and exasperation, the man had not gone. He stood underneath the small awning above the doorway, sipping his coffee and staring peacefully at the sleek New York street wet with rain. She shuddered in the cold and glared out at the same scene as if to wreak vengeance upon Mother Nature's invasion of the city. The listless curtain of rain boiled over the bitterness inside her and she found herself blurting out, "How I hate the rain!" She recoiled at his quick gaze, feeling ashamed and very small all at once.
He turned to her and she saw his eyes were an unexpected shade of green. "I love the rain," he remarked thoughtfully, without a trace of reproach in his voice.
She was unused to this sort of reaction and scowled to protect herself from confusion. "Well," she said stubbornly, "I hate it." Now walk away, she dared him gleefully, at the same time wondering why she wanted to fail yet again. Everything failed for her time after time after time.
A silent moment passed between them. Then suddenly he smiled and thrust his umbrella into her hand. He ran out into the rain with the speed and excitement of a little boy let loose to splash in so many puddles. In a matter of seconds he was soaked through, his pinstripe suit now black and mottled, his hair a tangle of dark curls. He laughed aloud and turned back to her a moment with his face full of unashamed glee.
She stood stiffly, open-mouthed and holding his umbrella in her hand. Desperately she groped for something to say, something to plead -- "Wait!" she called, putting one toe uncertainly forward into the rain that pelted down upon his glowing face.
"No!" he called back delightedly, "Keep it! I wouldn't want you to hate this!" And in a blink of her huge eye, he was gone, running down the street with a jump and a smile and a laugh for the shocked passersby who looked after him as they would after a madman.
She stared at the rain and felt a stirring of the long-ignored warmth deep down inside her. The rain was still cold and the streets still foreboding but her mood of despair was a little lighter, a little brighter. She smiled crookedly and put up the umbrella. Her heart began pumping better blood as she stepped joyfully out from under the awning and listened to the pounding of the rain above her.
But somehow she couldn't stand to be under that umbrella without the feeling that the man had shown her anymore. She flung down the umbrella and let the rain ruin her jacket in one fell swoop; let the rain soak her hair until she was sleek as a seal. And then she marched down the street and found it easy to ignore the stares of the passersby--yes, she found it so much easier than it would have been just a few minutes ago in the coffee shop.