It was raining when I came outside, and I found this to be a great relief. Its been unnaturally cold and dry lately, the rain felt safe, dependable, and protective with the heaviness of my coat. I walked up to the triangular italian restaurant with the lonely cook listening to NPR. He winked and smiled and rolled dough into cheese filled rings for me. I ate alone, thinking about what I was about to do, and didnt want to do, and had to do, and had already done. What had I done?
I finished eating and looked at my watch, still 45 minutes to go, so I walked to the arcade. Playing "Gilligans Island" by the window, I looked up. What should have been my reflection was a man in a torn coat with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He held his hand up as if I were supposed to mirror him, I did. We waved, and he walked away.
It was time to go.
My steps felt forced as I stumbled down the hill. The heavy glass door pushed against me and opened. He sat in the corner reading, and I wanted to leave, he hadnt seen me, I could disappear like a whisper. But instead, I sat down, waiting my fate.
I poured out my confusion like a scalding pot of water, and he poured out his heartache like bitter cough syrup, there was nothing to do but take it or stay sick. They turned the music to a blasting guitar, and he screamed out his heart over the sound.
and it was done.
We walked into the rain, and it washed the frusteration away.