She Saw Him in the Rain
By J. A. Weymouth
It was then that she saw him again as he stepped out of the taxi. His mop of golden brown hair quickly turned wet when he stepped out into the rain. She saw him look down at his umbrella as if re-thinking about opening it now that it was already too late to save himself from the devious droplets. Shivering, he moved forward not noticing her looking at him. And then he looked up. Everything paused around her that moment he looked up and she saw that look in his eye, that knowing, that remembering. He was awake and she was alive.
She remembered him of course since he was never far from her mind from the day she first saw him standing by the edge of the breakwater. The thought of him never lingered too long on her mind though, and it passed as soon as the memory of him came to her. Like a dream or like trying to remember something from long ago. Those images of him only seemed to come to her when she was in those dark places. The little dark crevices of her mind.
Life for her had been monotonous and distant. Grey overtones. Dull noises. There was no energy or drive working in the same place, bundling the same roses, and giving them to the same happy couples here at the florists. But now… Now, he was the wash of colour that brightened her grey world. That one step out of the car. Those emerald eyes looking up. Everything changed. And she no longer regretted not turning around and going back to him, that day at the breakwater.
Two days in rain. A life time of moments and pauses. That was when she saw him in the rain.
“Happy Tuesday,” he said as he dropped the plastic, diamante ring into her palm.