My lover and I get stuck in a rainstorm. The sky opens up on our walk to the subway and before I know it my dress is sticking to my back. David’s new stretchy sneakers are a sodden mess in minutes. I tuck my body against his side to fit under his umbrella, my suede purse clutched to my chest. We dodge puddles and I wait for him to explode.
I am miserable but more than that I am sorry. I’m so sorry that it’s raining, I’m sorry that he’s soaking, I’m so sorry that he’s uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I’m crowding him and I’m sorry that I didn’t bring my own umbrella. I’m sorry he lives so far from the subway and I’m sorry that I didn’t know it would rain like this and I’m so sorry that I look like a mess. I am an apology in a soaked polyester dress.
When will he snap at me? Where is the snide comment under his breath, the moan and groan about his clothes? I brace for David to lose his temper, but he just… doesn’t. He ducks under scaffolding outside the grocery store and shakes out the umbrella, and then he apologizes that it isn’t big enough to easily cover both of us. He jokes that he should have bought tickets for the Friday show instead, that way we could have stayed in bed and cuddled. We make a final dash down the block and then we are underground.
He isn’t angry, not with me, not even with the weather. His smile warms the subway platform. He asks me what I want to eat for dinner.
Ella Dawson 