Rain and Wind
A prompt, supplied by a friend of mine, lead to this.
Most days of the week, you could call her pretty. The rest of the week, she's gorgeous.
Today, she was gorgeous. Must be a Friday. As she walked in, the wind sent her bright red hair past her face. I didn't have my glasses on, and the lights must have been just right, because it looked like her head caught fire for just a second, but quickly extinguished by the storm outside.
I nod in her direction, fumbling for my glasses. "Evening."
She smiles at me, squeezing her hair onto my "Welcome" mat. Her smile dazzles me for a split second. "Hello there. I think I might need your help." She saunters over to my desk, a sway to her hips, her pleated skirt flowing green around her knees.
"What do you need?" I stub out my cigarette, blowing the remnants of smoke from my lungs.
She gets to my desk, leaning herself on the desk, her slim arms holding her up. She gazes into my eyes. Her shirt makes it difficult to maintain eye contact. "There's a problem at home that I need you to take care of. If you drive me there, I can show you."
My male mind plays through several lines, most of them sounding straight from an adult film. I settle on, "Sure thing. Where do you live?"
"On the other side of town." She draws out the last syllable, her head tilted down, but still looking in my eyes. Her teeth flash, momentarily, dazing me.
I nod, standing up. "Very well." I grab my trench coat and hat, putting both on. I find my umbrella, and open the door, bracing myself against the wind. I hold the door open for the lady, and follow her outside. Shutting the door, I open the umbrella, and hold it over her head. She turns to me and smiles.
"Thanks."
I only nod.
We walk to my car, a car that's moved beyond aged. I'm sure people look at it and wonder how it still runs. I open the passenger side door and let the lady in. I get in on the driver's side, start the car, and we're off.
I open the glove compartment, trying to find any old tape, to kill the silence of the 3-years-dead radio. I grab a tape, and shove it in the deck. Soft jazz plays. I sigh.
"So," I start, trying to find common ground, "how has life been?"
My mind goes through several hopeful scenarios. "Oh, I've been miserable since London." "Incomplete without you." "Spent every moment missing you."
However, she simply says, "Fine," and leaves it at that, looking out her window.
"Well, that's good." I say, only out of manners. "How's Mark?"
"Fine."
She doesn't want to talk.
"Good." I nod, giving up on conversation. I turn up the music slightly.
After a while, "Up here, take this exit."
I just nod.
"Take a right, here."
Nod.
"Turn left at the next light."
Nod.
"It's the brown house on the right.
Nod.
I pull up to the house. Simple, ranch style home. I turn off the engine, getting out of the car and opening my umbrella. She opens her door, and runs up to me, gaining some cover from the rain.
Out of her purse, she pulls out a set of keys. She picks one, and opens the door, allowing me in. I shake out my jacket, and close my umbrella.
"So, what's the problem?"
She smiles. "Follow me to the kitchen." Her finger beckons to me, and I follow.
In the kitchen. On the counter, a jar of pickles. She leans into me, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't open the jar. Can you help me?"
Nod.
I pick up the jar, and after a second or so of struggling, the jar pops open.
"Thank you so much, darling. I knew I could count on you."
She walks up to me, and gives me a hug, a soft, almost loving hug, her scent highlighting my experience. I hug back half-heartedly. "You're welcome." She still holds the hug.
"I'm so glad you're around." She gives me a final squeeze and releases me. She turns and walks to the stair case. "Have a nice night!"
I say nothing as I walk out to my car. I fumble to open it, but then I stop, breathing heavily. I pound my fist onto the top of the car, sighing.
My scars were healing. I was over her. I run my hand through my hair, looking up at the weeping sky. Seemingly on their own, my arms lift up, with the childish side of me hoping the rain could cleanse my wounds.
I sigh, getting in my car, and drive back to my office, the sound of rain matching with the jazz playing.
Most days of the week, you could call her pretty. The rest of the week, she's gorgeous.
Today, she was gorgeous. Must be a Friday. As she walked in, the wind sent her bright red hair past her face. I didn't have my glasses on, and the lights must have been just right, because it looked like her head caught fire for just a second, but quickly extinguished by the storm outside.
I nod in her direction, fumbling for my glasses. "Evening."
She smiles at me, squeezing her hair onto my "Welcome" mat. Her smile dazzles me for a split second. "Hello there. I think I might need your help." She saunters over to my desk, a sway to her hips, her pleated skirt flowing green around her knees.
"What do you need?" I stub out my cigarette, blowing the remnants of smoke from my lungs.
She gets to my desk, leaning herself on the desk, her slim arms holding her up. She gazes into my eyes. Her shirt makes it difficult to maintain eye contact. "There's a problem at home that I need you to take care of. If you drive me there, I can show you."
My male mind plays through several lines, most of them sounding straight from an adult film. I settle on, "Sure thing. Where do you live?"
"On the other side of town." She draws out the last syllable, her head tilted down, but still looking in my eyes. Her teeth flash, momentarily, dazing me.
I nod, standing up. "Very well." I grab my trench coat and hat, putting both on. I find my umbrella, and open the door, bracing myself against the wind. I hold the door open for the lady, and follow her outside. Shutting the door, I open the umbrella, and hold it over her head. She turns to me and smiles.
"Thanks."
I only nod.
We walk to my car, a car that's moved beyond aged. I'm sure people look at it and wonder how it still runs. I open the passenger side door and let the lady in. I get in on the driver's side, start the car, and we're off.
I open the glove compartment, trying to find any old tape, to kill the silence of the 3-years-dead radio. I grab a tape, and shove it in the deck. Soft jazz plays. I sigh.
"So," I start, trying to find common ground, "how has life been?"
My mind goes through several hopeful scenarios. "Oh, I've been miserable since London." "Incomplete without you." "Spent every moment missing you."
However, she simply says, "Fine," and leaves it at that, looking out her window.
"Well, that's good." I say, only out of manners. "How's Mark?"
"Fine."
She doesn't want to talk.
"Good." I nod, giving up on conversation. I turn up the music slightly.
After a while, "Up here, take this exit."
I just nod.
"Take a right, here."
Nod.
"Turn left at the next light."
Nod.
"It's the brown house on the right.
Nod.
I pull up to the house. Simple, ranch style home. I turn off the engine, getting out of the car and opening my umbrella. She opens her door, and runs up to me, gaining some cover from the rain.
Out of her purse, she pulls out a set of keys. She picks one, and opens the door, allowing me in. I shake out my jacket, and close my umbrella.
"So, what's the problem?"
She smiles. "Follow me to the kitchen." Her finger beckons to me, and I follow.
In the kitchen. On the counter, a jar of pickles. She leans into me, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't open the jar. Can you help me?"
Nod.
I pick up the jar, and after a second or so of struggling, the jar pops open.
"Thank you so much, darling. I knew I could count on you."
She walks up to me, and gives me a hug, a soft, almost loving hug, her scent highlighting my experience. I hug back half-heartedly. "You're welcome." She still holds the hug.
"I'm so glad you're around." She gives me a final squeeze and releases me. She turns and walks to the stair case. "Have a nice night!"
I say nothing as I walk out to my car. I fumble to open it, but then I stop, breathing heavily. I pound my fist onto the top of the car, sighing.
My scars were healing. I was over her. I run my hand through my hair, looking up at the weeping sky. Seemingly on their own, my arms lift up, with the childish side of me hoping the rain could cleanse my wounds.
I sigh, getting in my car, and drive back to my office, the sound of rain matching with the jazz playing.