America in Short

I let her have the umbrella as she ran around to the driver’s side. We had come out together in the rain, each with one hand on the handle and we ducked instinctually and ran out low. We were close and I remember thinking it was the first time our fingers had touched in a while.

But I was wet now as she fumbled for her keys in her purse. She said sorry and tried to explain something but the police siren down the road drown her out.

“It’s okay,” I said and was still warm from the bottle of Malbec inside. She fumbled some more and apologized again and I was fine in the rain. I watched the cars go by splashing and my hair was dripping now. The street light reflected the rain clear and transparent and the gutter of the street was filled with everything it was taking away.

“I swear, this is the problem with big purses,” she said.

“It’s alright,” I said.

“I’m ruining a perfectly decent evening,” she said.

I said she wasn’t and not to worry, and I felt the water in my socks now. She was trying to prop the umbrella up on her shoulder so she could look with both hands but the wind took it and she was wet now too.

“I can take the metro home if it’d be easier,” I said and I was not sure why.

“I can find my fucking keys,” she said. “Just gimmie a minute.”

I went back to watching the cars and the gutter but they seemed less interesting now. I went to grab the umbrella from the street and held it above her head and she looked up at me and then back down to her purse.

“I found them,” she said, unlocked the car and got in. I closed her door and walked back to the passenger side. We were both wet now and she was frustrated and I wondered when rain stopped being something to celebrate.