When the rain started coming down, she stood there - wet, waiting, yearning. She had no umbrella, especially not a red one, but she was content. She stood under the building, between the polls, and waited. But he didn't come. On any other day she may have been angry with him, but not on that day. Everything was too perfect for anger. Everything was wet and glistening. What could be more beautiful? She wanted it to rain forever.
She was very cold, but she couldn't feel it. Her mother had often told her, when she was little, that she would catch a cold, walking about, so underdressed. But she didn't care. Pneumonia didn't scare her; it excited her. There was something exhilarating about being sick. She could already imagine herself, lying in bed, and him, sitting by her side, making her drink hot soup from the bowl that he would hold between his big, dry, sexy palms.
She loved his hands. It was so strange. When her friends asked her what she loved best about him she usually said, "his eyes," but she lied. They wouldn�t understand. 'What is there to love about hands anyway,' she could imagine them questioning silently. But they didn't see his hands. If they did, they wouldn�t wonder.
She looked around her. Still no sign of him. Where could he be? He was usually very punctual, very much unlike her. Could it be that he assumed that she would be late, as usual, and just decided to arrive later, or should she begin to worry?
Still no sign. She looked again. There was a couple; she couldn't see them clearly. They looked young and very much in love. They were kissing in the rain. She smiled and turned her head, because she didn't want them to know how much she enjoyed watching them kissing, in love, like she had been; and still, although she didn't feel she was in love with him anymore, she didn't feel bitter or stranded or alone. She knew it all had to pass.
Still no sign. She looked at her watch again. She raised her head and looked for a clock. Wasn't there a clock at the corner last time they had been there? When was it exactly? She could hardly recall. They went to that restaurant across the street. She remembered how she had spilled the vinegar sauce right onto his lap. The stain never did come out after the wash. But he wasn't angry with her. He was one of the calmest people she knew.
Another peek at the watch. What was it? Her heart began to flinch. She always made up the worst scenarios, and plenty of them. She had a very vivid imagination, which seemed to compensate for the fact that he had none. He often laughed at her, but she didn't care. She knew nobody could ever understand her completely. The fact that he loved her just the same seemed to be enough. But where was he now?
She didn't bother looking at the watch again. The moving hands of the watch irritated her, and to make things worse the rain had stopped. She looked around her. Then she leaned back and smelled the air. That was another thing he had never learned to appreciate, no matter how much she had tried to teach him. She turned around; something made her feel she was being watched. She was sure it was him, but she didn't see anything, not at first, not until she lowered her eyes and saw a red cat, sitting very composed, looking at her obediently, waiting.
Strangely enough, the cat reminded her a lot of him, although she could clearly tell that the cat was a female (she was pregnant), and besides, he didn�t have red hair at all. It was something in the glance - so focused, so knowing. She always envied his composure. How could he know so many things so young? She felt both two hundred years old and seven, torn between everything that had been and everything that would be. But not that day. Something in her just wasn't moving. She usually lived on such high notes, but that day, it was like she didn't even care, not even about him being so late.
It was already half past. He wasn't going to get there. Had he given up on her completely? Was that his way of showing it? She wasn't even disappointed. It was time to go anyway. She came out from beneath the building, not turning her head back to check, and started pacing slowly.
The red cat followed her home.
February 28, 2000
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