Walking in the Rain

I sit on the windowsill thinking of nothing. Stepping out onto my balcony to feel the rain pour down, I catch the scent of an all too well known city. New York hasn’t stopped. Should I really expect it to? Its streets are still packed, restaurants overcrowded, and parks unkempt. Should it be that the heartbreak of one of its citizens could cause this to change?1

My eyes scan the skyline and eventually rest upon a small one-bedroom apartment in the building across from my own. Unexpected tears come to my eyes as memories invade my thoughts. He was so wonderful; so loving. How could something that perfect end so badly?2

Two years ago I was twenty-one, an aspiring artist, and full of hope. Finally out of my parents’ house and going to a prestigious school…the freedom was almost overwhelming. I had one true love and that was art. My best friends were my bike and my books. Moving from quiet New City, New York to Greenwich Village was a dramatic change on my part. Despite the fact that I lived close as a kid, I never went to Manhattan because my parents wouldn’t let me bike that sort of distance and we didn’t own a car.3

On the day I moved into my new apartment, I decided to take a break from unpacking and read. Upon deliberation of which book to choose, I glanced out my window and what I saw immediately captured my attention: a man. He was in the apartment across from mine. I noticed that he was on the phone and apparently having a rather amusing conversation, for he was smiling. Wow, and what a smile it was. Even from the distance, I could tell he was rather handsome. It was at that moment that I knew I had a goal. I had to make him notice me.4

I did everything within my power to try to get his attention. I moved my chair next to the window. I put up curtains. I even went so far as to decorate my balcony. All of my attempts for recognition failed. Nothing was working.5

On a rainy day in late August, I figured my bike could take a break and I was due for some pizza. I got out my phone book and muttered the numbers to myself as I dialed.6

“5-5-5...1-6...1-8...” My finger hovered over the talk button as I checked the readout on the phone with the book and, after I was sure there was no mistake, I called the number.7

“Hello?” said a man on then other end.8

“Um...hello,” I replied. “I’d like to place an order.”9

“An order? Of what?” he said, sounding a bit surprised.10

“Pizza, what else?”11

“Er...ok, I’ll play along.”12

“I’d like one small vegetarian pizza. It’ll be ready in about thirty minutes, right?”13

“I don’t know. It might take longer than that for me to run to the store, buy a pizza, and get back here. And I’d have to charge you interest.”14

“What are you talking about? Just have somebody make one and have it delivered. Isn’t that your job?”15

“Alright, alright. Where do you live?”16

“Finally, some cooperation! I live at 535 West 23rd Street.”17

“Oh, really?”18

“Yes, really.”19

“What apartment?”20

“Number K73,” I was really loosing patience with this man and pacing up and down my balcony. “Now will you just take my order so we can continue with our normal lives?”21

“You know...you’re kinda cute when you’re angry.”22

“Wha...?” My breath caught and my eyes grew wide. I turned and looked at the building across from mine. Looking back at me was the man whose attention I’d been striving for. “You wouldn’t happen to be working at Rob’s Pizza Parlor right now, would you?” He laughed. Oh, what a glorious sound. And when the man on the phone spoke, the man in the apartment’s mouth formed the same words.23

“No, I wouldn’t. But I do happen to be named Rob, if it’s any consolation.”24

“I am so sorry! I meant to dial for...well you probably already know where I was trying to reach.”25

“No, no, it’s fine.”26

We continued talking for about forty-five minutes. Rob turned out to be the owner of a small time business called Rob’s Piano Lessons (which would explain how I reached him instead of my supper) and a lover of the fine arts.27

“Say, Cynthia.”28

“Please, make it Ci.” I corrected29

“Alright, Ci. Would you by any chance like to go to the Metropolitan Museum with me some time?”30

“Like to?” I exclaimed, “I’d love to!”31

“Well then, how about Saturday?”32

“Saturday sounds good.”33

“Okay, it’s a date.” Click. He hung up, leaving his words suspended above me. As a final acknowledgement of our arrangement, he smiled, waved, and blew me a kiss. Judging by the look on his face, I guess I blushed like a schoolgirl. I was absolutely ecstatic.34

I will never forget that Saturday, walking hand in hand through the sculptures, mummies, and paintings. At the very last exhibit we looked deep into each other’s eyes and I felt his hand caress my cheek.35

“This is the last one,” he said.36

“That it is,” I agreed. “I can’t believe we made it through the whole museum in one day.”37

“Me either. What do you think of this?”38

“The painting? It’s wonderful! I love how he captur—” He kissed me. As soon as his lips collided with mine, I began to soar. I flew above and beyond all the most beautiful places on earth, and nobody could take me down.39

We walked home, talking about the different cultures we had explored that day. When we rounded the corner to our street, he kissed me goodbye, and we went into our separate buildings.40

The days turned into weeks, the weeks to months and our relationship progressed accordingly. We were known at all the bookstores and coffee shops around our area as “the couple.” Before we knew it, we had been dating for a year and eleven months. Happiness for eternity had never before seemed so plausible. My parents loved him, and more importantly, I loved him.41

On July fourteenth, his friend asked me what size ring I wore. When I questioned him as to why he would be wondering something of that sort, he smiled, and with a wink, said that it was Rob who wanted to know. I knew not to expect him to say anything to me on the matter considering how old fashioned he was; he was most likely to ask my father for my hand first. All I had to do was wait.42

That night over dinner, I heard what I wanted to.43

“How ‘bout we go to your parents’ house next weekend?”44

“What for?” I gave no indication of my knowledge of his plan.45

“Oh, just to talk. We haven’t seen them since the Fourth.”46

“I guess that would be okay.” It was settled. Next Saturday, we would get in his car (though I hated the thing) and drive to my hometown.47

July twenty-first rolled around and our plans changed slightly. My teacher decided to assign us a paper to be due on the twenty-third.48

“You go ahead,” I told Rob “I’d rather bike anyways.”49

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”50

“I can take care of myself.”51

“Alright, Sweetie. I’ll call you when I get there.” And, with that, he began walking down the hall.52

“Be careful, it’s raining.”53

“I will.”54

“I love you, Rob,” I said. He quickly turned around, and, when he reached me, he wrapped me in his arms.55

“I love you too, Ci,” he whispered into my ear. I then kissed him and watched him leave.56

Two hours later, my paper was done and I had not yet had a call from Rob. Figuring he had just forgotten, I mounted my bicycle and left for New City. As I turned onto the George Washington Bridge, I noticed flashing lights. Apparently, there was a car crash ahead. I thought nothing of it and just kept riding. It wasn’t until I was closer that I recognized the car. In shock, I jumped off my bike and ran towards the accident. The driver of the57

(no, it couldn’t be Rob)58

car had hit a wet spot in the road and had gone 59

(because Rob wouldn’t do that)60

out of control. It had 61

(NO)62

supn around on the wet bridge and 63

(NO...) 64

flipped, hitting another car. I pushed through the crowd and reached the clearing just in time to see the paramedics zip up a black bag around him. Finally, my thoughts made it to my vocal cords.65

“NO!” I screamed. I ran through the police tape, past the guards, and to the bag. I unzipped it, to see my Rob lying dead before me. Tears clouded my vision as the police pulled me away from him. “Get off me! Rob! Rob!” He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead.66

It was with great effort that they got me away from his body. I sat on the bridge that67

(killed my love)68

connected Manhattan to the rest of the world as I watched the officers finish clearing the scene. I watched a truck come and take his shattered car. I watched the ambulance drive away, Rob inside. I watched all of this with one thought: I wanted to die. What else was there to live for? He was gone.69

I didn’t kill myself. I’m still alive. I don’t want to be, but I am. The coroner gave me his personal effects. In the bag, along with his clothes, was a small diamond ring. He had died with it in his hand, they told me.70

I stand up and go inside. Am I hungry? No, I don’t believe so. Food hasn’t been as important lately. With one last look at his apartment, I kiss the ring on my left hand and turn away as a single tear falls down my face.