Rain Check

A/N:  Entry for a short story contest in which I write a piece based off a cover photo.  Credit to XxAmmaxX for the cover and for the contest!

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     He remembers that the day was sunny.  And then the details get a little fuzzy.

     Where was he going that day?  Why did he stop?  He can't recall.  Her face, her hair, her dress.  She was so beautiful.  Her hands, spindly fingers gripping a long, skinny umbrella.  Red.  It's all sensory impressions now, a rush of color and feeling.  She smelled like daisies in the rain.  His heart swells now, just thinking about it.

     A bike.  His old, worn, mud-flecked bike.  He'd been biking, from somewhere to somewhere.  Maybe he was biking to nowhere.  Sometimes he did that.  Sometimes he does that.

     The conversation, he remembers the least.  Mostly, he remembers her smile, and feeling very stupid, and knowing that she was way, way, way out of his league.  He stuttered a lot, and talked about the weather.  "Doesn't look like rain," he said, gesturing awkwardly at the umbrella closed by her side.

     "I make my own rain," she said in a lovely lilting accent he couldn't place.  And the next second, that red umbrella was up and open, and she was walking away.

     "Wait!" he called out, impulsively.  She stopped and half-turned, chin tucked over a naked shoulder.  Her body formed a sinuous twisting line, somehow both innocent and seductive in a flowing yellow dress, like a sunflower turning its head to the sun.  Women should look back like that at least once a year, just to remind their men why they had fallen in love in the first place.

   He felt so stupid, tongue tied like a sailor's knot.  "Want to - want to grab dinner together sometime?" he managed to get out.

    She laughed, genuinely delighted at his shyness.  "Rain check?" she asked, and without waiting for his answer, she continued on her way.  The road was flat and straight, and he watched her walk for a long time.  Only when she finally disappeared over the horizon did he realize that he never got her name.

     It's only that first time that he has trouble remembering.  Everything else, he remembers in perfect detail.  That's how life works - with love it's a little blurry, but once there's blood, everything becomes crystal clear.

     The next time he saw her, it was raining.  The street was covered with many umbrellas, of many colors - red, blue, yellow, green.  But he found her instantly: a double shot of red.  Her fiery hair flamed even brighter under the city's intense humidity.

     She was so vibrant that he didn't notice the man next to her until a huge umbrella swallowed them both, black blooming over red.  The stranger crushed her to his chest; she let it happen, eyes cowed and lips slightly parted.  He didn't like seeing her so defenseless - why did she look so defenseless?  She had seemed so confident when she was with him.  Back then, he had been the vulnerable one.

     There was something predatory about the way the stranger looked at her, something in that too-wide grin, the eagerness in the eyes.  Like a crocodile after someone who has strayed too close to the water.  She sticks out too much from the crowd with her bright hair - easy prey.

     The couple untangled themselves just enough to start walking away.  As if his feet had a mind of their own, he followed.  They rounded a bend and he lost sight of them.  Panicked, he whipped around the corner only to be pinned to the curb as her dark eyes suddenly met his.  The short look she gave him was expressive and surprisingly alert: in her eyes he saw anger, shock, fear, and above all, a warning.  He did not know what the warning was for, but the next time they turned a corner, he was slower to follow.