To Faraway {A collection of short stories}

Middle of Everything

It was raining. The kind of rain that drenched you in four seconds flat.

And I was in the middle of everything.

I was in the middle of waiting for the bus so I can go to where my sister and the other bride's maids are picking out a dress. A really awful one so my sister would look infinitely more beautiful on her wedding day in comparison to us.

Needless to say, I'm not looking forward to any of it. It didn't help that I didn't like any one of the inexorably loud girls (except for Gracie).

Of course I could just ditch them and walk over to that cute little coffee shop a few blocks down the street, get some coffee, possibly a cupcake. If they sell those there.

But, I'd still have to confront the issue-of an ugly-dress-fitting and annoying googly-eyed girls joyously fussing over my sister's dress and husband while they tell me "Oh, Remy, if you were more like Riley, then you'd already be married now, too."-sooner or later.

So, best to get it over with. Plus, if I'm there, then at least there'd be one sensible girl in the group. And maybe I can get us to pick out the less hideous gown. Something just subtly ugly.

I hug my jacket tighter around me, trying not to shiver from the cold.

"What is wrong with you?! Damn it!"

I look to my right where a guy's talking to his umbrella that he's struggling to open up even as he's already drenched. I walk over to him.

"Here, let me..." I reach for the umbrella and give him a brief smile as he hands it over to me, still a tiny bit pissed off. I open it easily.

"Thanks. Wow, you made me seem like a clueless idiot." He says as I hand it back.

"Which I'm sure you're not."

He grins at that.

"Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me today, actually."

"Really." I raise my eyebrows at him. He looks charming enough. And cute, if you're into the dark-curly-haired, freckled type. "Why?" I can't help asking.

"Why? Ha!" He chuckles again. "Maybe because I am actually a clueless idiot."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I say jokingly.

He sighs. "Yeah well. "

I smile, suddenly overcome with the urge to invite this complete stranger to go get coffees with me. And quite possibly, a cupcake. Right there on that cute coffee shop that I can see from here, over his shoulder.

"Would you like to-" I start.

His eyebrows are raised in inquisition. What am I doing? Oh my God, this man here is a stranger, do I really want to have coffee with this guy? Plus, he looks like he's off somewhere. With his brown coat. And stuff.

His brow is furrowing in question, probably because he's waiting for me to say the second part of that sentence and stop being a weirdo.

But I feel smushed in the middle of two big walls. Which is probably where I am. In the middle. Like I always am, but now I'm with a stranger.

In the middle of the falling rain, standing under a broken blue umbrella, in the middle of a tiring day, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of our lives.

Smack-freaking-dab in the middle.

You know what's annoying about the middle of anything, like a book, or a movie, or I don't know, the stairs?

Well, what's annoying is, you've already gotten this far that you have to finish but everything ahead-more specifically, the end-is a big mystery. A big, huge, colossal question.

What happens next?

And most of the time, the answer to that question tells how everything will turn out.

Like now, for example. If I continue with this question, he could either, a) Decline, because for the most part, I am a stranger, and I'd be thoroughly embarrassed and be forced to endure the last few painful minutes before my bus arrives, or b) Accept my invitation and have a nice talk over good coffee -and quite possibly a cupcake- and have a really nice day.

So what do I say?

I open my mouth to speak but just at that moment, the bus arrives in front of us, the magic doors swooshing open to reveal, a thin middle-aged man behind the wheel.

"My ride's here." I smile, shrugging. Maybe I can just file this moment away and be done with it, after all.

He nods, with just a teeny tiny hint, of what might probably be an imaginary, ounce of disappointment.

I walk to the bus, go up a step, look back and-

Oh, to hell with it, my bus is already here anyway.

"Would you like to get some coffee?"