I feel bad for those without umbrellas. Some run, trying to escape their inevitable fate, while others seem to move slower, savoring the smaller moments in life. One idiot is even wearing shorts. Salmon shorts.
I know those shorts. I know those shoes as well. I was there when he bought them. I've seen him slip them on and off thousands of times.
He doesn't have an umbrella. Of course he doesn't. I kept telling him to buy one but he wouldn't listen. He looks so cold, like a wet puppy. I just want to go to him, help him, hold him. I try to catch his eye but he doesn't see me through the rain, or maybe he chooses not to. My brain tells me to do the same. Keep on walking. Go home.
But my heart has already taken control, propelling me across the street so I can catch him and pretend that everything is alright when things are falling, splattering like the raindrops around me. I walk up next to him, trying to fit his tall frame under my small umbrella. He turns to look at me.
"Hi."
"Hi," he says. Hope. It overwhelms me, choking me so that I don't say anything that might ruin this moment, anything that might drive him farther away from me.
"How are you?" he asks.
"Not great." Stupid. So pathetic, so desperate. But I am desperate. "How are you?"
"Fine." Fine? How could you be fine while I'm falling apart?
"You don't have to walk me to class," he says. I keep walking forward in response. Past the Arts Building and up the stairs to the crosswalk where the light turns green and I have to restrain myself from reaching out to him. My heart pounds, ruptures, tears even more than I thought it could.
"Wait!" I call, taking a step towards him. He stops and turns, raindrops clinging to the hairs that have escaped his hoodie.
"I-I don't want to lose you completely." He doesn't care about you anymore. "You're too important to me." He broke up with you. "And I hope that we can be friends in the future." Get over it.
"I hope so too," he says, but there's no hope in his voice. The light turns green once again.
"Goodbye."
I watch those salmon shorts grow smaller and smaller until they disappear. Gone. Just like that. I tilt my head up to the sky, sweet raindrops mixing with my salty tears.
I'd pick up the pieces, but there are too many to hold, the biggest of which he's already taken with him. But I'll rebuild, eventually. There'll be gaps but they'll be filled with new memories. For now, I'll cry under the mask of rain and figure out how to start this next chapter of my life.
