We all know the joy isn’t any more real and lasting than a drug high. The real world and all its grand troubles and little anxieties will come rushing back with the sun, and with a downpour like this coming back down to reality is going to be pretty miserable. Still, it’s hard to resist the draw of a dose of happiness, even a shallow one like this. And it’s a strong rain, too; I feel myself grinning even though I’m mostly dry. I don’t even check the number on my phone before answering it.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
My heart freezes, and everything around me – the patter of rain and the confused hum of voices – slowed to a crawl, and all I can hear is the roar of my blood rushing to my head.
On the outside, of course, I’m still smiling. The happy feeling hasn’t gone away even as David’s voice dredges up every last minute of sorrow and rage and despair I’ve felt in the last six months. The emotions rage like a storm inside me. One second, I’m on cloud nine, the next I want to run screaming through the streets. The world goes lopsided as my head spins and takes my stomach with it. They call it Precipitation-Induced Emotional Conflict Syndrome; the rest of us call is rain shock, when someone has an extreme emotional shock that conflicts with whatever feeling the rain is causing that day. Learning your dad died on a happy day, for example, or getting that promotion you’ve been working toward for years on a melancholy day. The conflicting messages sends the brain into a panic.
I tear open the door to my building and stumble up the stairs to my apartment . I slam my door shut and lean against it. The only thing you can really do is get out of the rain and wait for it to go away.
“Are you there?”
The urge to scream at him bubbles up in my throat like bile, and with it comes another wave of dizziness. I half-stumble, half-fall onto my couch before my knees do something foolish like buckle. The euphoria feeling’s fading, thank Christ. My stomach’s still tearing itself apart, but my mind is clear and anger is slowly winning out against the effects of the rain. Thank god I wasn’t actually out in the rain, or otherwise I’d have had an aneurism.
“What do you want?”
My voice is steady, but it still lacks venom. Still, I figure even David’s bright enough to know I’m furious at him.
“That’s harsh.”
Or not.
“I don’t want to hear that from you.”
“Look, I want to talk.”
“For fuck’s sake, David.” Now exasperation joins the mix of emotions swirling in my breast. He wanted to talk? Now? After leaving with no note and disappearing? I tell him as much, and I hear him sigh over the other end of the phone.
“It’s…Look, it’s not something I want to tell you over the phone.”
“It’s something you should have told me before you left, David. You left me in a strange city in an apartment I couldn’t afford by myself with no note, no notice…Shit, I thought you were dead until you bothered with the courtesy of a voice-mail message telling me you were alive.”
“I understand – “
“No, you don’t.”
“Alright, fine. Look, I want to talk. If you want to talk to me, I’ll meet you at the cafe down by the intersection.”
“And why should I?”
“Because I owe you an explanation. And because I want to tell you I’m sorry. Meet me there after the rain stops.”
The phone goes dead. I nearly chuck the thing out the window; my arm actually rears back before I come back to my senses. Of all the presumptuous, uncaring, bastard things a person could do. Where did he find the gumption to call me out of the blue and say he wants to talk?
Outside, the clouds move on to reveal the sun, and the rain slows to a slow drizzle. I grab my coat and slam the door behind me.
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