Regresa A Mi

She always liked the rain, always smiled when a steady sheet of water descended from the heavens from the silver lining of the clouds. She always liked the soft patter above her room while she curled up with a book and a mug of hot chocolate. She always liked sitting on the window seat, watching the tempest run its course as she partly wrapped herself with the velvet drapes and touched her nose to the glass. Most people hated the rain, but she loved it. In her mind, water was the strongest and most beautiful element. Its power and liquid languor never failed to captivate her.

Today was a rainy day, one of those cold stormy days of autumn where the icy wind blows in your face and the water drenches you. She was just returning from the corner cafe after seeing her boyfriend. He had sat across from her and declared, in grave solemnity, their relationship was over. She had slammed down her mocha and looked at him, stunned. But he had only folded the napkin into a triangle, said a few words, and left the table once he had paid for her drink. She never heard his explanation nor did she come up with a counter argument. It did not matter though. They were miles apart now, and she was stuck with that sad word goodbye, her thoughts, and the rain.

She was trudging home that moment, lost in memory and slowly descending into a spiral of gloomy depression. Her green sweatshirt clung to her, and her kitten heels clicked on the pavement, drowned by the dull hum of the shower. With head bowed and eyes downcast, she was thankful for the raindrops that fell from her face. The fresh rain mingled with her hot tears, and she had a faint brackish taste in her mouth. But nobody could tell she was crying. There was another reason to like the rain. It disguised sorrow so well.

She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her sopping auburn hair. A silver Mercedes pulled up to her then. The passenger side window lowered, and the driver, his face partially obscured by shadow, inquired, "Need a ride?"

She would have refused, not wanting to hitch a ride from a stranger, but a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky changed her mind. "Get in, please," he insisted, reaching to unlock the door. Warily, she opened the silver door and climbed into the passenger seat. As she gingerly settled down in the gray leather interior, he smiled at her.

"Don't worry about the seats. I'm glad you're out of that storm," he said. "It's raining cats and dogs out there."

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, shivering slightly. Seeing this, the driver revved up the heat, and waves of warmth coursed over her. "Thanks," she said, smiling faintly through the last of her tears which looked more like raindrops on her cheeks.

"So? Where to?" he asked, turning left.

"It doesn't matter," she returned. "The library maybe." She was not about to give her street address to this man she did not know even though he was polished, well dressed and handsome. He could still be a serial killer.

"You were walking the wrong way, darling," he remarked, taking a u-turn at the next junction. "The library's on the other side."

At that moment, she noticed soft music playing in the background, adding strains of Spanish guitar to the car's quiet motor and the thunder of the storm. "Yeah, you're right," she realized, squinting out the window. "I just have something on my mind." She sighed, a faint flush coming over her cheeks.

He looked at her with a concerned expression on his face. "Like what? Do you wish to talk about it?" he offered, a clap of thunder sounding in the distance.

Then, she heard the lyrics of the song. "Regresa a mi," the tenors sang. "Comquiereme otra vez borra el dolor."

"This song," she began. "Its story ..."

He gave her a significant look, hazel eyes lowered. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry," he commiserated, and then after a pause, "And he left you out in the rain."

"No, he left me out in a cafe," she responded.

"That one at the corner?" he inquired. She nodded.

"That happened to me once," he began. She listened. "My first wife left me standing alone on the platform while her train sped away from me. I had run with her car as far as I could to see her face, but I stopped when I knew she was never coming back. I don't know where she's right now, but I hope she's found someone who makes her happy." He sighed then.

"I'm sorry," his passenger replied pensively.

"I know it's not the same thing, but there's a fugitive in every relationship," he observed, "and there's also a fighter. I think we are one or the other or, even in some crazy way, sometimes both."

Thunder rumbled above their heads as the Mercedes cruised down the street. "I wish I knew what I was," she mused. Then a pause followed in which she looked at her hands. "Was it raining on that day."

He understood her meaning perfectly. "Yes. Buckets. I was drenched when I left the train station," he answered. "I had a hard time getting on the metro back."

She laughed quietly. "You think they'll let me into the library?" she wondered.

"Oh, I don't know. How old are you," he said, entering the academic district of the town with its library, theater, and college.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Relax, darling. I only want to know if you're a student. University kids can enter the library in any state so long as they're not dripping blood or radio-active nuclear waste," he remarked.

"What do you mean? I'm sixteen," she volunteered.

He smirked. "I was sixteen way back when and went into a library caped in mud because I was having some trouble with my car. I walked in with a Latin textbook under my arm and a pen behind my ear. No questions asked, and I went on ahead to check out my books and use the pay phone in the vestibule to call a mechanic," he narrated.

"Really?" she returned. "How old are you?"

"Darling, I'm an old man now. I'm twenty-nine," he admitted. "and you're probably wondering why I'm just driving around in the rain wasting my gas, right)

"Well, I did find it a little ..." she began.

"Weird?" he finished. She shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, rainy days like this with thunder and lightning touch my sad poetic side, and I--was

"Kind of reliving that day," she continued.

"You can say that," he agreed. "I guess I never looked at it that way before."

"Ever since my dad died, my mom and I go to this one city square in Athens, Greece to remember him. They met for the first time in Syntagma just ahead of the parliament building. My mom will never forget that. I dare say I'll go to the same booth in that cafe, order the same mocha, and think about today's events while watching the rain outside my window someday in the future," she imagined.

The Spanish guitar and the throaty voices of the tenors melted away into silence with a final "Regresa a mi" when the handsome driver remarked, "Time is the only one who can unbreak broken hearts."

He had pulled up to the front of the central library. A fork of lightning split the sky as she opened the door. "Thank you for the ride and your company," she said.

"Your welcome, darling. Try to smile now. Everyone finds somebody for themselves. He just wasn't it. I know you'll keep an eye out for him though," he said with a wink.

She smiled then and replied, "I'LL do that. And just remember it is okay to love someone even if they're gone."

"Yes, I won't forget," he affirmed. "Good luck," he called out as she closed the silver door behind her. He watched her step into the warm foyer before speeding off into the rain.