Rocío Grimaldo

Walk piece

Crying, she opened her umbrella and stepped out into the rain. She wiped her face and looked at the dark, empty street in front of her. She walked slowly and then suddenly stopped and slumped against a wall, gazing down at the water passing, uncaringly, in between her boots.

"It was better that way, wasn't it? That nothing happened," he had said.

She continued walking in the rain. Crossed streets, managed to look when cars were coming while cold gusts of wind carrying water hit her body repeatedly.

She came upon a café, entered and sat near a window. She ordered tea and a sandwich and called a taxi.

She looked up and to her left a man at a nearby table was looking at her. Unshaven, unruly hair. Tired eyes. Rumpled clothes. Papers on the table. A cup and an empty flask.

She turned to the rain-splattered window illuminated with the red, yellow, and white of traffic. It was nearly 11:00 p.m.

He was still looking.

She went to the ladies room and splashed water on her face. On her way back, she passed by the man’s table. He turned in his seat and continued staring.

She stared back and flipped a hand, as if saying “What is your problem?”

He stood up.

She narrowed her eyes as he approached. He sat in front of her.

“You have been crying,” he said.

“You have been staring,” she challenged.

“I was curious,” he said.

“Listen, I don't go telling strangers about my business, so please leave me alone,” she replied.

“I understand, I'm sorry,” he said, stood up and returned to his table.

The waitress brought her order.

She wrapped her sandwich, drank her tea in three gulps, left a five-pound-note on the table and walked out. This time she let the rain travel freely down her face.

A few seconds later, he stepped outside.

She looked the other way.

“I'm Joshua,” he said. He was drenched in seconds.

“I'm Deborah. I'm waiting for my cab. It will be here in a couple of minutes.”

“I'm just going to take the bus to the airport. Back there, I just wanted to…” He paused, searching for a word.

She squinted.

“…chat,” he finished.

Deborah nodded and looked at his left wrist. He had a piece of rope around it.

She frowned and then looked quickly up and down the street.

“You live near?” he asked.

“You are a complete stranger, do you think I will tell you that?”

“Deborah, I’m a writer. I live in New York. Here’s my card. I know you’re just about to disappear but I really want to speak to you. More.”

The taxi drives up.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, this is a very bad time for me and…I have to go,” she said as she opened the cab door.

“This is too weird. I know…tell me how I can get in touch with you.”

“No. Let go of the door,” she warned.

“Wait. Sorry. Look, I know you think I’m deranged, but I’m a good guy. Really.”

The cabbie honks.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“OK, OK. Just one more minute…”

“Please call the police,” she told the cabbie.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Deborah.”

She closed the door and sat back while the cabbie pressed down on the accelerator and joined the traffic. A few minutes later it stopped raining. She realised she was still holding Joshua’s card. She looked at it, gasped.