Sunny Day

“It’s pretty sunny today, don’t you think?” 

She looked up from her phone, a tall man was staring at her. The first thought she had was that he couldn’t be here to look at the art gallery that was opening up right across the street. But there he was, waiting in line next to her. 

He was scruffy, tall, and lanky looking. His shirt was wrinkled and undone, his boots were slightly covered in mud. He had a polite smile across his face. 

She didn’t want to talk to him. 

She looked up at the sky. It was sunny. “I guess,” she answered to the stranger under her breath, looking back at her phone. “It hasn’t been sunny like this in a while,” his voice was low and scratchy, but soft while speaking to her. She shifted uncomfortably and looked at him again. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

His smile turned bigger as he continued to talk, “It’s the best time of year. The flowers are blooming, the city is shining. It’s a nice time to be outside.” She realized that this guy wouldn’t want to end the conversation with her and that he probably wouldn’t be able to take the hint that she didn’t want to have a conversation with him. All she wanted to do was peacefully look at her phone, and get out of this line as quickly as possible. She didn’t know that someone like her would have to be waiting in line with all these people. Someone like her, yeah right. At this point, she shouldn’t even be considered special. She was no one. She was just a person in line, a stranger who didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to make friends. 

She tucked her phone away, sighed quietly, and turned her body towards him with a smile, “I don’t know,” she blinked at him, “I would rather much be inside. It’s so hot and muggy. I feel like I can never get anything done.” 

“Ah,” his eyes shifted away from hers, closing his mouth shut.  She hoped this was the end of the conversation. 

“You don’t seem like someone who would be here for an art gallery.” 

The words caught her by surprise. Those were the same words she had thought about him. Her eyes wide, she turned to him, questioning his comment, “I’m not?” 

“You…” He shifted her eyes at her, looking up and down, trying to say the right words, “you just look like you don’t want to be here. That’s all.” 

She scoffed at him, “yeah and? You don’t look like you even belong here.” 

He laughed looking down at himself and agreed, “you’re right, I probably don’t look like I belong here. And it’s true I don’t. But here I am. And here you are.” 

She rolled her eyes, “here we are.” The conversation ended. It was silent. She looked at him, biting her lip. He looked at her like he was expecting more from her. The line shifted slightly; they walked two meters. She leaned against a wall and sighed. 

“It’s my sister’s art gallery,” she raised her chin at him. When they made eye contact she looked away, trying to dig her fingers against the wall. Suddenly, she wanted to disappear. 

“Are you embarrassed?” 

She quickly shook her head, no. “Of course I’m not...I just don’t...I don’t want to be here.” 

He took a step forward closer to her, “but you’re supporting your sister, why don’t you want to be here?” 

She looked down at her shoes, “what are you, psychoanalyzing me or something?” His tone shifted, and he chuckled under his breath, “something like that.” 

“Something like that?” She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m a stranger. Who could be better to confide in? I’m probably never going to see you again, and, I won’t judge.” 

“But,” she paused, “you are going to judge me. Everyone judges everyone whether they want to or not.” 

“Well maybe a little,” he shrugged his shoulders.

She looked up at him, half smiling, “at least you’re honest.” 

She hoisted herself off the wall and smiled sadly at him. Her hands went into her pockets, and she looked up at the sky, “I haven’t seen her in years. We got into an argument. A bad one. We yelled until our voices were hoarse and when our eyes had no more tears in them is when we decided to stop talking to each other,” she looked back at him, “we went our separate ways. I barely know who she is anymore. I didn’t look her up. I didn’t know what I would find. What if’s went across my mind and I was scared.” 

Her voice wavered as she spoke, “but one day she contacted me. She contacted me. I didn’t think she would. I thought the roles would be reversed. She was never one to settle an argument. But she settled this one. We talked for hours. Finally, she said, ‘I have an art show. You should come. I’ll send you the address.’ And all I said was ‘maybe.’ She sent me the address anyways. I told her I was here. But she hasn’t replied.” 

“So it’ll be a surprise,” he rubbed her shoulder, “and I bet it’ll be an awesome surprise.” 

“But what if she doesn’t really want to see me? What if she just invited me to be polite? What if she can’t forgive me?” 

He looked at her for a second, letting go of her shoulder. “She asked you to come here,” he finally said after a few moments. “And you came. You both want to try to mend the relationship. You want to try right?” 

She nodded. 

“Then take the risk.” 

She held onto those words: take the risk. She wanted to jump onto the words. She wanted to hold it. She knew that those were the words that ached in her brain. 

Take the risk. 

She heard people shuffling. The loudspeaker went on: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the art gallery, Sisterhood, please come in at a formal matter. We hope you like the show,” the loudspeaker died out and people started talking louder and walking. She and the stranger stayed put. 

Her eyes widened at the title of the art gallery. It was about them. Hope bubbled inside of her. Even though everything that happened, her sister still cared for her. And she still cared for her sister too.  

He put her hand out for her, “you ready?” 

She looked at his hand, then looked at the art gallery. She took a shaky breath and took it. 

“I think so.”