One Rainy Night

Rain pounded against the window panes in a steady rhythm. Fractured beams of light from the streetlamps filtered through the drops, casting tiny streaks of rainbow light across the pages of Marissa’s book. She sighed contentedly, wrapping her oversized blue sweater closer around her body to ward off the slight chill of the evening. In her cocoon of checkered fuzzy blankets, a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea sending its soothing scent into the air, she felt safe. 

The demands of working forty hours a week at the local Walmart fell away. Thursday nights were always her favorite time of the week: the only time she allowed herself to kick back, relax with a good book, and forget the world. Every other moment of her life was filled to bursting with responsibilities. But here, now, she could rest. 

Her eyes skimmed over the words in her mystery novel, chasing each sentence like Detective O’Rian hunted for clues to solve the latest crime. The mysteries were never too complex or gritty, not like true crime novels or murder-mystery penny novels found in airport gift stores. No, Marissa prefered the softer mysteries, the ones that reminded her of adult Scooby-Do stories. 

Even now she found herself captivated wondering who stole Sally’s secret bread recipe from her bakery. 

A soft chirp alerted Marissa to a text message coming through. Reluctantly placing a scrap of paper in between the pages she was reading, she pulled out her phone, checking the too-bright screen. 

From David: ‘Yo, you comin’ out tonight or what?’ 

Marissa was tempted not to reply once she realized that David, her shift co-manager, had sent the text to everyone in their work group. Her coworkers had a running schedule of activities planned for the hours when they weren’t all stuck together within the same four, massive walls. In the two years since working together, Marissa had only made an appearance at these gatherings a handful of times, as she’d rather spend her limited free time recharging her brain.

It was difficult to be one of a few introverts in a crowd of extroverts. 

Setting her phone on the couch cushion, Marissa turned her attention back to her book. She wasn’t interested in giving up her alone time, not tonight. 

After only a few pages of reading, the incessant chirping of her phone grated on her nerves. If she could have exited the group chat without receiving a slew of individual messages about how she should be a team player, she would have deleted the text thread long ago.

Scrolling through the messages, Marissa’s heart dropped. 

Allie: ‘Let’s meet at Sal’s at 6:00 for pizza!”

Steven: ‘I don’t like Sal’s. Can’t we do something else?’

Mary: ‘party pooper’ - sent with a few poop emojis for good measure. 

David: ‘let marissa choose she owes us pizza for last weeks aisle 9 cleanup.’

Marissa cringed when she saw David’s text. She had promised her crew that she’d take them out for pizza as a ‘thank-you’ for working so efficiently to clean up the mess a few unsupervised children had made in the ice cream aisle. 

Even now, partially melted chocolate fudge popsicles haunted her waking moments. Ice cream had smeared on every surface, dripping between cracks in the tile floor. Sliding underneath cold storage boxes. Painting aisle 9 in a horrendous brown sludge that looked suspiciously like Mary’s poop emoji. 

Marissa: ‘Can we go out tomorrow night?’ 

Tapping the send arrow, she waited, impatiently drumming her fingertips against the cover of her book. 

She worked a double shift tomorrow and would be exhausted by the time dinner rolled around, but at least she wouldn’t have to give up her free time tonight. Besides, Marissa had never dealt well with sudden plans. She liked to be prepared, to know at least twenty-four hours in advance if she had to put on her social mask that night. 

Allie: ‘Sal’s. Sal’s. Sal’s.’

David: ‘im hungry now’

Steven: - eye roll emoji -

Mary: ‘omg you took the words right out of my mouth’

Sometimes, Marissa thought, dealing with coworkers was much the same as handling children. If you didn’t respond quickly enough, or in a way they wanted, they threw tantrums. 

Checking the time on her phone, she noted the time: already quarter to six. If she was going to cave and give in to their pizza demands, then she would have to rush to get ready. 

Marissa: ‘Fine. Fine. Sal’s at 6:30. Need to get ready.’ 

A quick torrent of replies poured in, most of them encouraging her to hurry so they didn’t all die of starvation. She highly doubted anyone could perish from lack of food simply by waiting an extra thirty minutes. 

Setting aside her bakery mystery, Marissa stared gloomily out of her window, watching the rain continue to pour from the heavens. Her mind worked quickly, trying to determine how long a meal with coworkers would actually take. Surely she could make it home by eight at the latest!

She would still have a few hours to enjoy her book before it was time to turn in for the night. And, she considered, mapping out the next few days in her head, since she was giving up her free time tonight, she could read on her lunch breaks during the week. 

It wouldn’t make up for missing out on the perfect night to read, but it would still give her time to herself. 

Slowly, she peeled off layer after layer of checkered blankets, missing the warmth they offered. She kept her blue sweater, determined to not let her social friends ruin her entire night. At least she’d be comfortable while eating pizza. 

Fetching her pink umbrella from its stand by the door, Marissa stepped out into the cool evening. Drops of rain slipped past the cover of her umbrella, splattering like tears on her face as she walked down the sidewalk towards Sal’s Pizzeria. 

Thinking of her book, she plotted out the ways in which the mystery could be resolved. Sally’s assistant Tim seemed to be the prime suspect. He was always nagging Sally to show him the recipe. Perhaps he wanted it for himself so he could open up his own bakery. Or perhaps Sally had hidden the recipe and cried ‘thief!’ in order to drum up support for her business. 

The story would still be there when Marissa returned to it, she knew, but in the meantime it felt like losing connection with a close friend. Leaving them alone on the couch while she made small talk with coworkers.

Pulling open the door to Sal’s, Marissa had a thought. Maybe one day she would solve the mystery of why social events were such a chore to her when most other introverted people could grin and bear it.