The way rain changes the color of the sidewalk

I was in the park taking a picture of an oak tree from a bench. I had my elbow firmly planted on my thigh; the heavy lens cupped in the palm of my hand and trying to wait for the wind to blow the leaves and branches in just the right way. I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. I snapped the shot. It wasn’t until afterwards that I noticed the woman in the yellow dress that was just on the edge of my shot taking a picture of the exact same tree. At first, I was irritated. Then I looked up from my camera and watched her. I decided to walk up to her.

“Hey,” I waved at her. “I accidentally got you in one of my shots.”

She turned to look at me. I could see her. She was simple, yet pretty. “What’s that?” she asked.

I pulled up my camera and showed her the preview of the photo I took. “I accidentally got you in one of my pictures of the tree.”

She was hesitant at first, almost embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, it’s a fine picture. I had been trying to get a picture of this tree for hours, just waiting for the wind to blow just right. Do you want to see it?”

“No, I’m okay,” she said. She held her camera, a small Nikon, around her neck by a strap with one hand on the lens.

I panicked. I pulled my camera back. “I’m sorry,” I said. My brow began to sweat.

I went back to my bench. I laid back on it with my jacket as a pillow. I could feel the heaviness of my camera on my chest as I breathed in and out. I’m not sure how long I laid there, but when I sat back up, she was gone.

I took a walk around the trail and tried to find a new spot to shoot. I came around a bend and saw a fat squirrel with a fry in its mouth scampering through the grass. He would bounce, stop, look, and bounce some more. He did this until he reached the trunk of a small tree. He scurried up the tree and sat on a branch eating his fry. I couldn’t see any meaning in the picture since the fry was gone.

I looked back one last time, part of me looking for a shot but a bigger part of me looking for the girl. She wasn’t there. I walked down the street a few blocks to a coffee shop. I ordered an Americano and then sat in a booth. I put my bag in the empty seat across from me and pulled out my laptop. I took the SD card from the camera and put it in the computer. While it loaded, I sipped on my Americano.

It was quiet, the sounds of coffee grinders, milk steamers, and the low chatter of a few patrons. One girl would call out orders. A latte with oat milk, she would yell. Iced mocha with no cream, she would call out. The subtle sound of new jazz instrumentals steady behind it all.

My back was to the door, so when the hanging bell on it jingled when somebody walked in, I didn’t pay any mind. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small flash of yellow. I peeked over out of the corner of my eye, and it was the girl from the park. I panicked again and started to sweat a little bit in my armpits.

I sipped on my drink, pretending to be oblivious that she walked in. I paid extra close attention to my computer. I was making adjustments to the photograph and then I noticed that the picture I had pulled up was the one with the girl in it. I glanced over and she was at the counter. I quickly closed out of the picture and pulled up another one, and as I did, I knocked my glass slightly so that the coffee spilled a little over the edges of the cup. I ignored it and went back to working on a new picture.

She sat at a table in the middle of the room by herself. She had her camera setting on the table and a mug with steam rolling off the top of it. I tried not to look at her and focus on my work.

I felt a small tickle in my sinuses. I tried to ignore it, tried to rub my nose or look upward or think of a word to repeat in my head or put my tongue to the roof of my mouth so it would go away. But it did not work. I let out a sneeze into the crook of my arm. Instinctively, she turned to say bless you. We made eye contact and she looked at me for a brief moment before turning back around in her seat.

“Are you following me?” she asked me.

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came here for a coffee.”

“A coffee?”

“Yes,” I said. “Mine isn’t even hot anymore. I’ve been here for a while.”

She looked at the steam coming from her cup, then at mine. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“You don’t have to apologize. I apologize for coming up to you at the park.”

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked.

I pulled my bag from the other side of the booth and waved her in. I closed my laptop and looked at her across from me.

“You have a nice camera. Are you a professional?” she asked.

“I try to be.”

“I just do it for fun.”

“That makes for the best pictures,” I said. “Trying too hard takes the joy out of the moment that you’re trying to capture.” We paused to sip our drinks. “What are you having?”

“Just a regular coffee,” she said. There was a silence again. Not an unwanted silence, nor an awkward silence. Just the silence between two people. “Can I see the picture you took? The one with me in it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t do it intentionally.” I was opening my laptop and pulling up the file. “I didn’t notice you there until after I had taken it. I was just waiting on the wind to blow this one branch just the right way.” I turned my computer toward her.

“Usually, I edit my photos. Not much, just slightly to bring certain colors out a little more. I haven’t done that with this one yet.”

“That’s beautiful. I look so small.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I suppose I am,” she said as a continued thought.

“What?”

“Small,” she said. “I was trying to get a picture of that very tree, but I couldn’t capture it the way I wanted to. They all looked bland.”

“I’m sure they’re just as good.”

She sat looking at the picture. I finished my drink. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head no as she looked at the photograph. I left her there with my laptop. I ordered my drink and waited at the counter for it. I came back and she was clicking through my photos.

“These are,” she paused, “I don’t know the word for it. Amazing doesn’t seem big enough. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” I said. I sipped my drink and burned my tongue. I held it in.

“Do you only do nature and landscapes?”

“Mostly.”

She looked over at me with only her eyes. She sat back in the booth, and I closed my laptop and put it in my bag. We both took a drink. “I’m Robert,” I said.

“Ashley.”

“Do you live around here?” I asked.

“Kind of,” she said. “Do you?”

I nodded with a full drink in my mouth. “Just a few blocks south.”

We sat there in the booth until her second drink was gone and mine had gone cold. There were less people in the building by then and the sun was getting a little lower. The fall of an early September rain started lightly outside. Small dots turned the light gray sidewalk a darker shade until the entire thing seemed to change color. It didn’t last long.

We walked outside and I held the door open behind me. It smelled like an early fall morning and the sun was just beginning to break between the trees and the temperature was getting colder.

“I should be getting home,” she said. “Thank you for the company.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you. It was nice talking with you.”

If we had known each other, we would have hugged goodbye at that point. But we didn’t and she turned and started walking down the sidewalk. If she was going to a car or a bike or a bus stop, I wasn’t sure. She was about ten yards away and I yelled for her. “Hey!” I yelled. And she turned around.