Soaked

Wearing his best suit, Bentley stood under Francine’s second story balcony. He hoped she would accept his apology.

It began to rain. Though he had no umbrella, he didn’t care. Starting as a heavy mist, the drizzle soon became a steady shower.

‘Maybe it’ll help,’ he thought.

If he’d blown it with Francine, nothing else mattered to him. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. ‘Stomped on her heart… for pride…? Ego…? Nothing so elevated…’ He didn’t know what to call it. He missed her.

Bentley thought back to their argument a week ago. Francine had always enjoyed their banter. She’d tell him to ‘get bent,’ and they’d laugh. But the last time she said it, the way her blue eyes flashed, he knew it was no joke.

‘Those eyes… so blue, the sky would blush…’                                                           

Feeling a chill, the rain had soaked through his jacket. The big drops pelting him that splashed off a minute ago, now went straight in. He’d always heard wool held warmth even when wet. ‘Not working…’ He shivered.

Runoff filled the gutters. Cars slowed and sent up sheets of water.

‘Here I am in a wet suit, and she doesn’t care. She’s laughing.’

Standing with nothing to do, Bentley’s mind wandered. ‘Wearing a wet suit, like skin-divers use, I wouldn’t be cold. But it would send the wrong message. Is she even home? Probably went to the movies… Well, she’ll hear about my untimely demise. Spend the rest of her life in regret…’ The thought didn’t warm him.

Up in their apartment, Francine stopped her reading. Ida, her mother, stood looking out their window.

“Stop staring, Mom. What’re you doing?”

“Your friend, Bentley’s out in the rain. I worry.”

“If he’s too stupid to come in out of the rain…” Francine said, “Tell him to get bent…”

But…

“No. I’m done with him.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. He’s a putz.”

“What does that mean? You always say that and I have no idea. Sounds crude. Not ladylike.”

“He’s a jerk. Happy?”

“He was always nice to me.”

“Then you go with him. I’m done… Just kidding, Mom. Don’t wish him on my worst enemy. Don’t waste your time. “

“I’d hardly think that’d happen, Fran... He’s there for you. Not for me.”

“He can stay there. Let him stew.”

Down in the yard, Bentley’s doubts grew. His gesture of atonement was not working as he had hoped. The rain hid his tears but not his pain.

Staring at the ground, he saw something white bounce in the grass. An ice cube. Looking up through the rain, he saw Francine standing at the balcony railing. She took another ice cube from a bowl and lobbed it at him.

He dodged it.

‘Those blue eyes… She cares after all…’

He figured overt hostility was better than indifference. Hope springs eternal.

‘What is she singing?’ He heard a faint melody coming from her. ‘Is that ‘Cry Me a River’?’

He joined her singing in harmony. An ice cube bounced off his head.

‘Ow!’

He picked up the ice chunk and threw it into the street. He yelled, “That hurt!”

Francine laughed and made a mock salute. She threw another cube at him which he side-stepped.

On the sidewalk behind Bentley, a neighbor stopped to observe. His black umbrella strained against the wind.

He said, “I’ve known Francine since she was a kid. Think she’s worth this trouble?”

Bentley turned to him. He winced when an ice cube ricocheted off the back of his head.

“Ow…! It’s my fault. I hurt her. Trying to make up to her.”

“Worth catching pneumonia?”

Bentley nodded. “If she’d accept my apology…”

An ice cube bounced off the man’s shoe. He looked up to see Francine wave.

“Live and learn…” He walked on.

Ida stepped onto the balcony wearing a bright yellow raincoat and a matching hat. A flowered umbrella hung from her forearm. Ida took Francine’s bowl of ice from the table. Careful not to hit Bentley, she emptied it over the balcony railing.  

She said, “Need the bowl…”

“Mom…!”

“You made your point… I don’t understand… Why is he down there? Bring him in. Work it out.”

Francine shook her head. “He hurt me, Mom. Can’t forgive him.”

“So, he bruised your feelings. Wait five minutes and you’ll get new ones.”

A gust of wind made them grab their hats. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Ida looked down at Bentley.

“Fran… You want him to die of pneumonia? What he did so bad, you want him dead?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“There you go…”

“I was thinking more like rabid dogs attacking…”

“Never mind…” Ida called out, “Bentley! Go away! You’re ruining the view.”

Bentley waved at Ida.

She yelled, “Here! You need this!”

She lobbed her umbrella in his direction. It arched toward him like a javelin.

“Look out!”

He jumped away. The umbrella stuck upright in the ground. Landing awkwardly, he stumbled and fell with the umbrella beneath him. Bentley rolled to his knees and picked it up. Ruined, its stem now bent, it wouldn’t open. It flopped wetly when he dropped it to the ground.

Bentley waved to Ida. “Thanks! I’m okay!”

A passerby spoke to Bentley from under his rainbow striped umbrella. “Hey, kid… Don’t look up. That’s how turkeys drown.”

Bentley turned, “Yeah… sure… thanks…”

“Seriously…” The man moved on.       

Bentley brushed mud and grass from his clothes. The wind picked up. The rain stung his face. He tried warming up by jumping up and down.

A man in a trench coat paused under his blue umbrella to watch Bentley. “Hey!”

Bentley turned. All he saw was his umbrella, so blue it could stop the rain.

‘Francine…’

“Give me your wallet.”

“What?”

“Your wallet. I want your money. Hand it over… Now.”

“I’m not gonna…”

The man folded his umbrella. He jammed his free hand into his coat pocket. What might be the barrel of a pistol strained against the fabric toward Bentley.

Bentley shook his head. “You gonna shoot me with your finger?”

The guy pulled a pistol from his pocket and slipped it back out of sight.

Bentley said, “Tell you what… I’ll buy your umbrella. Give you all my money.”

“Quit stalling. You’re already wet. Won’t help you. I’ll keep the umbrella and your cash.”

“People are watching. Sell it and you won’t be a thief.”

The man glanced up to see Ida and Francine watching from the balcony.

“Whaddya got?”

Bentley had gotten cash that morning, planning to buy Francine dinner. He pulled out his wallet and offered him what he had.

“I don’t know. Take it all. I don’t care.”

The man grabbed for his cash.

Bentley pulled it back and said, “I need the umbrella.”

Neither trusting the other, they each extended their arms and made the switch. The guy didn’t count it. Fanning through it, he saw several twenties and jammed it into his pocket.

They nodded to each other and the guy walked away fast. Bentley watched him go.

The rain stopped.

Suddenly he was drenched with warm water. Sputtering, he looked up to see Francine holding an empty bucket. She burst into laughter.

Bentley held the umbrella up toward her like an offering.

“You see what I bought you? I’m sorry for what I did.”

Francine’s face changed. “My color…”

He nodded.

She smiled and said, “You’re soaked… Come up. You need to get warm and dry.”

He went to the door and she buzzed him in.

The sun came out.