Rain On My Parade
The heavens had opened and Mel had to walk home. Could things get any worse?
IHATE the rain, Mel thought as she waited for the bus. Her umbrella did little to stop the wind-driven drops lashing her legs, and her shoes were damp from the walk from the office.
How did people cope with this every day?
She was at the back of the queue, so there was no chance of reaching the refuge of the bus shelter. At least she didn’t have to wait long for the bus.
The people in front of her got on, jostling for position.
“Sorry, love, you’ll have to wait for the next one,” the driver said as she was about to step up.
“Can’t you squeeze me in?” she pleaded, hating the begging tone in her voice.
“Sorry. Health and safety.” He shut the door so Mel had to quickly step back straight into a puddle.
Everything was wrong at the moment.
The car was in the garage for repairs and was going to cost an arm and a leg, and she’d just found out she couldn’t have the two weeks she’d planned on for holidays next year because Hannah had got in first.
Worst of all, someone had told her only yesterday that Ed, who’d said only seven months ago that he never wanted to get married, thus precipitating their split, was engaged.
Mel found herself pondering on that as she was left behind.
It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair that he’d moved on so quickly and that someone else had got the proposal she’d thought would be hers.
Oh, she could see now that they would have had problems if they’d stayed together, but still.
She wondered how long she’d have to wait for the next bus.
Then she began to consider how much wetter she would get if she walked home.
At least she’d be in control. Mel made up her mind quickly and left the bus stop behind.
As she began to walk, a car passed close by, throwing up a cascade of puddle water over her.
“Oh!” she cried and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I hate the rain.”
She left the city centre behind and turned into Chapel Street.
Suddenly a jogger brushed past, his red backpack almost knocking her into the bush that ran alongside the old Methodist chapel.
“Hey!” she called out, but he was already 20 yards down the road.
Joggers! They thought they owned the pavement, just like people with their heads down, absorbed in their phones, expecting you to get out of the way.
Two hours later she arrived home, sodden and with her feet in agony.
****
The bus was full when it arrived the following morning, but at least she managed to get on it.
The ride to work was tedious and trying. The bus didn’t take the direct route and seemed to pull up at every stop.
By the time she arrived in the office she was hot and sticky and in a bad mood.
“I’d offer you a lift,” Hannah told Mel when she explained the reason why.
“But I live two miles further east. I’d have to go out of my way.”
By the time Mel joined the queue for the bus that evening, she was at the back again.
The next bus was 15 minutes later, she’d discovered by consulting the timetable online, but took a longer route home.
If she walked, at least she wouldn’t be crushed in with other sweaty commuters – and it wasn’t raining.
If she walked faster, she’d make it home sooner this time.
Mel was striding along Chapel Street when she saw a familiar red backpack ahead.
“Hey! Stop!” she called. Surprisingly, the jogger stopped and waited for her to catch up.
She could see that he was a young man around her age, and he had a puzzled look on his face.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, but you almost knocked me into the hedge yesterday,” Mel accused him. “Didn’t you notice?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t.” At least he looked genuine.
“You joggers think you own the pavements,” she moaned.
“I’m not really a jogger,” he replied. “I’m on my way home from work. It beats sitting in traffic and it clears my head.”
“Oh, me, too.” Mel sighed. “My car’s being repaired and the bus is always full so I decided to walk.”
“You might find it easier if you wore trainers,” he advised, looking at her heeled boots, then indicated his backpack. “All my work stuff’s in here.
“I change before setting out for home.” He smiled and his cheeks dimpled.
“I’d better be on my way. My apologies again.”
He jogged off.
****
Mel found herself walking home again the following evening, and she was beginning to enjoy the freedom.
She noticed things she’d never noticed when she was driving.
This time she’d taken her trainers into work. She
even jogged some of the way.
“I see you took my advice.”
Mel heard a voice at her shoulder and turned to see the jogger.
He stopped as he drew alongside her.
“You’re right.” She smiled. “Wearing trainers is much more comfortable.” “I’m Brad,” he said. “Mel.”
“I work in the Rosser Building on Turner Street.”
“I work just around the corner from there,” Mel replied.
“It seems we start in the same place and go in the same direction,” Brad remarked. “Maybe I’ll see you again tomorrow?”
“Maybe. If my car’s not ready.”
He waved and jogged on ahead.
****
It was raining, but Mel was prepared with waterproofs. She waited on the corner of Turner Street after work.
Out of the Rosser Building came Brad.
He looked cute, longlimbed and strong – nothing like Ed, whose idea of exercise had been walking to the front door to take delivery of a pizza.
“Have you had a good day?” Brad asked as he drew up.
“Terrible. I can’t wait to hit the road.”
It was the only thing that had kept Mel going through the stressful day was the thought of this moment.
The bus, packed with weary commuters, chugged by.
Mel felt sorry for them. Even though her car had been ready for a fortnight, jogging to and from work had become a joy.
Something was happening between her and Brad, too – she knew it, he knew it, and it was exciting.
“It’s the first rain we’ve had for a while,” he commented, adjusting his hood.
“Actually,” Mel began with a smile, “I quite like the rain.” ■