It was barely drizzling when I set out, normal for a day such as this. Likely it would be damp all day, but not a deluge, not today.
The sheets came down heavier as I pedaled forth. My hood went up and I couldn’t find my landmarks. I was grateful for the rain gear my classmate had insisted I buy. “Eventually you’ll need it,” stating, then gently bit her bottom lip. Drawing the line at any further mothering.
I had followed the signs toward “centrum,” knowing I’d see the station. I had done so a few times, at least. Usually to go see him, but now he was coming to see me. The rain was thick enough, I could barely see. Likely I missed the signs.
“Blasted rain.” I had no clue where I was, and got off to walk through a park, which I hoped was a shortcut. Being able to dodge from tree to tree prevented me from getting too soaked.
Then, in my periphery, a flash of white. Then another. Flitting from tree to tree, as I was. And laughter. She came out behind a large, droopy, willow, a brilliant bride with a smile as large as the universe. A photographer chased after her. “And now, and now!” he kept shouting as they laughed and attempted to pose in the damp.
This is truly the happiest day of her life, I thought, completely forgotten of my mission. I watched another few minutes, completely transfixed. The park was a dream park, and she its fairy princess, as the grey mist swallowed then revealed bridges, for her to stand upon. The trees bowed toward her. The swans on ponds drifted to their edges to find their Queen.
I wondered if I should ever be that happy. I wondered if the bride should stay happy. Then I remembered. HIM. It was a light drizzle again so I jumped back on my bike and pedaled furiously in the direction I where I was now positive there was a station.
He stood at the front, wet and disgruntled, and admittedly, slightly, furious. I thought of the bride and her laughter, and looked at this dark figure in front of me. In those days not everyone carried a phone to call and say they were late. I was dreadfully late.
I thought of the bride, though, and smiled, as I looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I just saw a very beautiful thing though. Let’s go get a drink.”
Halfway into the Irish whiskeys, steam rising and misting the windows, we wondered if I may have dreamed it. “It could be a sign,” he said, purposefully letting froth sit on his lip, so I would kiss it off. I did. Then, I said, “I don’t think so. But you know what?”
He grinned at me. That grin I will never forget, that lights my heart to this day when I remember it.
“This is the happiest day of my life.”