....red rain is pouring down, pouring down all over me.....
Ah! Rock Star Parking....and it's free! I run in, grab the envelope, run out. At the door, stop to kick off, pick up my shoes, to feel the cool wet brick of Annapolis beneath my naked soles. A happily placed puddle provides opportunity for hop and splash, wetting the hem of my dress.
The Post Office eludes me, playing hide and seek on Ritchie Highway. Just as I spot a mail truck, determine to follow it to its home, the phone rings.
"Oh, hi, how are you?"
He hasn't called me in over a month. For ANYTHING.
"I have a question."
"For you, the answer is Yes. The answer is always Yes."
Sadly, he is not nonplussed. He knows me well enough to ignore me, to be immune. He has called, my Reluctant Prince, to tell me about a notice for a job he thinks I'd like.
"Since you fancy yourself a writer," he says.
"How sweet of you to think of me," I say.
"Yeah, don't tell anyone."
"I promise not to blow your cover."
Do I thank him?
Of course I do.
Do I say I love him?
Not this time.
But I hope he hears it anyway.
The mail truck has led me to its Leader, its Junction, its Depot. I park a sizeable steady walk from the door, and with my box of bulk, Indian step to the bright of inside, from the cool blessing of wet heaven on my skin.