By Sophie Berghouse

When it comes, it sneaks in like a storm. You walk across a parking lot, and suddenly, you feel the wind pick up a bit, the temperatures drop a degree or two, a cloud skims the sun. You look up, but everything looks normal. The sun is shining again, and you shrug it off, saying “it was probably nothing”. That’s when you notice the hair on your arm still standing. Hmmm, you note and continue. 

*

At first, you are confused. Did she always talk about herself this much? She always liked to dominate the conversation, so it doesn’t alarm you—not really. She’s had a lot of stress lately with her fear of getting fired, you figure. And then after she finishes telling you all about her summer, and her son, and her daughter, and her husband, she does ask how your family is doing. But there’s no time to share—you’ve rounded the corner together and are back home. I’ll invite her up for a coffee like usual, you think.

*

Then, as you pass the rows of cars in the parking lot, the temperature drops a little bit more violently. Is that just the air conditioning getting out? “Doesn’t matter if it rains. I’ll be inside by then,” you mutter to yourself. But then a bigger cloud covers the sun, the wind picks up, and you are certain now that you see some faint darkness on the horizon. It’s still so far off in the distance. It’ll probably pass by. 

*

“Wish I could, but no time this week. I have to grade essays. Sorry!” she says. And the darkness inside you starts to rumble. Essays? The first week of school for a grade-school teacher? It doesn’t sit well with you, but you figure she has some personal reasons and just doesn’t want to share them. She will figure it out, and it will pass. And then everything will be back to normal. Friends don’t have to share everything, you reason.

*

And as you approach the sliding doors of the store you are aiming for, the sky has turned deep purple and dark blue. The sun is overwhelmed by the darkness. The winds are whipping at your dress and your hair, trying to take those too. You pick up your pace, instinctively looking for safety. But it’s too late. The first drops fall, followed immediately by a torrent of water. The asphalt is now white from the splattered deluge. You stop running, there is nothing to salvage.

*

And then you see her. She’s not at home grading but having coffee with someone else. She hasn’t seen you yet—you instinctively want to turn in the other direction. You feel deeply foolish, you should have seen it coming. Your feelings are mixed with a dark jealousy. You knew, but you didn’t want to listen. But you don’t run away, you stand defiantly. 

“Hi Claudia,” you say with an accusing smirk as you walk up to her table.

“Oh. Lisa. Um, hi,” she mutters. Neither of you say anything more. You wait several seconds for an apology that doesn’t come. There is nothing to salvage here. 

You start walking without a word.   

*   *   *

Sophie Berghouse is finally getting in touch with her passion after being a disciple of her head for too long. She now preaches the Book of Life to anyone willing to listen. Her kids do not. This is why she sits hunched in front of her computer late at night asking into the void if “anyone?, anyone?” will take note.