Two people come out of a building. One out of the whirling central door, and the other out of the furthest door to the left. From the gold-laden revolving door at center, a sharp looking man exits. He looks to be about 30 years old; give or take, and his demeanor makes him appear somewhat like a giant, just out of place, in the middle of an amusement park.
To the left, a young woman exits from the furthest door, trying to remain as invisible as possible. But that’s not quite what it seems. She wants to be seen, she’s just terrified of what will happen once she is. So she stays quiet and stays left, and just out of the rain and just out of sight.
As they step out onto the street, the rain suddenly turns into downpour. She buttons up her brown overcoat and pulls the collar up around her neck. At the same time, he pulls an umbrella out of his back pocket. He sparks a smile and opens the umbrella, quite pleased with himself.
But she, with her buttoned up, weather-appropriate raincoat securely shuttered around her neck, is now soaked to the bone.
Here is our heroine, drenched and shuddering, yet seemingly unaware. Now this is not to say she is optimistic and handling it well. No. Anyone could tell by the look on her face that shows that, on some level, she knows how cold she is. She knows. It’s just that she isn’t tuned in. There’s just too much to think about, so much to do and to learn and to know; she has no time to stand soaking in the rain, thinking about irony.
Our gentleman lifts his head to look up a bit, trying to get a sense of how to navigate his way through this storm. Suddenly, our heroine appears in his view. He looks at her. In shock. Why is she soaking wet? What is the deal with her malfunctioning raincoat? Why isn’t she looking for cover?
He walks toward her, the bottom half of his pant legs now weighted down from the gathering rainwater overcoming the sidewalk.
“Hey,” he offers, “You look kind of, uh, like you could use a hand.”
She looks up to see a man standing before her. He has offered her a smile, and she’s working to get a read on it; much in the same fashion as a mathematician would read code. He’s got an umbrella, she thinks, but just about the only thing it’s protecting is his head. Water is pouring down from the sides of it, in sheets. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Uh yeah,” she replies, “I guess when it rains, it pours here.”
He laughs, “Yeah, when we do weather here we pull out all the stops.”
He cautiously steps forward, in an effort to get some umbrella over top of her.
She looks up. What’s he even thinking, that umbrella isn’t big enough to cover us both. What silliness.
He steps forward for the one last step and stretches out his arm to bring her underneath. She looks up and nods in appreciation. Then suddenly she glances down at the umbrella’s handle.
“LM,” she reads aloud, surprised. He looks down at the handle. “Oh. I don’t know, I just picked this up somewhere,” he explains.
“That sounds like a bad plot gimmick of an overly long sitcom series,” he laughs.
“Haha, totally” she chuckles. “What even, anyway? Don’t you hate when they have this build up for what seems like, ever, and you’re like hello, I’ve got it… I’ve got the ending. Like, let’s move this along now. Enough with the fillers.”
“I know, right?!” he tosses his head back in laughter, “Let’s just get on with the ending already. I mean look, I’m Craig, I’ll be your husband in about three years.”
“Haha oh! Is that right?” she half-shouts in disbelief, “I guess we’ll see.”
He takes her arm and leads her away from the awning dripping rainwater overhead, “I guess we will.”