It was the first time she had been late since they had known each other. He considered this. He knew that she loved being punctual and despised tardiness, so despite the feeling of betrayal that burned in his chest, he waited for her. Cars whizzed by, horns blared, scurrying citizens bumped into him wondering what he was loitering around for on a street corner, like an insipid teenager, in the middle of winter.
Presumably, he was waiting for the stoplight to turn green. The tourists were the only ones who waited for it, and everybody else was in too much of a hurry to explain the truth.
A stoplight that never turns green. Unusual but oddly romantic just like her. And just like him. Just like them together.
Minutes went by as he idly acted like an amateur traffic policeman directing the meek who hesitantly sauntered to his corner of the street. To his left, a couple from the north, to whom he mildly explained their ill-fate should they not cross when the light was red: an eternity of waiting.
There were others like them who arrived thereafter, their noses darting from side to side, bewildered expressions plastered on their faces as they watched the light change from yellow to red and then yellow again. He offered them scattered words of encouragement, half-amused at his power, and they wondered who this savior was who spoke English, with perfect intonation, perfect confidence, and how suddenly a stoplight that didn't turn green made perfect sense.
Everyone made it across eventually.
Three hours had passed since she sent him that precipitous text message. The one which nearly stopped his breathing, inducing a fiendish choking reflex:
I changed my mind. I'll be there at 12 o'clock. Meet me at the place in our dreams.
It was her trademark to get him running with an ambivalent gesture. He wasn't a believer in fate, in destiny, and he was no longer a believer in her, but her words clung to his insides, searing his heart, and realization dawned that he wasn't a man of regret until he met her. Every story needs an ending, but theirs was plagued with ambiguous moments that would never be again. He thought about how he wanted to touch her, transfer his heat into her flushed skin, like the last time they were together, stuck in an elevator for two minutes of nervous innocence. She couldn't even look at him, and he wanted to send her to hell and make her moan at the same time.
The traffic was evolving into a desperate situation and the sky a gray, volcanic hue. Via San Felice - Saint Happy Street - this was the place where she wanted to meet him. And then it happened.
Like a tiny red dot on a radar map, she appeared out of the crowd. The weather had been angry all week, buildings were painted with spiteful splatters, but finally, at this perfect moment in time, a sliver of sun began to emerge from the clouds illuminating her radiant smile as she waved frantically at him across the street.
A stoplight that never turns green. Confusing but enticing just like her. And just like him. Just like them together.
Who made the biggest mistake was debatable by the horrified onlookers, but the silence that followed after and the ringing in her ears was deafening. It was a sickening crunch, a collision of steel and a stench of smoke that echoed for blocks on end. Today his luck ran out.
And she was finally sorry.
Cradling his head on her lap, he murmured nonsense as his brain fought to tell his heart to pump. My eyes are just brown, I'm sorry....i hate christmas, he says, kids freak me out. She nodded, making sense of his garbling, stroking his hair while her mascara drew a map on her face.
She was a confessional, his confessional, because he always gave her everything, and she just listened.
What happened to our spring day under the sun, what happened to our sfogliatella?
I wanted it...she whispered, as a train of ambulances arrived screaming in a disjointed parade. I thought I could show up later...
As he fades away his mind goes to sleep asking himself, What was she doing? What kept her from coming? He'll never know. And it won't matter.
He blinks up at her and murmurs one last thought, a golden ray of sun blanketing them together.
"What nice weather."
2.13.11
