I was so close now, another half block between me and relief. It was the shortest distance I'd ever struggled to cover in my life. The wind continued to battle me relentlessly. It just wouldn't give up for anything—and neither would I.
Arriving at my stoop—the cement looked cold and wet, but then again, so was I—I gently collapsed onto the steps and sat, numbing myself to everything. Had that really just happened? Raindrops continued to patter against my plastic bag while the wind howled.
Not ten minutes ago, I was eating pizza and drinking wine in the apartment. I was running into Sam by surprise. I was dry as I bought sugary dessert.
That wasn't me anymore. I had sobered up some, but yeah, I was still drunk. I was wet and miserable. I don't know why I continued to sit there, but I did. And then, the storm left just as quickly as it arrived, and I started laughing like a crazy person.
Another tenant in my building opened the door behind me right after the madness concluded, and walked out onto the steps. He was an older man, a nice guy I'd noticed in passing a number of times but never spoken to. He always waved and smiled at me, though.
"What the hell is a girl like you doing out here?"
I turned and looked up at him—he had styled the very few white hairs left on his head and was wearing a nice polo shirt and pair of slacks. His shiny shoes were as reflective as a mirror and his weight rested on a cane. His obvious optimism felt more powerful than the remains of the storm—and it was kind of contagious.
"I don't know," I said. "I wanted ice cream and I got this instead." I lifted my soaking wet dress up and rang some water out. It spilled down the smooth surface of the steps and joined another puddle at the bottom.
"Serves you right for going out during a storm." He let out a booming laugh that softened me immediately, despite the fact that he had just scolded me.
"I guess you're right." I smiled back, even though it was a struggle at first. The physical act of smiling actually made me feel better. "You sure look nice. Where are you headed?"
He gave me a proud smile that seemed to illuminate the whole block. "Well, young lady, I've got a date. She's a real looker. Never thought I'd go on a first date again, but I'm a widower at seventy-five and ready to start fresh." After hearing his words, I expected a look of sadness, an outward expression of regret and misery. It didn't come. He was unfazed by the past, by his past.
I gulped, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid about my own woes. A widower at seventy-five. I couldn't even fathom what he had probably been through. But did I actually need to? "That's great," I said. "She'll be really impressed when she sees you."
"She'd better be!" He hobbled down the rest of the stairs and then turned to face me once he got on the sidewalk. "You have a nice night, ma'am, okay?"
"Thanks. You too!"
"And go change your clothes before you catch a cold." He started walking away, his potent laugh echoing through the evening like a banshee's.
Worried that the ice cream was melting, I stood up and walked inside, empowered by the random meeting on the steps. Had I just gone straight up to the apartment, I never would have had the conversation.
***
When I got inside, Jesse looked like death. He might have actually looked worse than I did.
"Christ, Effie! I was so worried about you. What the hell happened? I called you like a hundred times! You were here and then you just—"
I was feeling better on my walk up the stairs after the old man, but seeing Jesse made the sobs return. "I went to get the ice cream and then the storm and the seventy-five year old guy and I just can't—"
"Shh," he said reassuringly. "It's okay now." He hugged me and then helped me onto the couch. Even if he didn't actually give a damn, I couldn't help but think that he genuinely did. Jesse left the room and then came back with a towel that I eagerly accepted from him and used to dry my hair. I was shivering cold.
"I think I made a mistake with Jack," I cried. "It was stupid. He's probably out with some other