Strange Friends

 	It rained on her wedding day.
	On the Eighteenth of July, in the middle of the hottest state in North America, it rained.
	All. Day. Long. 
      Most people would tell her it was to be taken as an omen, the way the drops came pouring from the sky, so unnaturally on that stuffy Tuesday evening. They’d tell her that she should have seen that the whole marriage thing she signed up for wouldn’t work out. As if such a natural occurrence as rain could determine her future. 
      Naturally she objected, as a madwoman in love would. Why wouldn’t she? Each time her friends would counter, “Remember the lighting that spontaneously struck at the very instant you said ‘I do’.”
	If only she’d known then how much she would regret those two simple words.
      
      The light had long since disappeared from the sky. The Chicago wind blew mercilessly against her cheeks, causing brown eyes to squint as skin began to rapidly grow numb. She sat silently against the cool metal of the park bench, her magenta stiletto swaying slightly above the sidewalk, with her legs crossed. She found herself wondering for the hundredth time why she was waiting. As to what she was waiting for, however, her mind did not seem to comprehend. Yet still she sat, as if it were the only activity left on earth.	 
	It was just another fight, she found herself thinking, despite the images of glass covering the kitchen floor that now invaded her brain. Nothing new.
	Of course it was nothing new. All that she and her husband ever did now was fight. Screaming that nearly always ended up with her bleeding both inside and out.
      A tear rolled down her cheek at that thought and she fought the urge to close her eyes. There was no point in tears–that lesson she had learned long ago. 
       “I’m going to sit down now,” a voice new to her announced suddenly, causing her to jump.
	She glanced up, surprise evident on her features, to meet the strangely golden eyes of a man.  He was incredibly tall, tan, and obviously relaxed, despite the almost obscene darkness that the evening had created. 
       “I’ve been watching you,” he told her, plopping beside her with more ease than an old woman in her rocking chair.
	Her eyebrows furrowed, making a distinct line in the center of her forehead. 
His comment was one that she knew should bother her, but for some reason it only intrigued her.
      “You live in Oak Park, yes?” he pressed, his accent betraying his British heritage.
	“On Grove,” was her response, the sound of it surprising even herself. Was it really wise to be informing this stranger of her address?
	The man nodded, his Skaterboy-styled hair swaying slowly as he did so. "You're Aya.”
       "Yes, Aya Mongolis." Her replies were coming without hesitation now, and she found herself wondering why she was so attracted to this stranger.
      "Alexander," he said absently, before coughing. "What brings you here so late at night?"
	Aya blinked, bringing another tear down her cheek.
      She hadn't checked the time since she'd stormed out of the purgatory that was her home, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was well past midnight.  “My life is complicated right now,” she found herself telling him, not looking at the golden eyes that she knew to be staring her down. 
	“A guy?” 
	Aya swallowed. “My husband.” 
      Her words cut through the air with the force of a breaking bone, causing the silence between his next words to be deafening.
      “Is he not the man you fell in love with?” he asked finally, the golden eyes full of curiosity.
      She started, eyes bulging nearly from their sockets as an unexpected wave of anger coursed through her already heated veins.  “How do you know all these things about my life?” she snapped. 
	Alexander didn’t flinch at her venom, and instead shrugged as if the action were the perfect antidote.  “I’m only asking.”
	“Well, it’s pretty darn rude,” she replied, placing both of her feet onto the pavement below her.  “I haven’t a clue as to who you are.”
	He sighed. “I’ve told you, my name’s Alexander.”
	She scoffed, rolling her eyes.  “That tells me nothing.” 
	He was silent for a moment, blinking at her in surprise. “Am I bothering you?”
	Aya bit her lip in response.
	“I can leave, if I am,” he continued, his tone sincere. 
	She closed her eyes tightly, trying her very best to hold in the overwhelming sadness that was filling her. Never once had she cried in front of someone and she’d be damned if she were to start now.  
	“Aya?” he questioned, his voice full of caution.  “Hey. Are you alright?”
She was silently biting her lip, so hard she could taste blood, before a cry escaped her. The sound resembled the cry of a dying horse. 
	“Oh, don’t cry,” he said anxiously with a hint of panic in his voice, eyes widening as he watched her sob.
	Aya silently cursed herself as the tears poured down her face. How dare she allow herself to come undone in the presence of a stranger?  
      To make matters worse, he began to rub her shoulders in the most comforting way possible; something her husband had never even contemplated doing in three years of marriage.
	She cried harder at the thought. 
	“Are you alright?” he asked again, before shaking his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”
	Aya whimpered. The sound held all the anger and confusion that had been suppressed since that rainy, stuffy Tuesday.
	His shirt was beginning to dampen with the force of her tears, and she found herself wondering why he was nice enough to let her have this ridiculous tantrum.
	“Men are horrible,” he offered, his voice holding a smooth quality comparable only to itself. 
	She laughed through the rainstorms that were her tears.  “You could say that again.”
	 Only the sound of her quiet tears could be heard for the longest of moments after that.  Only the feeling of total and complete warmth could be felt. It was one of those rare moments in life where nothing had to be said; the feelings were more apparent than if words had been spoken.  
	It didn’t take too long, before the soft mewling of her sobs reduced to nothingness, until normal breathing replaced the pants.
	Alexander opened his eyes as he noticed this, preparing himself for whatever his new companion might say next. 
	“He’s different now,” was what she said when she finally did speak. “He’s not anything like the man I married.”
	He nodded slowly, as if her words had been anticipated. 
	“He drinks more than he should,” Aya continued, her voice not losing the unbelievable clarity with which she’d begun. “Everything just sort of goes downhill from there.”
	Her companion nodded once more, gently removing a strand of hair from her face. He seemed to sense precisely what she needed to feel better, although she herself was oblivious. 
	 “I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation. One that didn’t end up with…well, one that didn’t end badly.” Her voice trailed off slightly as she said this, and after what seemed to be a moment of contemplation, she moved her arm into the streetlight. 
	The gold eyes widened as she revealed the long gash, stretching from the skin of her wrist to that of the crease of her elbow. A thin trail of dried blood surrounded the cut, although it seemed to be no longer bleeding. 
	“He pushed me,” she said gently, running a finger along the injury.  “And I knocked over the stack of dishes I was washing.”
	“Does this happen often?” her companion asked gently, as he swiftly reached into the bag beside him.
	Aya nodded, watching as he squeezed the clear liquid along her wound, which began to sting almost immediately. 
      “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he murmured, placing the bottle of rubbing alcohol back into his bag. “It seems to me that this man you’re with doesn’t quite respect you the way you deserve.”
      He wasn’t the first one to tell her this, far from it actually, but for some reason it felt so much more real, coming from someone whom she’d only just met. 
      “You keep looking for other options,” he continued, his British accent still going strong. “But I think you know full and well what should be done about the situation.”
      “I’m a Catholic,” she told him. “I don’t believe in divorce.”
      Alexander shrugged.  “Well then, just take a break– nothing has to be official.”
      Her heart skipped a beat at the plainness of his solution, and Aya found herself wondering why it hadn’t occurred to her before. 
      “It wouldn’t be too difficult,” he continued, the golden eyes looking up into the stars. “I don’t think this husband of yours would be able to last more than a week before he came after you.”
      “What if I don’t want him to come after me?” Aya laughed, the sound lacking humor.  “What if I want nothing more to do with the life I currently have?”
      Her companion was quiet for an impossibly long moment. He continued to stare up into the sky and when the words finally spilled from his lips, they were simple.  “Do what you feel is best.”
      Aya stared at him in awe. How was it that this stranger was so right? How was it that he was so brilliant in the ways of her life–as if he were the one living it? 
       “You’re staring at me as if I have lobsters crawling from my ears,” he observed, laughing gently. “Are you alright?”
      She smiled, for the first time in what felt like years. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
       “Uh, no,” he replied casually, before laughing like a hyena. “No girlfriend.”
      “I don’t see how being single is funny,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
      He laughed again. “Oh, I’m not single.”
      Aya frowned. “You just said–“
      “I’m in the other boat,” he clarified. “If you know what I mean.”
      Her confusion lasted only a moment longer, before her eyes widened. “Oh!” 
      Her companion laughed again. “That took you a while.” 
      “Why is it that all the good ones are either taken or gay?” she questioned, annoyance coloring her tone.
      “Don’t forget about the friend zone,” he pointed out, chuckling again. You ladies have a problem with leaving us there.”
      Aya nodded, her heart feeling lighter than air. “It’s so weird.”
      “What?”
      “My mother always told me not to talk to strangers.”
      Her companion shook his head. “The way I see it, there are no strangers.”
      “No?” she replied.
      He smiled, the image seeming to light up the whole world. “Just strange friends.” 
      His words made more sense than they should, and her own unique smile crept up onto her face. “Strange friends.”
      The Chicago wind must have heard her, for it began to slow down just then. Every move she made seemed to perfect itself immediately, and Aya couldn’t help the grin that was now permanently etched onto her face.   
      “Would you care to join me in a walk?” Alexander suggested suddenly, noticing her expression. “I promise not to bite.”
      She laughed lightly, nodding as he stood. “Sure.”
      And that was that. He casually took her hand, leading the way to wherever life cared to take them.  
      Just two strange friends, strolling in the moonlight. 
		Strange Friends, 6-8, p.1




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