Cloudy Days ...Finale

I was almost jealous of clouds. Why was I looking to
them for an escape when I was right here beside her?
― Kamila Shamsie

It was Wordsworth who wandered lonely as a cloud.

I suppose only people acquainted with solitude could make such a comparison—people like me.

And I guess I’ve been wallowing in that desert for a long time with my only real source of companionship the aloof fraternity of the Cloud Appreciation Society—and most of that on-line.

The only exception to my exile was my weekend excursion to Casa Loma and my failed encounter with Bri and her well-heeled sugar daddy, or whatever the hell role Ward Stephenson plays in her life.

I know I sound bitter—I’m not, just tired of wandering lonely as a cloud, perhaps.

After our weekend debacle, Bri stayed aloof. There was no friendly bantering or teasing.

She had withdrawn into herself and was remote and distant as the Moon.

At noon, I bought a sandwich from a Capansky deli truck and went to eat in in a small ravine parkette near our building. I often spend my lunch breaks there, sitting out on a bench looking at clouds.

I took my sandwich from my suede valise, and then, propped it behind my head, using it as a pillow.

I stretched out, munching occasionally on my sandwich, and staring up at cumulus towers high above me.

“May I sit down?”

I squinted up to see Bri clothed in the sun, its fiery radiance lighting free strands of her hair.

I straightened up immediately.

“Hey, Bri!," I said in surprise, and then added ruefully, "but unlike Casa Loma, these clouds are free.”

She smiled at my reference to our weekend encounter, and sat down beside me and unwrapped her deli sandwich.

“What are you eating?” she asked.

“Swiss cheese on Rye. What about you?”

“Ham and Brie,” she laughed.

“Figures.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you to Ward before now. And to set matters right, you’re not just a workplace acquaintance.”

I looked at her, weighing her words. “Okay then, what am I?”

“C’mon, Derek—you’re a friend.”

I chuckled bitterly. “A friend with boundaries?”

“Look, it’s just that most people wouldn’t understand my relationship with Ward—our age difference and the fact he’s married.”

“And you think I do?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath.

‘Well, you’re wrong. Don’t get the idea I’m judging you on what you said. That’s not it. I just don’t get why you’re with someone who mocks you by making fun of things that are important to you.”

“Are you talking about clouds?”

“Yeah—clouds. Damn! I’ve only met two women in this whole world who love clouds —one ran away to Peru, and you…I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “You think I’m prostituting myself?”

I looked at her narrowly. “I never said that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“No, actually I wasn’t. I was thinking you’re lovely like these clouds above us—you’re like everything else in my life that matters and is always just out of reach.”

I stopped, not believing what I said.

I guess spending too much time with only clouds as friends makes one socially awkward, and probably a lifelong bachelor as well.

A silence fell between us.

I’d take back the words if I could, but couldn’t.

It occurred to me I probably lost another person who made Life meaningful for me—another cloud seeker who gave me a reason to get out of bed each day.

“So that’s it," she muttered, "what you’re telling me is that you’ve been in love with me all this time?”

I turned toward her, expecting to see sparks of anger in her eyes, but instead, I saw her soul—dark and filled with tears.

I was frozen. It’s hopeless when you’ve said all that can be said—when you’re in your truth but still experience desolation and loss.

She went quiet a long time, and then finally asked, “When the firm moves are you going to Seattle?”

I shook my head. “It rains there all the time, and much as I love rain, I can’t take too much of one thing. I love the four seasons and the changing face of the sky.”

“So, you can’t look at the same face all your life?”

“Only if it was yours—I could make that exception.”

Somehow, I ended up in her arms, kissing the face I love.

“I can’t remember the last time I did something just for me,” she whispered.

“But what about Ward, and what about Seattle?”

She inhaled deeply. “That kind of life isn’t me. I was looking for something, not expecting to find it in someone. I thought I needed to go places when I just needed to fall in love—with you.”

My first love left without explanation and tormented me with a cloud.

She was an idler blown about by moods and winds, drifting to distant places.

My real love stayed and shared the sky.

And now I’m finally happy, drawn up into her cloud and the beautiful sadness of her eyes.

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