Unexpected

It was a rainy day. It came on quickly and without warning. One moment the sun was out and shining, everyone was out and about going on with their daily lives when suddenly the flood gates opened wide and stretched over the area. People fled to their cars or into nearby shelters. She happened to choose a small slushie shop tucked between a Chinese restaurant and an old quilt shop. She paused for a moment a few steps in. The small space was filled to the brim, way past the legal people-per-square-foot capacity. She joined what she hoped was the line for the registers and after twenty minutes of listening to the couple behind her complain about the poor service of this place ( ' Go back outside if your so impatient, they’re working as fast as they can! ' ) she finally paid for her mixture of shaved ice and syrup in a cup.

The thought of standing made her inwardly cringe. From the looks of it, the rain wasn't stopping anytime soon. After a quick glance around the shop her eyes were drawn to the only available seat. The table was occupied by a finely dressed gentlemen, who looked to be about her age. He jumped when a shrill, high-pitched wail was released from a very unhappy young child seated directly behind him. His mouth moved as if he was mumbling under his breath but he kept his thoughts to himself.

She slipped through the hustle and bustle before someone could take the seat. She approached the small table and winced at the mountain of books and papers covering its surface. Nerd crossed her mind, but she decided insulting the man wouldn't be a good idea. "Hey uh, would you mind if I had a seat?"

For a moment she thought he didn't hear her but after a moment he glanced up from his paper. He opened his mouth and she feared he would reject her but then closed it back up and shrugged his shoulders before turning back to his paper. She gave him a nod and sat down, sipping her slushie. Her eyes glanced back up at her silent table-mate and she realized something. He’d stopped writing, and was just holding his pen to the paper as if he were willing it to write on its own.

She frowned and leaned in slightly to see what had stopped him, but the words were hard to make out upside down. “So ehm,” she began, “whaddya got, there?” He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t react at all, as if he were ignoring her on purpose. She leaned back in her chair and frowned at him, “And now I know why no one was sitting here”, she thought to herself as she looked out the window and continued to gulp down her slushie. Her face softened as she watched the rainfall; rainy days had always been her favorite. Maybe there would even be thunder and lightning? She cracked a small, subtle smile and exhaled, and the raindrops continued to tap on the glass of the modest little shop.

Unbeknownst to the woman, her table-mate had stopped frowning at his paper and looked slightly up at her. Her silence made him feel surprisingly uncomfortable, and he looked up to see what caused it. He was a bit surprised to find himself starring at the woman for what seemed like quite a while. When she had initially approached, he decided in a moment who she was: her torn jeans, worn sneakers and loose-fitting, slashed, long-sleeve shirt screamed “punk trash”. Not to mention her multiple piercings in her ears, hand-me-down beanie, and undercut hairstyle. Sure, he had an undercut too, but at least his wasn’t so…scruffy-looking. In this moment, however, as she gazed out the window at the rain and let out an occasional sigh, she looked…rather serene. Beautiful, even. After a few moments, however, he returned to his senses. He furrowed his brow once more and directed his attention back to what he had convinced himself to be the more pressing matter: his dissertation.

She raised the straw to her mouth once more and looked over at the man. She had a hard time understanding people like him- the stoic, stick-in-the-mud type, but she decided it was no reason to stop her from at least attempting to befriend him. She placed her slushie on the table, and ever so quietly, got up and stood behind him. From over his shoulder, she could now at least make out the words. His handwriting stood out to her immediately, exactly how she expected it would look: Every letter was capitalized, yet still the same size as a lowercase would be, and it was obvious that he pressed down with immense force the scribbled, crowded words that absolutely filled the entirety of the paper. She looked at where his right hand was rested; the tip of his pen was lifted off the paper, marking the area in which he found himself stuck. She looked over the incomplete sentence again and again, trying to decide for him what word should come next.

The man glanced up to his table-mate once more, but was surprised to see only her slushie sitting on the table. Before he could look around to see where she’d gone off to, a hand suddenly sprung from over his shoulder and pointed to the incomplete sentence on his page. “Superfluous” a recently familiar voice stated as he turned his head in an attempt to face her.

“I…what?” he asked as she positioned herself next to him and leaned down a bit to point at the paper once more.

“Superfluous” she repeated, “That would work, here.”

He looked at the paper for a moment and raised his eyebrows slightly, then said it thoughtfully to himself, “Superfluous.” He wrote the word, then scribbled the rest of the sentence with ease. The woman smiled and took her seat once more. She sipped her slushie and waited for the inevitable. “Um. Thank you…” the gentleman said, as if on cue.

“Mmmhmm” the woman smiled, staring into her slushie cup as she sipped it.

“I uh…should apologize, I’m…working on some important things right now, so… excuse my attitude.” He set his pen down and looked at the woman; he seemed genuine enough.

She smiled again, “No harm done. But, if you want, you can make up for it by telling me your name. Maybe have a civil conversation with me too?”

He adjusted the collar of his knit sweater and nodded. “I’m Marcurio. Pleasure to meet you,” he extended a hand to her.

She grinned and enthusiastically shook his hand, “Mar-cure-ee-oh, huh? Heh, you got family in Italy, Marc?”

Marcurio folded his hands on the table in front of him, and noticed that the woman almost immediately did the same. “Normally I’d say that that’s rude to assume that I’m Italian because of my name, but, you happen to be right.” He sipped his slushie at last. “Most of my relatives are from Sicily.” He looked at her and waited for a moment before motioning her to introduce herself as well. “And you are?”

She smiled, “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Marcurio.” She pointed a thumb at herself, “I’m Cynder. It’s spelled with a ‘y’, though. Most people spell it wrong.” She chuckled, “And you should see the weird, made up names the baristas write on my coffee cups!”

Marc cracked a smile- the first of its kind, to Cynder’s knowledge, “Well, I can relate to that, too.” His smiled widened and he looked up at her, “I get a lot of ‘Mercutio’s’ and once, the guy wrote ‘Marceline’.”

Cynder laughed and partially covered her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to be polite. “Alright”, she giggled, “that’s pretty bad.” She smiled at him and looked around the still bustling shop. “Ya know, I know a place not too far from here that’s a lot less crowded, if you wanna tag along.” She smiled yet again and grabbed her bag.

Marcurio was so eager to leave that loud little shop that he forgot his aloof attitude altogether, “Actually, that sounds good.” He packed up his materials and stood up. “You lead, I’ll follow,” he motioned her with his hand, and she smiled at him once more. They left the shop together and made their way to Cynder’s alleged hangout. As they did so they couldn’t help but briefly dwell on how unexpected the day had been, and though neither of of them directly said it, that day, they were grateful for the unexpected moments.