a sudden turn

It rained all day Friday, which was a nice break from the snow until I stepped in a puddle and trekked around campus all day with a wet left foot. Still, it was worth it to lay in bed that night listening to the rain against my sliding glass doors.

At 9 a.m., I locked the door behind me and my corkscrew umbrella leaves sprang into full cover. I hustled across the street and tiptoed across some black ice that was, no doubt, proof of the first snow in early December. My umbrella fluttered in the wind and I looked at my watch. Five minutes until the T arrived. A strong gust almost stole the umbrella from my gloveless hand, and I stepped off the curb and into a three-inch deep slush.

“Shit wet shoe,” I muttered.

A car whizzed past me and I jumped back on to the sidewalk to avoid its wake. Then the white sedan reversed, the treat of the tires throwing gray mush in the opposite direction.

“Ma’am! Excuse me, ma’am.”

I looked up and asked, “Me?” I’ve never been a “ma’am.”

“Yeah, hey, your backpack’s open. I didn’t want all of your stuff to fall out.”

I thanked him twice, and he nodded and said, “It was no trouble,” and sped down The Ave. toward the T stop. I slipped my right arm out of the strap and swung my green backpack to my left, resting it on my hip. It was wide open, wet notebooks and folders spilling out like a tongue from a mouth.

“Lame,” I whispered.

When the train finally arrived 14 minutes late, I sat near the doors, like always, and I imagined myself walking with an open backpack ten feet further down the road, fishing out assignments from the tiny lake accumulated between S. Street and A. Drive, umbrella rolling down the street, and hair soaked.

That man did me quite a kindness. Friday was happy.