How I Didn't Get The Romantic Movie Ending

Once Upon a Rainy Afternoon

I’ve never really liked airports. I, for one, have never gone to an airport to get on a flight. I’ve always only gone to see someone off or to pick someone up. That was okay with me. I never really felt jealous of the people going to see different places. I was happy where I was. But whenever I was in an airport, I also saw the happiness that surrounded the place, the excitement of going somewhere else.

I’ve seen college students taking trips together. I’ve seen newlyweds; it’s obvious when they’re newlyweds. I’ve seen  couples who have been together for years, it’s even more obvious when they’ve been together for years. Through time, I’ve enjoyed this “skill” I’ve acquired. A skill where I could tell when someone’s excited to leave, or if that person is troubled. That’s the advantage when you’re not thinking about your own flight, you have a lot of time in your hands to notice the people around you. And as I stand at another airport today, I notice the people around me again. Some are checking their bags. Some are saying their goodbyes.

So, I guess, by what I’ve written, it sounds like I don’t mind airports, that I might actually like them. Well… Once in my life, I didn’t mind them.

 ***

I was 23.  I was in love with this beautiful, smart, funny woman. I had met her four years earlier. It was a rainy afternoon; I was having coffee and reading a book at a coffee shop near my university. I had often gone to that place after purchasing a new book from a bookstore not far away. This was no exception. It might sound like a strange reason, but I loved that coffee shop for the different chairs they had. They had tub chairs, egg chairs, antique chairs, leather chairs in different sizes, styles and colors. It just reminded me of the house that I grew up in because my mother always mixed different kinds of furniture. So this coffee shop made me feel at home.

The rain had been pouring for hours and I was already halfway through the book when all of a sudden, a woman, dripping wet, comes through the door. She was obviously frustrated. I knew I would be too. Being the one sitting at the table nearest to her, I couldn’t have possibly ignored her “situation.” So I reached down the pocket of my pants and took out my handkerchief. I tapped her arm and offered the handkerchief to her. She took it, reluctantly, but nonetheless took it, and said, “Uh, thanks.” As she was wiping herself, I couldn’t help but notice that she had a pretty face. It wasn't the perfect kind of pretty. It was the would-make-you-take-a-second-glance kind of pretty.

"Would you like to sit with me?” I blurted out. Sometimes, I felt like there were two sides of me. One that would get attracted and say something without thinking it over, and one that would have to deal with it afterwards.

“What?” She said in a surprised tone as she finished wiping herself.

“I mean, I… If... If you want to, you’re welcome to sit with me,” I was barely able to say.

“No, actually, um… Thanks but, I’m just getting a decaf to go and—” she looked out the window and saw the rain was still pouring rather heavily. She blinked a few times then slowly sat down on the seat across from me. She placed my now wet handkerchief on the wooden table, at an equal distance from both of us, “Thanks again. My name is Harper, by the way. Harper Martin.” I didn’t realize I had been staring at her until she said, “And… You are?”

“I’m Vincent Rivera. But my friends call me Vince, so… You, you could… You could call me, uh… Vincent. Yeah, Vincent’s good.” I said as I placed the book I was reading on the table.

 ***

The rain lasted all afternoon. But I didn’t mind. No, I didn’t mind it at all. It was awkward at first, mainly because of my stammering and failed attempts to cover up my nervousness. But then she noticed the book that I put on the table. Turns out, she had just finished reading the same book. And she loved it.

"Yeah, it's turning out pretty good," I said partly because it was true and partly because, for some reason, I wanted to have something in common with her.

“It was so heartwarming when he found out that his real father was the merchant,” she said with her hands on her chest atop one another.

“Yeah…" I answered, "I haven’t really gotten to that part yet.”

She kept apologizing for spoiling the ending. But I didn’t mind.

“It’s okay, I had a feeling it was the merchant anyway,” I said with a smile and a wave of my hand. I was lying. I thought for sure it was the traveler. But I wanted to make her feel better. And I guess it worked because she smiled back at me. After that, we talked about everything you could possibly talk about with someone you just met.

 ***

When the rain finally stopped, I knew we would have to go our separate ways. But I wanted to see her again. I had a feeling I’d deeply regret it if I let her leave without getting her number or at least agreeing to meet at the coffee shop again.

“It was nice meeting you, Harper,” I said as we stood at the doorway.

“You too, Vince.” She smiled.

I didn’t know how to ask for her number or how to ask her to meet up with me. All I knew was that I had to think of something quick.

“Well, I kind of have to go now…” she said while looking at her wristwatch.

I nodded. She gave me one last smile, one that seemed to have a hint of disappointment, like she was screaming, “Ask for my number already!”

We just stood there for a moment before she turned around and started walking.

 ***

“Man up, Vince. Man up,” I kept telling myself as I watched her walk away. Before she disappeared at the corner, I started running to catch up to her.

“Harper!” I shouted as I ran, but she couldn’t hear me. “Harper!” I shouted again, this time she heard me and stopped walking. By the time she turned around, I was just three feet away from her.

With a puzzled look on her face, she asked me, “Vince, what are you…?”

“I… I can’t… Can’t let you… Walk away… Without… Your… Number…” I said. I learned it was easier to say things when you’re panting and you’re struggling just to get the words out of your mouth.

She smiled, took out a pen from her purse and asked, “Do you have something I could write my number on?” I searched my pockets and my messenger bag but I couldn’t find a piece of paper. So I took out the book I was reading.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Well, you already told me the ending. This couldn’t possibly be worse than that,” I joked. She giggled, flipped to the last page, and wrote down her number. After saying our goodbyes, I decided to go back to the coffee shop. I took out my phone and called her.

 ***

“Hello?” she answered.

“Just checking to see if I got the numbers right,” I heard her laugh on the other line.

“Did you think I’d give you a fake number?” she countered.

“I knew you wouldn’t. Actually, I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

I swear a heard her smile. I know it sounds crazy.