Life Happens While You Wait for It to Start

A rainstorm hit her on her way to airport, so hard the wipers on the fastest mode couldn't clear the view. She slowed down gazing into her memories of a rainstorm worse that this. A road trip from Toronto to Philadelphia. It was April. Lush green and young and new. And so they were. Hardly two years in their marriage.

She called him to chat. Still heavy rain and traffic. His demeanor was like always. That she would be there. Like always. And she would call again. Like always. And they would talk, or not. Like always. Scattered minded.  Zipping his laptop bag as he was settling at work to start his day gazing at the monitor until it was time to leave. She told him about the rainstorm and the memory. He chuckled. His voice changed for a fraction of a moment. She continued with recalling the memory. And how it was 14 years ago. But he had already lost interest.