Sunday seemed like just another day, until a certain person came to my mind and wouldn't leave.
The day before, I spent the majority of my day at work visiting a class session. It felt more like a Saturday morning as a result, and I savored the feeling of my own time. I sat on the couch, having finished my paperback, thinking about how if I left for the grocery store right now, it might not be busy.
But then the sound of rain kept me still and I started to lose time. That's when he showed up uninvited and wouldn't go. Maybe it was the rain that invited him in. It was a dreary day, like our second date. How many rainy days have there been since then? More than I can count, so why today? Why this particular sunless Sunday?
Eventually, I started another book and became engrossed in that for a while. Reading about an author's start in a famed New York kitchen, learning knife technique, smelling when food was ready, the politics of arrival times in the prep kitchen, the walk-in refrigerator and how ingredients that were about to spoil are turned into chef's specials to move them out and make room for the new.
When I could put it off no longer, I got dressed. Looking in the mirror, I raked my fingers through my hair, momentarily amazed at how long I have let it grow. I absentmindedly braided it as I stared at the floor deciding which shoes would dry out the fastest should they get wet in the rain. (This turned out to be a good choice.)
My own grocery list in hand, I headed to the store. It was laughable that after reading about fine Italian chefs I was off to the land of simple meal prep in an effort to save money and eat more responsibly. When I got to the checkout line at my Safeway, I handed the cashier the one bag I brought from home and then zoned out as I watched items ring up. If I had been paying attention, I would have told her to use additional plastic bags, but as it was, she put everything in my giant orange shopper and I didn't have the heart to ask her to re-bag.
I somehow managed to get this extraordinarily heavy bag to my trunk.
A few blocks from home the drizzle became a downpour. Windshield wipers on full speed, I regretted that I hadn't brought an umbrella, nor had I worn a real raincoat! (Not the green and white one I'd worn to the zoo those years ago on that other rainy day. That other dreary but surprising day.)
I felt a surge of good fortune when I got a good parking location, and braced myself to move quickly to get in from the rain. The lucky feeling didn't last long.
As I stepped from street to curb, one longer-than-natural stride over the water that rushed towards the storm drain, the overburdened orange bag's straps snapped. I scrambled to pull it out of the gutter and save my groceries. I caught the lemon, but a handful of cherry tomatoes was lost down the storm drain. I skinned my knee on the curb. I was soaking wet. Gathering everything together the best I could with no straps, I held the wet bag against my chest and walked to my apartment door.
I couldn't help but laugh. If this were a movie, it would have been the perfect moment for a meet cute. Instead, I got to unload soaking wet groceries, figure out what I could clean up and keep, and then go clean myself up as well. At some point, though, my time had become mine again. And despite the skinned knee, that was a good thing.
