Untitled Beginning to a Short Story

            The sound of the rain slams against the single panned window and vibrates through Mary’s head; welcoming after such an intensely humid morning. Thunder rumbles loudly outside of the office building, sending tremors through the floor and up Mary’s legs through her high heeled Mary Janes; a gift her mother deemed “ironic.” She sighs deeply, closing down her computer and leaning back, satisfied with her work for the day and thankful to be able to go home. Glancing outside, a bolt of lightning blazes across the now black sky and she smiles. Tonight was going to be a good one.

            Mary has always looked at herself as an average woman of twenty-four years old. With long, black hair cut into chopped, messy layers, deep brown eyes and skin the colour of cream, she has never thought of herself as beautiful, and stayed in a constant state of oblivion when it came to men. Her bubble was a small one, and she preferred to keep to herself. As she puts her papers in her black briefcase and un-tucks her emergency umbrella from inside her desk, she starts out of her cubicle, only to be stopped by John.

            John is Mary’s cubicle neighbour, and is one of those men who could never take “no” for an answer. He smiles at Mary as he stands in front of her cubicle doorway; blocking her in and making her roll her eyes in exasperation. At 5’4, John is shorter than Mary by a couple inches, her heels making her tower over him like a giant.

“What is it now John?” Mary breathes as she stares down into his gleaming, blue eyes and widening smile.

“It’s really pouring out there,” he purrs lowly, stepping closer towards her. His cheap cologne filling Mary’s nose and making her stifle a cough. “I figured I would offer you a ride home.”

“Don’t need one,” Mary says through a tight smile. “I have a bus pass and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. So if you’ll excuse me.”

“You would rather take a bus than have a ride in this weather?” John asks, his eyes wide in disbelief. He runs his hand over his blond hair, which is pulled into a slippery looking ponytail as Mary sighs heavily and leans against her filing cabinet.

“Yes, John. I would. You aren’t my type, and I’m not looking for a relationship right now. Will you please accept that?” She motions with her umbrella for him to move out of her way, and he complies immediately, shuffling quickly back to his cubicle with his head down. Mary instantly feels bad and feels she should apologize, but she knows that would only prompt John to attempt once more to ask her out; something she has no time nor desire for. She quickly heads down the row of cubicles to the elevator, tucking inside before anyone else could join her. Leaving before everyone else is always her goal. Being inside of a crowded elevator is not something she enjoys. Her claustrophobia was known to set in while being in there alone, which was easier than being with ten other people.

As the elevator reaches the ground floor, Mary briskly walks through the office and waves at Katrina, the buxom, blond receptionist with a killer, crimson smile. As she steps out into the rain, she opens her umbrella and struts out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, watching the people around her run for shelter under the awnings of buildings and storefronts.

Mary loves the rain. Even as a child, her fondest memories are of her mother screaming at her from the door of their town house to come in and get dry as the skies opened up and drenched her from head to toe. She remembers this as she stops in front of the bus shelter and she couldn’t help but grin to herself. If I wasn’t wearing a white blouse, I would throw this umbrella my briefcase runs across her mind and she giggles to herself. Composing herself just in time for the bus to pull up in front of her, she closes her umbrella, hops on the bus and takes her seat. The ride home is going to be an enjoyable one.

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“Hello?” Ronnie calls from the kitchen of the tiny apartment as Mary walks in, shaking her umbrella and leaving it upside down in the corner.

“It’s just me,” Mary calls back, dropping her briefcase and shaking out her hair as she strolls toward the couch. She sits and unbuckles her Mary Janes, kicking them off and sighing as her feet silently thank her.

“How was work?” Ronnie asks, walking into the living room and sinking into the couch beside Mary with two bowls of spaghetti. Mary takes one graciously and takes a big forkful. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until just then.

“It was typical,” Mary says, her mouth full and her fork swirling inside the bowl. “John tried to give me a ride today. I don’t know what drives that man to get shot down every day of his life but he sure is determined.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so mean,” Ronnie murmurs as she swallows; her big, green eyes watching Mary in amusement. “He obviously likes you. And God knows you need a date.”

Mary shoots her roommate a glare as she chews and swallows her mouthful of dinner. “He obviously doesn’t bathe either. His hair is disgusting and it’s like he showers in cheap cologne.” Getting up off the couch, Mary takes her bowl into the kitchen as Ronnie watches her, humour dancing across her face as she attempts and fails to hide her growing grin.

“And I don’t need a date, Ron. If I wanted one, I would get one.”

“Sure, ok,” Ronnie says, standing up and walking into the kitchen area after Mary. “I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t be so judgemental. Maybe he does bathe but only on weekends.”

Ronnie was always the one who got all the attention. Even in middle school, she was the favourite among the many boys in their school. With long, reddish-brown hair and huge green eyes that stand out against her olive skin, she looks more like an exotic creature than a woman who was born and raised in Toronto.

“Anyway,” Ronnie sighs as she makes her way towards the hallway. “I have to go to sleep. Henry is coming by tomorrow to take me to dinner.” She shakes her rear slightly as she makes her way to the bed, making Mary laugh and shake her head.

“Rest well,” Mary calls out, giggling to herself as she strolls back to the couch and sinks in. Resting her feet on the cushion next to her, she flicks on the television and yawns.

The thunder rumbles outside as Mary dozes on the couch, the TV waking her every so often, bringing her back to the living room couch from her dreams. She picks up her BlackBerry and checks the time. The display reads “12:37am,” causing Mary to groan and turn off the TV as she stretches and sits up on the couch. Standing up, she stumbles sleepily to her bedroom, not bothering to brush her teeth, wash off her mascara or even get undressed. All of that could be done in the morning. As soon as Mary’s head hits her pillow, she is in a deep sleep; too deep to even dream.