The Rain Started After I Ordered Ice Cream

Photo: Unsplash.

The sky was clear when I ordered the ice cream.

By the time the card payment finished, rain was striking the pavement hard enough to bounce. The shop had no seats and an awning designed to shelter perhaps one narrow person. Five of us attempted to become that person.

I held a cup of mango ice cream. A cyclist protected a paper bag inside his jacket. Two schoolchildren shared an umbrella that had turned inside out. A woman carrying flowers stood nearest the wall and somehow remained completely dry.

The shop owner offered us extra spoons. This was practical because the ice cream had become a public emergency. We passed the cup along the line beneath the awning while water rose around our shoes.

The cyclist’s bag contained six hot buns. He opened it. The woman distributed flowers one at a time so she could wrap the remaining stems in the paper. The schoolchildren repaired their umbrella with a hair tie and the confidence of engineers who had never met a safety review.

Ten minutes later, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Sunlight returned. The street steamed.

We left carrying the wrong things: I had a bun, the cyclist had a flower, the woman had my extra spoon, and one of the children had finished the mango ice cream.

I went back inside and ordered another cup. The shop owner looked at the sky before accepting payment.