Tantalus

Tonight the air is thick as blood.

In the night sky birds swim rather than soar, run from fat, swollen clouds that rumble routinely, threaten rain.

Up ahead, under the fluorescent glow of the storefront overheads Mai looks like an angel, innocent and pure.

A white dress, lace with deep plunge, high-rise, leaves little to the imagination, accentuates her pale, near translucent skin.

“Hey, where have you been?” she asks as I approach, fingers a hole where the lace has worn through.

“Am I late?” I say, surprised.

She smiles, a cute one where the corners fold in, says, “No. But it’s rude to keep a girl waiting, don’t you know?”

Heavy black mascara accentuates her eyes; from two dark pits the whites shine as brightly as the moon, appear almost as big.

I notice her nipples, erect, push against the delicate fabric draped so loosely over her slight frame; no underwear again.

Why don’t you ever wear a bra, Mai? I’d asked once.

She’d just giggled and said, Why don’t you ever wear a bra?

Rain starts to fall, puddles start to lengthen. In the closest one to us I watch as our reflection shimmers, brakes up, reassembles, breaks up, reassembles...

“Now it’s started it’s never going to stop”, she sighs.

I stick out a hand from under our storefront shelter. “What about your umbrella?” I ask. A little pond starts to form in my palm.

“It’s not an umbrella”, she pouts.

“So what is it?”

“It’s a parasol”. She opens it, a quick flick of the wrist, practiced elegance, like a thief with a flick knife. “I bought it to match my dress”, she says.

“But it’s got holes in it...”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s made of lace - it’s meant to have holes in it”.

“Oh”. The little pond in my palm begins to overflow, dribbles down my arm. “Well, it’s the worst umbrella I’ve ever seen”, I say, shake my head.

“Pa-ra-sol”, she says.

We stand and watch the rain fall while people race by in the street, giant black umbrellas spread.

“Hey, you remember that girl?” Head tilted toward the sky, Mai’s hair tumbles down her back like a waterfall.

“Which girl?”

“Oh, you know, the girl we used to pick up off. Long hair, great tits”.

“I remember. What about her?”

“Well, she died”.

Against the roof the rain continues to fall, a sad staccato beat. “Yeah, I know”, I admit.

“Oh, you do?”

“Sure. But how’d you know?”

“Jae told me”, she says with a shrug of the shoulders.

“Jae, huh?”

She nods.

“Shit, he didn’t even know her. Did he say how?”

“He said it was her own fault”, she says absently, “that she deserved it or something like that. Said she was tripping real bad or something”.

“He said that, huh?”

“Mmmhmm”.

“What a prick”.

“Oh?” Her eyes narrow but never leave the rain. “Were you close?”

I think for a moment, watch our reflection ripple. “No”, I finally say, “Not really”.

“Well, you know, Jae said she was on a train when it happened”.

“Oh he did, did he?”

“Mmmhmm. Said she shot up then climbed right out of the window and onto the roof. Stood there staring straight ahead”.

“Is that so?”

“That’s what Jae said. Just stood staring as the tunnel approached, then...” Mai made a slicing motion across her forehead. “Pretty bad, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, pretty bad…”.

“Can’t have hurt though. Well, I wouldn’t have thought so. Not much, anyway...”, she says in a sad tone.

I don’t say anything.

Dressed in a suit, soaked, a man materialises from out of the rain. No umbrella, his shoes squelch as though in pain. As he approaches he stops, fixes his gaze on Mai’s long white legs.

“You fucking pervert!” I yell, suddenly angry, “You dirty old man!” He jumps as though surprised he’s been caught, shuffles off inside the convenience store, hands jammed in his pockets, grey hair plastered against his head like damp wallpaper. “Fucking pervert”, I mutter, “Probably going to bash one out right now...”.

Mai seems to smile at the thought, doesn’t seem to care.

The rain's letting up, not as heavy anymore.

“Let’s go”, she says after a time, swivelling to face me, “Let’s get out of here, alright?”

She reaches down, grabs my hand and, holding it just like a mother might a child’s, pulls me out and into the damp, dark night.