Freud Rocks

He stands there, smiling from under his umbrella, as though unwary of the sky weeping from above him.

He beckons, and you contemplate whether you should join him, or stay under the fast-disappearing safety that the store awning is providing you.

No contest, really.

You convince yourself (in under three seconds) that this is the fastest way to get home in this sordid weather.

You step out of your not-very-shielding-shelter, into a puddle (The streets are quickly disappearing under sewer water.), and then finally, under the protection of his umbrella. He laughs at you for getting queasy over walking in sewer water, and you say your thanks. Part in sarcasm, part in gratitude. Thank God he thinks the queasiness is because of the rat-pissed water.

And now the challenge begins.

How do you actually navigate through the flooded streets under one, small umbrella without maintaining a *friendly* distance?

You don't.

Gathering all your Freudian defense mechanisms to the surface (with Repression and Rationalization leading the pack), you let yourself wade closer to him. Close to the point where one of your hands is resting on the messenger bag slung behind him, and your shoulder is touching his left arm. So close that even if he shifted hands in holding his umbrella, part of your upper body is still very, very close to his.

You draw your breath.

(And you're glad the thunderstorm manages to mask the sound.)

He suggests you hold the umbrella. And you do.

He says he'll just let you have it, and he'll just walk with his jacket hood on.

You refuse, and insist on holding the umbrella up for the both of you. You tell him you refuse to get guilted over him getting sick.

He obliges. A tad reluctantly, you note.

But he obliges, and the two of you are huddled under one umbrella, so you really can’t complain.

(You could imagine your Freudian defense mechanisms having a party inside you. With Repression and Rationalization hosting it.)

A few steps and a couple of curses dedicated to haphazard drivers, the two of you reach the other side of the street.

He puts his arm around you, and your heart... miraculously stays still.

(How wonderful that your Freudian defense mechanisms remain sober despite their party.)

You tell yourself his hand is there just so he could lead you away from cracks, potholes and the like.

And he does that exactly.

(Repression and Rationalization do excellent work, really.)

He removes his arm the moment the two of you get over the obstacle course that is the sidewalk, and you start wondering why - as cliché fiction goes - your heart didn't skip a beat.

Then comes the epiphany. You aren't in a fairy tale, and he isn't The Prince.

(Or at least, that's what the pack leaders tell you to believe.)

You wonder what his girlfriend would say to this.

Then again, his girlfriend never seemed to be the jealous type. At least, not in the three times that you've actually crossed paths with her.

He tells you trivial stuff as you walk through Underwater Streets. You nod in all the right places, encouraging him to talk. He does. He's just so easy to read sometimes. He continues with his mini-stories, and you continue with your mini-reactions.

And then he says, I had you hold the umbrella 'coz you'd get drenched more if I held it for both of us.

And you wish you could feel a lot more than you're feeling now.

Why can't you ever just enjoy the moment when you're *in* the moment? Why must you always feel... nothing?

You're pretty sure you'll feel everything only after the moment has passed, and all your Freudian defense mechanisms have gone to bed.

Which is the worst, really. Having to deal with all that in one instant.

You reach the end of the street, under yet another store awning. He stops to take his umbrella from you, pauses to assess your situation, and then smiles.

You'll be okay here, won't you? He asks.

You smile your best smile, and nod.

You really can't have him stay, anyway.

He nods back, and walks off to the train station. You purposefully look the other way.

He's not yours to have to stay.