Peter crumbled another piece of paper out of the typewriter and

threw to the floor.

“Damn! I can’t think,” he snorted.

The rain fell outside as Peter tried to write the last chapters

to his novel, which was in deadline in three days. The picture of

his father on his desk stared at him. Peter looked at it before

throwing it on the floor. Ever since moving to New York, Peter

never forgot the fight he with his father. Peter wanted to be a

writer; his father wanted him to become something better. When he

got his first novel writing contract, Peter told his father.

“That’s only one contract, Peter. Maybe the only one you’ll

ever get,” his father said.

“Dammit Dad! You’re never happy in my successes. I can see why

Mom left you.”

Peter couldn’t believe he said that. His father slapped him in the

face. Peter moved away from Boston that night.

As he began to type out a chapter to his novel, Peter heard a

ruckus of car honks outside. He walked to the window and lift up

the window blind. Through the thick rain, a woman in a blue dress

danced in the street. Car drivers honked and cussed at her.

She ignored them all and danced to the middle of the street.

“What the hell is she doing?” Peter said.

He sat back to the typewriter and tried thinking. But the rain,

the honking from the cars, and the woman, now laughing, swirled

around into his concentration. He put on his raincoat and grabbed

his umbrella.

Outside, he walked slowly to the woman. She spun around and saw him.

“It’s a beautiful night isn’t it?” She asked.

“You do know you might get killed dancing in the street,” Peter

said.

The woman raised her arms into the air and danced. Her soggy

brown hair threw out sprinkles of water and smacked Peter in the

face. Wiping his face, Peter saw a truck coming fast into view.

The driver honked. Peter grabbed the woman and took her to the


sidewalk.

“You gotta get out of the street, lady!”

The light post at the corner of the sidewalk lit up her face.

Peter found her attractive.

She had a smooth white skin with small freckles and long curly brown

hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I am getting too crazy

tonight.”

“Maybe just a little,” Peter exaggerated. He covered her with

his umbrella and saw the small coffee café across the street.

“You want something to drink. I bet you could use it.”

The woman smiled. “Sure.”

Inside the café Peter couldn’t help but ask, “What’s your name

and what the hell are you dancing in the rain with that dress on?”

She looked down at her dress. Rain still dripped down it making

a small puddle on the floor.

“My name is Naomi.” She said. “I always where this dress when

in rains. It reminds me of my dad.”

Peter tried to get the picture. He couldn’t.

“You probably don’t understand,” Naomi said. “Dad helped me

find a dress for my high school prom. I never had a mom. She died

when I was one.”

“After my prom I found a police officer at my house. He told me

Dad was in a car crash. At the hospital, I sat by him. He didn’t

look so good.” Tears began to fall from her blue eyes.

Peter grabbed a napkin and handed it to her.

“Dad told me, “If I die tonight, just remember this. When it

ever rains it’ll be my way to say I love you from heaven. He died

at three in the morning.”

“I get it now.” Peter said.

Peter and Naomi had a cup of coffee and talked for a few hours

before leaving.

“Mind if I walk you home?” Peter asked.

Naomi smiled. They walked across the street to Peter’s

apartment complex.

“You leave here?” he asked.

“Yup!” Naomi said and pointed to the apartment two floors above

Peter's.

Upstairs, Peter and Naomi shook hands.

“Thanks for saving me tonight from that truck,” she said,

kissing him on the cheek.

“No problem,” Peter said.

She opened her door and smiled. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When Peter entered his apartment, Peter picked up the picture of his father. Then called him to say, “I am sorry.”