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EZRA
My faded blueflip-flops burned a trail in the asphalt as I hurried back to my car. Rain poured from the sky, gluing my long, wet hair to my face and arms.
I made it to the driver’s seat in record time and plopped down, heaving my heavy bags of groceries onto the passenger seat with a huff. Tugging the strawberry-blonde strands off my cheeks, I shut the door and let my gaze move over the parking lot around me.
Most people didn’t seem to mind the rain. Some had even thought ahead enough to bring umbrellas. A few were rushing, like I had.
I supposed rain was normal in Savannah, Georgia, but I was new to it. Having lived in Phoenix, Arizona all my life, I was not well equipped for the rain.
Or the humidity.
Or much of anything else about living on my own in a new state, truthfully. I’d only been there for two weeks, and I was struggling.
My grandparents had raised me, but I buried Grandma a few months before my move, after a long fight with cancer. Grandpa had passed on two years earlier, so I was twenty-two-years-old and completely alone in the world.
I had a shiny new teaching degree and a hefty inheritance, but I was reluctant to use either of them. Neither felt… right.
Nothing had felt right since I lost them, honestly.
With a sigh, I opened the candy bar I hadn’t been able to resist throwing in with my groceries. I took a chocolatey bite as I turned my car on. The rain seemed to come and go quickly in Savannah sometimes, so I would wait it out a few minutes to see if it vanished before hitting the road again.
My phone refused to connect to the Bluetooth in my car—again—so I turned the music on and dropped it speakers-down in the cupholder to make the sound louder, and then leaned my head back against the seat.
My shorts were damp and uncomfortable thanks to the rain. My oversized white tee shirt was wet enough to make me regret wearing my favorite black bra, too. To top it off, there was probably mascara beneath my eyes, emphasizing the dark circles that had taken up residence beneath them months earlier.
Life was… fine.
I didn’t have to worry about money, which I knew was a privilege.
And I mean, I was happy.
Or at least, happy-ish.
My grandma had always told me that if I could find one thing to be positive about every day, I’d look back and know I had a good life. When she asked what mypositiveswere every day, I usually tried to come up with something that would make her smile.
I hadn’t broken my ankle getting out of my car, unlike that one time when I was thirteen.
I hadn’t fallen off my chair in science class, unlike the first day of my freshman year.
My lunch hadn’t given me food poisoning, unlike the first Thanksgiving Grandpa tried making the turkey himself.
My eyes watered a bit at the memories, and I found myself coming up with a few new positives.
I hadn’t fallen on my ass on my way out of the grocery store.
My new apartment was cozy.
I had a chocolate bar.
I took another bite of said chocolate, and the car beside me backed out and drove off. My gaze caught on a woman around my age, just beyond the space. She sat on the asphalt in the rain, with her face tilted up to the sky.
That was… strange.
I supposed some people weren’t as rain-adverse as I was, but still. Sitting in a parking lot didn’t seem safe.
She didn’t notice me looking at her, and I debated my options.
