Jane St. Claire and I danced to the “Coffee Pot”. It just seemed the natural thing to do.


So what that my umbrella overturned! There’s is something cleansing… purging about a good downpour. It washes my soul. It bouys my spirit. It seeps into the hole in my shoe and soaks my socks. And that makes me feel funny.

There she comes in her yellow rain slicker. The Gorton Fisherman in drag: Jane St. Claire. Every morning she approaches the bus stop precisely forty seconds before it appears. She grabs the seat behind the driver. Sweet Jane plants her nose into the next Great American Tome she has in her handbag. I nod hello; she curtly smiles. We go seperate ways.

But, the rain is heavy today. And this confounded umbrella amuses the fair lady. The smile that beams forth makes my heart sing. It makes my heart dance.


And Jane laughs as I struggle with my mishapened contraption. And I laugh with her, doing the only thing that comes to mind. I dance. Feet tapping a splashing rhythm through puddle and stream. Twirling around the lamp post. Tugging my cap over my ears. Spinning with umbrella thing extended. Running at the wall.

I hear her gasp, a fortunate breath held in her chest. Determination lacing my face, and I race; brick edifice nearing and I’m hearing her insist.

“NO!” Jane St. Claire shouts as my right foot plants upon the baked red blocks.


Propelling myself upward, I launch into a backflip and land firmly on the wet pavement.

“Bravo!” I hear softly from close behind. “But, you’ve made us miss our bus!” Jane concluded.

And so I had. The tail lights got smaller in the distance and muted by the precipitous haze. The least I could do was buy her breakfast. Jane St. Claire and I danced to the “Coffee Pot”. It just seemed the natural thing to do.



Written to FLASHY FICTION’s July 9, 2012 prompt –  …dancin’ and singin’ in the rain…



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