for natasha

[ It's raining in Paris, and he's whining about it. The one afternoon off they get all month, and finally in someplace nice, and it's raining.

There are two of them, huddled underneath the same umbrella, his arm around her shoulder. But then she breaks away, taking the umbrella with her.

"I like the rain, the way it sounds on the umbrella, the way the air feels."

And suddenly the umbrella is gone from her hand, and the air is new but not heavy, and she doesn't seem to get wet. She looks very happy.

"Man," he says, "You are such a girl sometimes."

She turns back to him, and brings herself nearer, wrapping a pale arm around his neck. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

This is a good dream. ]

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