There is a short story entitled “The Storm” I read during one of my college literature classes. The story involves an affair consummated after a storm forces two lovers together beyond their control. Just about everyone thrashed the story for its loose morals, and lame excuses (Lee Community College could not be considered a liberal school).

Saturday I thought about that story. I was sitting in a Herman Park gazebo during a rain shower. Next to me was an old friend of mine.

She called me a couple of weeks ago to find out if I would be interested in taking a few pictures of her family for Christmas.

“Sure,” I said, why not?

She wanted to meet up before bringing her kids out to the park to discuss where we would take the pictures, what sort of clothes to wear, etc… We met up on Saturday at Herman, and started touring a few places I thought would make for good pictures.

“I’ve been thinking of leaving my husband,” she said.

I knew. I knew when she first called me.

I knew, and I shouldn’t have gone. I knew, but I wanted to find out, to massage my ego a little. All I managed to do was make myself feel sick inside. It’s been a while since I’ve committed sin that ached as deep as this does.

A year ago, the situation wouldn’t have bothered me; a year ago, I may have been open for whatever it was she wanted from me. My conscience trembled with repulsion Saturday, I am not the me of a year ago.

We sat in a gazebo when the rain came. Another couple escaped the wet with us for a while. They sat with us, but they were alone to themselves.

Five minutes after they left, we decided to make our way to the parking lot. As we made our way, we saw the gazebo couple near the reflection pool. She was barefoot, surrendering her sandals to the rain, he was soaked, and down on one knee, purposing. She held the umbrella over her head, but somehow drops still slipped down her cheek.

Consider the contrast of my “friend” and I as we sat in the gazebo next to this couple.

How strange human relationships are. If you were to take a relationship and follow it from beginning to end, the emotions involved are overwhelming.

My “friend” (I’m sick of calling her that) and I have known each other for around ten years. She’s a couple of years older than I, and when we first met, I was infatuated with her.

Two years after we met I was still infatuated with her, but reserved, being turned down will do that to you. She got married around that time. Six months later, she had her first child. A year and a half later, she had her second.

I’ve seen her maybe three times over the last five years. Age does something to taste, the last time we met I saw her for what she was, a user.

Our relationship has come full circle, from my pursuing her, to her pursuing me. It will go no farther. I have no desire to be part of the grief she will bring into her life. Her path is set on selfishness now; she doesn’t care about her kids, only herself.

My professor for literary criticism was a man of the world; he argued with most of the class that the characters from “The Storm” had no choice in their actions, they were compelled by destiny to come together. There was a girl in the class, she had been cheated on, she was vehement, “It’s just water, water doesn’t compel anyone,” she said.

My friend will find someone, sooner or later; there are a lot of suckers out there. There will be excuses, accusations, drama. She may feel that she has been compelled to find romance in her life to fill voids left by her husband. Would it do any good to tell her the voids are hers, she’ll just carry them with her to the next relationship.

I passed and failed a test this weekend. I passed on an invitation, failed to see the real test was not showing up in the first place.