Run For It
by Chester Holden
Huddled beneath a dilapidated building’s overhang situated in one of the innumerable narrow alleyways of Hanoi’s Hoang Mai District, a foreign man and Vietnamese woman found considerable shelter from a sudden and torrential downpour. They hadn’t a raincoat, umbrella, or motorbike.
It wasn’t five minutes before the man became restless. “I’m not sure its planning on letting up anytime soon,” he said.
Frowning, the woman replied, “What choice do we have?”
“We could make a run for it.”
“Yeah, and we’ll get soaking wet and probably catch a cold.”
“Better than just standing around waiting.”
“Such an American.”
The couple went back and forth a few minutes more before running the half kilometer to the man’s apartment. And immediately after getting inside, they removed their saturated clothes and hung them to dry. The woman, however, kept on her underwear. The man could see she was agitated. “Ah man,” he said, “what’d I do this time?”
“What do you think?”
“So now it’s my fault when it rains?”
“You left me behind.”
“I was holding your hand!”
“Not at the end. You ran faster than I’m able to. You left me behind.”
“No. No. No. Seeings how we were going to the same building, I figured I’d run ahead to unlock the door for you. I mean, come on. I stayed out in the rain just as long as you.”
“I’m saddened by what I’ve learned about you today.”
“And what could that possibly be?”
“When a situation becomes difficult, you will think of yourself first.”
“You’re unbelievable. Okay, what if I promise to never run ahead and unlock another door for you again?”
“I know men by their actions, not their words.”
The man tightly embraced the largely unresponsive woman before laying down on the bed. “You simply just misunderstand my actions,” he said, lifting the covers and beckoning her over. “Come on, let me warm you up.”
“I’d rather freeze,” said the woman.
Chester Holden is a 26-year-old emerging American writer. He particularly admires the works of Flannery O’Connor, J. D. Salinger, Ring Lardner, Ernest Hemingway, and William Faulkner.