Her Pink Rubber Boots

They awoke to a classical radio station that sounded so crisp, its studio could have been in an apartment down the hall. They lied and listened in the shadowy bed while Beethoven and Brahms circled above them. Her black umbrella and matching raincoat, that were as dark as her hair and eyes, were on a chair, next to her pink rubber boots that looked electric in the morning gloom. She delayed the inevitable for as long as she could and finally reached for her glasses to look at the clock. His fingers grazed her back as she slid out of the sheets. She flicked on the bathroom light and he caught a glimpse of her naked back as she shut the door. The rain’s gentle tapping against the window reminded him of the delicate sound of someone secretly typing a letter and when he heard the squeak of the faucet, he knew today was the last he’d see of her. He looked at the ceiling and then at her pink rubber boots, before he closed his eyes again and listened to the concerto on the radio mix with the sounds of her shower and the rain.