The Play

I’m late, had spent too much time debating whether or not to show up. I have no idea how to act. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do. I don’t know what impression I’m trying to give. But I decided to come, and now I’m here. It’s dark and raining out. Nothing too violent, but it gets me wet enough.

Without even paying for a ticket, I walk into the auditorium. It’s larger than I remember. Much nicer. They must have done some work on it while I was away at school.

What am I doing here? She didn’t even invite me to come along, just told me she was going.

The play has already started, the name of which I can’t remember. The name of which I never even learned, come to think of it.

Two girls are spinning around on stage. I’m looking around for her. The auditorium is fairly empty, but she’s short enough to be impossible to see. Thanks to her laugh I’m directed to the left side of the auditorium, near the front. She’s sitting in an aisle seat. He’s next to her.

… I didn’t even know he was coming.

I hate him. His hair makes me want to punch him in the face. She doesn’t know that I know who he is.

I’m sneaky like that.

But it means I have to pretend like I don’t know who he is. That means I can’t punch him in the face.

Not yet, at least.

I sit across the aisle from her. She’s smiling her smile while intently watching the show. The girls are still spinning on stage, but now some short, high-pitched young man is reading something from a large sheet of paper and everyone in the audience laughs.

She turns to me and I watch her face light up as her smile gets bigger. My heart swells a bit and I smile back. She reaches across the aisle and touches my knee asking me how I am and says that she was glad I could make it.

I move to respond, but at that moment he nudges her and whispers something. She turns to him and giggles.

Her attention is back to him and the show. Probably swallowed up by his hair.

Scissors? Anyone? Seriously. Jeeeeesus.

He keeps whispering to her and she keeps giggling. My heart deflates and I slump in the chair.

I should go. I try and tell her that I don’t feel well and have to go home. I’ll talk to her later.

All I have to do is lean across the aisle and say something, but I can’t. I sit for a bit longer, the girls still spinning away on stage, and then get up and walk out.

She probably didn’t even see me leave.

The rain is coming down hard now. In sheets, if you will, and I have to run to the van.

The water on the pavement is kicking up orange from the streetlights through the windshield as I sit dripping wet in the drivers seat. I should call her. Leave her a message on her phone just… saying goodbye. That I didn’t feel well. Make up something. I pull out my phone from my pocket when I see someone running out of the school.

She runs around the side of my van and knocks on the window. I unlock the door and she crawls in.

It’s wet, she says.

I nod.

She sits with her hands folded in her lap and looks out her window. I put my phone back in my pocket.

You can’t go, she tells me.

I don’t know what to say.

She talks for a while and I watch her. Her eyes are sad but she’s smiling. She couldn’t look more earnest, more trying, and so… broken. And I think I love her.

But I can only nod.

She’s silent for a second and looks down at her hands again.

I just… she says, looking back up at me. But she doesn’t finish the thought. She just leans towards me and kisses me on the mouth.

And I wake up.

I can’t tell if I miss her or if I just miss what we had, but I am overwhelmed with loneliness and regret.

It's Still Night On The Ground

I'm sitting alone in the room staring out the huge window that makes up one of our walls. The view really is magnificent, and when I first moved in I knew that my favorite thing about living in the city was most certainly going to be the night scene. The soft lights and steady, calm bustle of the few remaining cabs and obnoxious college students. I was sure that was my favorite thing.
But I guess I hadn't really stayed up to check out the break of day.

If you look straight out the window, between two other highrise apartment buildings, right along 8th street, our room is high enough to peek over the tiny sliver of green that is Grant Park to a wider chunk of blue that is Lake Michigan.

The lake is grey now, though. And there is no cloud in the sky, except a low hanging, thick, dark cloud that is steadily gliding south. It is just reaching from the horizen over the lake like an overextended wave and the yellow and blue signs of morning are peeking over in an unabtrusive and really rather beautiful manner. The most excellent part is, 8th street and surrounding buildings are still lit for the night. Street lamps still hum orange and a few neighboring windows still mark their place with a little yellow dot. Maybe they just haven't been able to get to sleep either.

The cloud is moving faster, but it does not seem to have an end. More yellow has inched its way over this fluffy curtain of cloud cloud cloud.

I want to watch this with someone. I'm not concerned about the fact that I need to get at least a tiny bit of sleep or that I have a fairly "important" class in a little over an hour. I'm just overwhelmed with the urge to share this with someone else. Someone with whom I can

The cloud is getting higher, and the yellow is growing bolder.

I need to at least nap. I haven't done a thing all night. I wish I could just lay down, tell myself to fall asleep, and then, ideally, fall asleep.

... I miss something. What's that all about? I miss something. Something. Something. I'm tired.

I'm just tired and cannot sleep. Maybe I should at least try.

It's still night on the ground. I guess the streetlamps haven't seen the sun quite yet.

God, I couldn't tell you why, but right now... I'm just so fucking lonely...