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.