I stood at the street corner under the blistering heat, waiting for the bus to arrive.
I'm not even supposed to be out today, I thought, but I hate to be stuck at home on a dismal Wednesday.
I left the house wearing my Jurassic Park shirt not knowing where I was headed, then decided coffee was always a good idea.
After months of forbidding it, I permitted myself to peer into the corners of my memory and recall the name of that quaint little coffee place you used to work at.
'The service here is amazing, ain't it?'
'You should let other people tell you that.'
'Well, it pays to be courteous.'
Thinking of you seems to be harmless now.
Sweat started to trickle down my nape. The cars were at a standstill. I assumed the stoplight was broken until it turned green and cars started to speed past me. Out of habit, I checked the plate of every white sedan that passed by, in hopes of seeing yours. The light turned red again.
I could see the bus from where I stood. I scanned cars that didn't even remotely resemble yours. For a split-second, I thought I caught a glimpse of the familiar rickety white auto. Don't be stupid, I reminded myself.
The light went green. I saw that I had made no mistake. It's him. My insides went numb.
I struggled to keep a straight face; to remain as stoic as I was seconds ago, but I could feel my expression betray me for a moment. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. The sedan passed and I could almost swear it slowed down as it drove by me.
I couldn't even tell if it was really you in the driver's seat. I remember often complaining about your windows being too tinted. I tried not to grin at the memory.
When you had passed, I allowed myself one last glance at the plate, and then you were gone.
Thoughts competed for a spot in my head. Did he see me? Did he recognize me? Was he with anyone? Where was he going?
Was it even real?
The bus honked louder and snapped me out of my daze. I got on.
• • •
I was sprawled on the couch with a book on my lap, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the phone. What was left of my sanity argued that you had no reason to reach out. Still, I waited.
At this point, I was drenched in flashbacks of what was, and it all feels like it was only a dream. I was in the passenger seat of your car again, my eyes half-lidded, classical music on the radio; and through my peripheral, I could see the sunlight hitting your face, and I had never seen anything so captivating. The reality of you seems to have come out of a novel - arriving at the most unforeseen time and staying only for as long as the Universe grants. A mirage, in every sense of the word. I wondered if any of it happened at all.
The phone rang.
A shot at a different writing style, that of my friend's.
