The rain had eased at about two that afternoon
but now
at seven
it was revived again as I drive the thirty-minute route to her house

It was romantic in a sense
seen through the tinted windows
the drops swirling down gently through the freeway’s lights

But I didn’t want to feel romantic
I wanted to feel apathetic
or dominant
or confidant
but none of these
by all appearances
was meant to be

I had always been obsessed with numbers
especially when
out of a random collection of figures
something meaningful seems to be bubbling up
So it was
as I observed the clock turn to 7:07 pm
and I was listening to song 7
on Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits
Subterranean Homesick Blues

The night is unusually dark
almost moonless
like a black hole
or a road that leads to nowhere

As I’m driving through the hills that separate me from her
I can barely see the sides of the road
only charcoal rolling mountains
and twinkling neon lights blinking far off in the distance

I finally reach her exit
I forget which way to turn after getting off the freeway
and it’s not the first time
I drive for fifteen minutes through the now pouring rain
not knowing I’m going the wrong way
The storefronts are all a blur
their lights spraying in front of my eyes
making it impossible to separate the stores I should be passing
from the ones I shouldn’t be

I go up a huge hill and I know I must have gone too far
I feel stupid and turn the music up
to block out my sudden poor self-esteem

     I turn around and head in the right direction
my heart speeding up as my car races through the rain
my attempt to make up the time I’ve lost

Her house appears up ahead
encircled with a wire fence
stray cats swiftly making their way under it
I question why I’m here again
remember that I told myself not to get attached
and yet...  

I grab my purse and turn my head
just as she appears next to my car
Her outline is as I remember it
I feel warmer
The rain has stopped

In the still and cool night,
finding my soul in the air
I wander in silent thoughts of her.

Through the streets of my mind,
I find my way to her home
looking in as she sits quietly.

I can touch the glass of her window,
wishing to step inside
this is as close I will ever be.

I leave to return back from my visit
a print left there for her to find
having only left a question for myself.

Would she even know it's me?

Copyright © J.L.Gonzalez  2015