Drabbles

Letters

     She walks before you with a group of friends, all of them buzzed and smelling softly of liqour and smoke, not cigarettes. Except for her. Her eyes are bright and she complains about being the designated driver to the roaring laughter of her friends. You watch her almost obsessively, as you always do from your seat on your stoop. On the weekends she's always at the bar across and at the end of the street. She never drinks, though, yet still seems happy with her delirious friends. You stare at her when she looks your way, and she makes a face. You turn your head, embarrassed, not liking how she seems to hate you when you only admire her. You've never spoken to her but you desperately want to, and you're not sure if you'll ever get the chance with the way she frowns in your direction.

     It's freezing but you're still sitting on your stoop as always. Your pants are torn at the knee and chills run up your thighs, but you don't go back inside. You want to see her again. Before her, you'd only be outside for an hour, maybe two, to gather your bearings and relax after work. But then you saw her and started staying out later and later just to get a glimpse of her face. You can't help being attracted to her even though you're sure she isn't interested in women. There's always one of her friends hanging on her too familiarly, poking her face lovingly, squeezing her hips lasciviously. A stab of jealousy always seeps into you when you see things like that, but you know you have no right to stop her from being happy. So you watch. Watch and wish and dream and hope.

     You see her approaching from down the street, on your side of the road, and you straighten up, then slouch. You can't decide whether to appear formal or relaxed, and in the end you end up appearing disgruntled at the night and you know it but can't stop yourself from seeming so. As she approaches you see that the majority of her friends aren't with her. She's only with the boy that's always hanging on her, her boyfriend, you suspect. He's clearly drunk and is stumbling with her holding him upright. But then she whispers something into his ear and pushes him into the road to be across the street, away from you. You sigh, knowing now for sure that she's not interested in you at all. You stand and roll your shoulders, and her and her boyfriend still. They're directly across from you, staring at you. She looks terrified, and your stomach drops as her boyfriend stumbles away from her and into the street. He comes at you with profanities on his tongue and his fist raised in defiance. You have no idea what you've done to earn his wrath but you stand your ground as he gets closer and closer to your stoop. His slurred words become clearer as he trips over the sidewalk and lands on your side of the street. You stare down at him, jaw dropped, mortified at what you heard him say. Racist slipped from his mouth and you look up at your crush as realization hits you. She thinks you've been staring at her in hatred. Your eyes water and her face becomes blurred, the gorgeous hijab you were admiring only moments ago a purple mess in your vision. You apologize incoherently into the night then run into your building without looking back.

     You sit on your stoop the next weekend only because it's a part of your normal schedule. You have a written apology in your hand for your crush, ready for her whenever she arrives, if she arrives. The note is in a prim envelope and is heartfelt, signed with your first name. You tap it on your knee as you wait. Anxiety has you shaking rather than the cold and you start to think she may not come, now or ever again. But then you hear her group of friends stumbling down the street, shouting drunkenly at the sky. She's with them, but she appears reserved. You stand and keep an eye on her until she raises her face to you. There's a moment where you stare at each other, and she stops walking to do so. You raise your apology so that she can see it then place it on the sidewalk in front of your stoop. You look up at her to make sure she's seen, and when you think she understands, you nod at her then go inside, too scared to see if she'll pick up the envelope.

     The envelope is gone in the morning but you're unsure if it went to the person it was intended for. You only hope that some stranger didn't take it, or a dog didn't eat it.