2:30 in the morning and I'm sitting in my car wondering what the hell I'm doing here. My headlights are off and everything is pitch black. I'm chain smoking cigarettes and it's making my throat burn, but I'm still doing it anyway. My hands are shaking as I bring a cigarette up to my mouth. Inhale. Exhale. My windows are rolled up so the smoke can't filter out of the car, sticking to my clothes and burning my eyes. I swallow hard, then again. The light from the radio is too bright and burns my eyes. Why am I here? 2:35. I wonder how I'm able to check the time at such an even interval. My mind is racing, my heart pumping so fast I can hear it in my head and it bothers me, makes me nervous. I want to light another cigarette, but I'm almost out. Screw it. I fumble around for my lighter, light the cigarette, take a few drags and put it out in my cupholder. The smoke is clinging to me, blinding me. I look across the street nervously, paranoid that someone's watching me from inside. As if on cue the porch light comes on and the front door of the house opens. I can hear laughter. There's a sinking feeling inside of me, almost sickening, as two silhoutted figures emerge from the door. I slink down into my seat, trying to melt into my surroundings and the darkness but not feeling very confident I'm doing a good job. More laughter as they move in for an embrace. I find myself shredding up my pack of cigarettes, gritting my teeth. Nervous habit?
The two figures begin to move away from each other, a lingering touch of their hands signaling a goodbye. I wish I could read their lips. I wish I could hear what they're saying to each other. There's an emotion swelling within me I can't identify. Anger or nervousness. Why am I so angry? Why am I even here? By now the cigarette pack is completely shredded and littered across my lap. The door to the house finally closes, the second figure making its way down the front lawn to its car. I have no idea who it is. It? She? He? It doesn't matter. I can't shake this nervous feeling that's taken hold of me. It seems like the time slows as the figure walks to its car-- like I'm in a dream. My world is spinning. It's like I'm in some sort of liquid dream- the figure's movements mold into indistinguishable shapes, breathing becomes heavy. After what seems like an interminable amount of time the figure arrives at his car. But I'm still not calmed down.
My eyes never leave the figure as it gets into its car; I can't make out what model or type it is. For some reason that freaks me out, sending me further into a tailspin. The headlights on the car shine off into the distance as the car's engine revs to life and the figure speeds off. I still haven't calmed down a little bit. Thoughts, bad, angry thoughts enter my head but I'm able to suppress them. Though the figure has driven off and I've been sitting here for awhile, I just can't seem to pull myself away from in front of the house. Her house.
Right now I feel a thousand miles away from anything else but this moment. Thoughts run quickly through my mind, replaced by new ones. My hands have stopped shaking and the smoke has mostly dissipated throughout the car. I'm no longer laboring for breath. 3:00 am. I'm still wondering to myself how I'm able to check the time at such even intervals. Though my head has cleared, I'm still not sure why I'm here. I don't think it'll ever become clear. I feel hot again and my hands are beginning to shake--- I need to stop thinking about that.
A glimpse of her, that's all I needed. Then why am I still here? An overwhelming sensation to just start the car and leave grips me, but I find the need to stay a little longer stronger. I take my hand away from the ignition. A light blinks on upstairs. The blinds are shut but there's light shining through them. Her room? The light flickers off just as suddenly as it was turned on. My mind is racing-- thoughts of what she's doing. Does she sleep naked? In a bra and a panties? With a pet?
I picture the inside of her room now- walls painted a pale pink, fading remnants of her childhood. Posters covering that wall, peeling tape and creased edges. Posters from her childhood, 10 years old, still stoically hanging there- Backstreet Boys, N'Sync, 98 Degrees, all fixtures from so long ago (to her) that are forgotten. I imagine her sitting on her bed, undressed except for a bra and her favorite pair of athletic shorts, on bright blue sheets thinking of her day. (I enjoyed tonight. It's nice having someone who cares about me... finally. That's so hard to find now-a-days. If only boys like this would show up more often.) She pats her blankets down before crawling under them. Does she touch herself? Cross her legs and smile to herself, thinking of him?
I don't know his name. That figure... a male. It's not me. I shouldn't be jealous but I am... I don't own her. It's too much to think about, I search for another cigarette but I'm all out. Well shit. It's too much to think about. I need to leave, fast. I gather up the resolve to turn the key in the igntion and leave. What the hell was I doing here, anyway? 4.30 on the dot. I've been here far too long.
