chasing an illusion - pipabeth

4- lonely new york

the days leading up the night were a haze. we had barely known each other. the days were so hot, it being summer.

how did we meet? only a week before that night, i was at the library.

i was there a little later than usual. a girl with dark hair was sitting at my table, reading a book. no one ever sits at my usual table. i consider sitting at a different table, but this is the only one in the library by a window. i approach her.

"hey," she says to me in a low voice when she sees me.

"oh," i say. "hello,"

"what book is that?" she asks me.

i hold up the book in my hand. my face is growing warm. it's another romance book. no one knows about this guilty pleasure of mine. it's a little embarrassing to admit that i read such cheesy stories. it's just fun. i've never been in love. "what're you reading?"

she holds up the book she has.

"oh, i read that before," i say, recognizing the cover. i read it last week.

she smiles like she knows.

"come and sit down," she says. i slide into the chair next to her.

"what's your name?" i ask her.

"piper mclean." she says. the name sounds familiar. there is something familiar about her, too. her eyes seemed to dance when i look at them. her beauty is a type i have never seen. her cheekbones were high and her skin was a rich and dark color, juxtaposing the lightness of her eyes. she smiles like she knows something i don't. and her voice sounds so soft and warm. "what's yours?"

"annabeth. annabeth chase." i answer.

"i like your hair," she says, grinning.

"thanks, i... i like yours too."

a librarian nearby shushes us. we both open our books and look at eachother sideways, smiling. she's smiling like she knows a secret. we end up not reading a single word the entire time we sit there. we become too preoccupied in conversing. it's as if we can't help it. it's as if we were long lost friends. the afternoon quickly melts away. hushed, excited whispers in an empty corner of a library, among dusty shelves of classical literature.

the library closes in five minutes and we close our unread books. we make plans to meet again. the evening is hot. i hold my book close to my chest on the walk home, crossing suburban houses and telephone lines.

that was only a week before that night. i smiled the entire way home. birds chirped. the smell of gardenias and honeysuckle was in the warm air. my heart danced with every step. my ponytail sways behind me as i seemed to fly down the hot sidewalk. i could only think of our plans to meet again tomorrow. i could only think of my excitement to meet someone who already seemed to understand me so well. summer was only beginning, it seemed.

after the concert was over, i filed out with everyone else. i wasn't sure what to do. we locked eyes and she saw me and recognized me. i know that for sure. would she even want to talk to me? am i a fool for even believing that she'd care enough?

i stand in the cold new york air outside for a while, letting people pass me. my breath is visible, translucent in the street lights.

what now? it's getting late. i should just go home and forget it all. wasn't that my whole plan?

that's the thing about expectations. even when you think you have none, you do. and no matter what, you'll get disappointed.

with a decisive sigh, i turn to leave. my heels click onto the sidewalk, adding to the dissonant chorus of the city. my breath follows me like a ghost. i feel alone once again.