Oliver Ausman Lives Again

nineteen

Charlie and I have collected ourselves by the time Kat comes out of the room, now donned in a t-shirt from the museum and a loose, slightly wrinkled pair of jeans.

I watch as she pats her hair dry with the white towel draped around her shoulders, her eyes trained on the TV. Charlie's got some sitcom on, and Kat cracks a smile as the laugh track plays after a joke I don't register.

"Thanks again for the shirt," Kat says, walking over and sitting on the chaise of the couch, a seat over from me.

"Don't thank me," I shrug a shoulder, finding more entertainment in watching her than anything on the TV. "Thank my mom. Her money."

"Yeah, well." She leans back, supporting herself with her arms. Her eyes close as she rolls her neck in a half-circle, nose scrunching as she works out the kinks. "Are we doing anything else, or staying here till twelve?"

I'm too distracted to think of an answer. She isn't even looking at me and yet I'm worried she can tell she's driving me insane in the most enjoyable way possible. I find it hard to believe she can have this much of an effect on me and not even be aware of it. Does she know she's made my blood run hot just by sitting on the same piece of furniture as me? I hate the fact that I can't imagine having this effect on her even intentionally, let alone by something so innocent.

Seconds of silence are ticking away. I shoot Charlie a glance to see if it'll prompt him to answer, but he's smirking at me, then grinning, clearly aware of why my brain isn't working. My face heats up from being caught in the act of shameless admiration.

"I- I don't know," I finally manage, looking away from Charlie's gloating face. "Maybe we could get something to eat."

"Ooo!" Kat perks up, eyes opening. "We could get room service."

I don't hesitate to agree, room service sounding like the perfect option to suit how exhausted I am. I thought I was tired before, but the crying only made me feel even groggier. Charlie doesn't seem to mind either, thoroughly entertained by his show.

The three of us order after I remind them that nothing on the menu is too expensive thanks to Charlie's smart thinking, and the food comes shortly after, filling the room with the smell of a high end, overpriced dinner.

We eat, making light conversation about the day. Charlie's already reminiscing on his favorite parts, going over his favorite exhibits at the museum and how glad he is to have taken so many pictures of the city. There's a weight on my heart as I realize that at some point, today has to end. Why is it that the only time I realize I was having a good time is after it's already gone?

I'm angry with myself for letting what should've been a Ferris Bueller-esque adventure be tainted by my usual melancholy. Then I get more upset, knowing I'm wasting more of the day by lamenting the hours I already wasted. I force myself to stop thinking and try to just enjoy the moment while I still have the chance.