“Wait, you’re not even going to see a movie?”
“No, I just wanted to invite you out.”
“But you’ve paid the ticket!
“Yeah, they wouldn’t let me in otherwise.”
“Since you’re here, and I already said yes…”
“Oh… Nothing here for me to see. Besides you.”
She, it is always she. Arriving with the silent drumming of the night, invading my dreams.
No, she doesn’t ask permission.
When I met her, she was silent. She read some book, the hair nonchalantly tied, the hands distractedly curling a rebellious bunch. Sitting by a tree. She was gorgeous, and I desired to meet her. The desire was greater than my shyness, and I walked towards her. I myself almost didn’t hear my “hello”. She looked up, then to me, for instants that felt like hours. “The Serious Freshman!” she said, and right then I realized she knew me whole. I’ve tried to draft a smile, that didn’t held up. Fortunately I had a better idea: “Also known as Edgar. Nice to meet you.” I noticed a slight smile when she looked to her side, inviting me to sit. Continue reading
By then, the whole thing was all too familiar. When a newcomer entered the office for the first time, a group of veterans would circle the person around, much like hyenas, feeding upon the uncomfortable answers to the most embarrassing questions imaginable. If it was a man, that is. For a woman, the herd would be slightly larger and the comments, slightly gentler. I’ve never participated. Didn’t have to. I knew it was just a matter of time before they come to me. It was not because I was more important or interesting. Actually, it wouldn’t take a single word spoken by me for them to come, sent by the colleagues themselves.
To take her mind off the sometimes-excessive tranquility of the little town where she lived, Nina devised a hobby: catalog and monitor money. Specifically, the roads taken by the bills, the little pieces of paper’s eternal cycles moving from hand to hand. In the beginning she made small marks on the bills she got as allowance, a discreet pencil dot on one corner. So discreet she never recovered a marked bill, which lighted up the suspicion that she should reconsider her method. Begrudgingly – she didn’t want to feel responsible for defacing what she considered to be a work of art – she choose one of the short sides, where there were always a space almost free from the printed drawings, and began writing little joyful messages. If she were to opt for vandalism, she would at least try and make someone else’s day better. So, every bill from her small allowance received a “Good Morning!”, a “Seize the day!”, or even a “You are special!”, carefully written on the corner, in a pen color resembling the most the shade of the bill. Those ones would begin to come back.