Collective Student First-Year Dream
(This one’s kind of like Jigsaw Puzzle.)
Collective Student First-Year Dream
I’m terrified.
“You’ll make lots of friends.”
The words sounded hollow. What if school had been a fluke, all my friends until now exceptional people, not like the rest of the world? The words came true though: I made lots of friends.
We watched a film together, she and our friend, huddled on floor cushions, the screen illuminating our faces, a spring breeze through the open window. Our friend fell asleep, and it was like we were alone, alone and complicit when he gurgled in his sleep and we looked at each other. I thought then of putting my arm around her, but I didn’t. Had we been properly alone, then I would.
How many nights had I sat with him in his darkened room watching him play videogames, sharing his pain in each failure, his joy in each success, thinking ‘is this what a relationship is’? I suppose that never crossed his mind: he only had eyes for her.
Last night I dreamt she came to me amid a crowd of our friends. We embraced and it was as if it were the for the first time; I felt the solidity of her narrow shoulders, the firmness of her back below her ribcage. And then we stood like that, and we looked at each other, as friends except I could feel her breath on my lips. I tried to resist; people were watching; desire threatened to overwhelm me. She leaned forward, touched my lips with the gentlest flick of her tongue, barely perceptible. I pushed forward, our tongues writhed like an ocean in a storm, I was surprised by the wetness, the warmth. I woke.
The rain was warm as I walked across the campus. I felt the weight of each drop on my skin. My whole body ached for him. There must be more, the physical stuff, more than just a feeling, but he might never show me that. I wished that I was pretty like her, but at least I was here.
Summer’s nearly here, soon we will be torn apart, forced to leave behind our new friends, our crushes, for the brightest part of the year. See you in September. Keep in touch. Please keep in touch.
“You can’t just sit around waiting for love; you have to go for it.”
Okay, okay then, I’ll tell him, no more waiting, I’ll tell him.
“He rejected you? Well, you can’t just make love happen, you have to be patient.”
Strange. Had she always felt like that?
Sometimes I wonder if he fancies me, but no, I think he’s just like that. Nine months isn’t very long to know someone.
A year already? I remember standing at my own back door as I stand here now, and the clouds were grey and wind blew through them then, as now, and “soon,” I thought, “soon my new life begins.” Now it must lie dormant, as if dead, for three months? But how can I go back now?
Summer passes, passions fade. Emails erratic, cursory, IM arbitrary, the few public interactions, text on screen as well. Handwritten letters too old-fashioned. We all agree we miss it, but we wouldn’t go back, we’ve moved on.
They were all beautiful though. I thought you were all beautiful.
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(Also, as a script. Which anyone can feel free emailing me about, should they feel so inclined to shoot the movie.)
Tags: experimental, Fiction, monologues, passage of time, perspectives, Relationships, voices
