stream of conscious one night...

..."I'm never on time for this gad damn class," i think as i take my hood off and pull open the lethargic steel and glass door. It's chilly out, sort of rainy, and i was in such a rush i put on sandels like a damn idiot. Anyway, i take a left to find my classroom door already shut, a lecture in progress that i can only hear as my vision is hindered by a typically textured window in the door. I try turning the knob like a thief egressing a suburban home at 3 AM while the father sleeps upstairs in the Lay-Z-Boy with the TV leaving subliminal messages about a product no one should buy. Failure. Once the door is open, my tardiness, my black jacket, and myself become the new center of attention.

   "Am I really that much more interesting than a short, old woman spouting garble about the Reformation?" I think. I quickly educate myself; at 9:40 AM on a Tuesday, I sure as hell am. Or if nothing else, I am easier to take in, to focus on. I stare at no one but an empty seat that is in the second row, and her; she caught the corner of my eye in the back of the first, in the white. But you pretend not to see her, not to care. But still, as my black jacket is easier to watch than the teacher, her face is more interesting to me. It's shaply, and she has beautiful eyes of some color. I don't know what exactly, but it doesn't matter; I've always been drawn to the eyes first, no matter what shade. She sits behind me though, so now, the moment before I sit down is the only glimpse of her face that this thief is going to be able to steal all day, so it had better count.

    I stretch upwards as I slide my black jacket off, over my head, then bunch it up and prepare to put it under my seat. And as I pivot my hips to slide into my desk, I get a good glance at those big eyes of some shade, and the long, straight, bright hair and unique round cheek bones; and they're staring back. But it feels like a good kind of stare back, you know? At least to an optimistic mind. I'm not sure though, because she's looking subtly out of the corner with that half smile like I am, saying, " Yeah, I see you, and I can't take my eyes off you, and I don't want to ever, and as long as our eyes meet, your jacket, old women, thieves, and the Reformation can go fuck themselves."

    At the same time, you know its nothing, you know you're stupid, so you turn around and forget it, ignore the fact that you saw each other. I did. I sat arms folded facing front now, chin resting on hands, pretending to give a damn about what the little old lady thinks are key points of the Calvinist Movement. But eventually, my thoughts go wandering back to the girl behind me. I begin to wonder how much of her I could see if I buried my face in my arms and looked under them towards her. So fucking hey, I try it. All I can see is her feet, though. She's wearing sandles, little white ones. Little white sandles on a rainy, chilled Tuesday morning. She must be pretty damn stupid. Fucking hey...

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