Brent Horowitz

A Confession Of A Different Sort

    I was sitting in the hall with you. There were others; we played our card games. I was new to this game, and I was losing every round. I hardly understood the game beyond the concept that lower was better. There were five people playing, but only you mattered to me. Someone rushed by with a bottle of Gatorade. We couldn't expect total respect, playing in the middle of a narrow hall. Whatever was so great about this Gatorade, the other three players jumped up and chased the runner. There we were. Just the two of us, sitting in silence. I knew this would be my last chance. There was only one day left, then we were destined never to meet again. Never, unless I spoke the words I so wanted to say at that moment. I could see the future so clearly, in visions dancing before my eyes. The distance of our homes was no issue. Once I got a license, I would drive over and get you. We would take a long trip in a small car, every weekend. We would have no cares in the world, except the price of gas. We would go out to the dunes of Provincetown and walk along the beach past all the dunes and people, just feeling the sand between our toes. We would go to New York and watch the people go by in Times Square, all the while sipping awful coffee from Starbucks. We would become ambitious one weekend and we would take a boat to Halifax. There we could admire the contrast between the city of man and the bay of nature. I knew that someday the adventure would tire out and we would end the whole thing, but that wasn't part of my vision. I just saw two people, you and I, as close as two people could be. But I knew I had to act at this very moment, sitting in this silent and deserted hallway. I sat there, you by my side, and yet, as distant as you could be. The only sound was unmistakable tension. Looking back, I wonder what was running through your mind. You may have been thinking what I was, or you may have been wondering about the Gatorade incident. You could have been a million miles away, but I would have chased you to the farthest end of the farthest road just to know if you were thinking what I was. I suppose I will never know. The horrible silence continued. I searched my mind for the words, that assemblage of nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions, pronouns, conjunctions, and maybe even an interjection that would make my dream reality. My tongue was tied. I said nothing. The other players returned. I quietly won a round and then left for my room, still holding my hand unplayed.


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