one chance, if we're lucky

since the summer season arrived, i have spent less time outside on my balcony. during the autumn, and even winter, months, i would survey the busy corner where my apartment building rests. the passers-by would never glance up to see who was watching them as they ran by, their chests slick with sweat, breath hot and heavy, with exhausted breasts while their arms began to melt and limp; meanwhile, the cars, the passengers especially, seemed to make a point to peer upward, curious about the stranger mesmerized by them stopping and going- not even rhythmically.

this particular day i was waiting for a stranger. i had met Professor Thom the nite before. well, technically, the morning before. openly, he admitted he was smoking and drinking coffee while i was logging minutes and hours in an office; Professor Thom was on break...he had all the time in the world. we exchanged numbers and i lost track of the rest of the day. although,not before i realized i wasn't quite sure if i should wait for him to call me, like sitting under an apple tree on my knees, or play the waiting game where i would guess how long before i called him- three days? a week? it seemed silly, the rule of playing the waiting+guessing game. if you called that nite, you were desperate, but wait too long and it was like you didn't care. nothing made me more exhausted to think about and by lunch i had forgotten all about Professor Thom, a stranger, drinking his coffee, smoking, and googling my phone number to make sure i really existed.

actually, i was waiting on the other end of the line.

the sun was setting, which put it right in my line of sight. it was difficult to see the cars and with the trees fully blossomed, small in stature but top heavy with foliage, i waited for Professor Thom to surprise me. the smoke from my cigarette made my lungs burn (yes, even after years of the disgusting habit, leaving a small hope that perhaps there is still some pink left in these soft, spongy lungs) and my cell phone rested inside my sweaty palm grasping it to compensate for my fear that it will topple over the edge of the balcony, crashing to the concrete sidewalk below. not long after i finished my cigarette, Professor Thom pulled into the back parking lot. i led him up the back stairs, steep and challenging, and he inspected my small space.

while he walked around, running his eyes over every shelf, rounding the corners, his shoes hitting the hardwood floors, you could hear his soles moving the dust from room to room. suddenly everything became inadequate, where otherwise, my apartment, albeit empty, didn't bother me from day to day. suddenly the walls seemed bare (which they are), when this morning they felt full with the ten photos i had managed to hang three weeks ago. i still had ten more photos to hang but they collected dust on top of my records and books bordering the walls while sitting on the floor. i had no bookshelves to house my collection of music and literature- a collection i've started and stopped numerous, yet unaccountable, times for years. my clothes were hung neatly in the closet. they remained swinging corpses more often than not since i wore dresses to work lately, so far not a mistake in my life. my television sat on an empty rubbermaid tub in the corner and my bed was made, exposed by the thin skin of sheets. i hate blankets during the summer heat.

Professor Thom nodded his head in approval, putting my mind at ease. he asked for a hug, which i obliged- sincerely- since he was kinda attractive. for the next three, four, five hours time didn't seem to let us go. we took turns sharing music, talking, agreeing, every once in a while stopping to get another beer, light another cigarette, change the albums, simultaneously standing and sitting, the whole time letting the hum of the window unit keep us cool and never letting the silence settle in. for the most part, i let him passionately pontificate while i admired his zeal. everything he spoke was peppered with body language as though the odds were against us that would put most people in a corner, smothered by intimidation; instead, i found myself smiling, completely enamored and fascinated- i couldn't get close enough. suddenly, i had become the figurative moth to the flame, a position i rarely ever find myself in when it comes to human beings.

still unaware of the time, we head out to the lamplighter, "for a change of scenery," Professor Thom says. my mouth holds a slight taste of mint, but i could go for another beer. he opens the weak screen door and we both walk through. the lamplighter holds maybe twenty people inside of it, even with the relatively enormous pool table. the jukebox sits in the corner, dark and hidden unless you look for it, and the couch to the left has my first memories of memphis laid into its fabric. there is a certain romance to the lamplighter and Professor Thom feels it right away. instantly he turns to say, "this is good...this place, this is good." i pass a kid sketching and try not to be nosy while he saunters up to the bar to order drinks and i pick a table. once we've settled, we're not talking long before Professor Thom takes over the Lamplighter. i smile, completely unsure of what to do with all his energy. the old men sitting at the bar glare back at the table to see who the loudmouth is and i smile at them as well. it's a smile that says, "hi, how are you? enjoying your beverage?" while also making it very clear that if they want to make any problems with my new friend here, i'll stick it out. regardless, i know Thom could have handled the situation on his own, undoubtedly ending things amicably and probably buying them a drink. one of them makes eye contact, never acknowledging my sweet gesture, and turns his attention back to the televisions. suddenly, i don't hear Professor Thom talking about Lebron James or Toledo; i begin imagining the life of the petite, familiar-looking man at the bar and wonder where his wife must be, where his kids have moved to, and who he voted for. i start to think about his life and what happened where he found himself in Midtown, at a bar, watching television that showcases log cutting, and i am sitting behind him, remembering that the last time i saw him we were both at an AA meeting.

suddenly my attention is brought back to Thom, still at the bar, and i steal glances at the kid behind me, still sketching, still silent. we waste more time at the Lamplighter, Thom and i, before the kid behind us, John Nazi, gets brave and decides he wants to hear what the Professor has to say. before long, he pulls out his notebook on Thom's command and we're looking at surreal sketches of dogs and self-portraits. eventually, i get the signal that it's time to leave and make our exit- Lamplighter, you have been conquered.

the next morning, Professor Thom leaves early. as we part ways at our respective cars, he tells me to call him. no, text him. no, call him. from the back parking lot, i turn left to go to work; he turns right to head back to the university, resuming his school break, his coffee break, his cigarette break, and i go back to work, stuck in a place where no cars go.

it's been three days, or four days, and i still haven't called. at least he was kinda attractive.