At Midnight

2

 ...in case you ever foolishly forget, I am never not thinking of you...

There were two moments everyday of our freshman year that I saw her. Once was in the morning at the bus stop, where one of us would ask, "How are you feeling today?" to which the other replied, "Tired as shit," then the exchange ended. 

The second occurrence happened entirely on accident. I found that if I walked slow enough from fifth to sixth period, I could catch her walking by me in the hallway. An exchange of us sticking out our tongues to one another was the extent of our interaction. I lived for it. 

Sophomore year, Mara and I were lucky enough to have gym together. It was terrible. We refused to speak to one another. Speaking to the opposite sex while dressed in yellow shirts and blue shorts was flat-out embarrassing. No one attempted to even look at one another. 

In junior year was where my love began to get reciprocated. Our lunch period was shared. It was a long, long year of exchanged glances from across the room. 

I wanted nothing more than to pursue her. I failed to do so, for I had the bravery of a snail, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. 

"Clifford, you ass, we were friends," she insisted, fifteen years later. "I thought talking every morning at the bus stop qualified us as so. I even brought you a pop-tart on the first day of school! Don't you remember that? If that doesn't shout, 'friends!' I don't know what does."

That happened to be true. On the first day of our junior year Mara demanded I meet her at the bus stop early to share in a small breakfast. We feasted on pop-tarts that had a sloppy frosting job that read, "Happy junior year!"

I suppose it was that action that made me a little curious as to how she truly felt about me. I can say, for sure, that year was where everything started to change. 

Around October of our junior year, after months of wishing upon 11:11, my wish of spending more time with Mara was granted. It was sometime during our winter break when Mara unexpectedly appeared at my house. 

I answered the door in boxers. When I saw who was on the other side of the door, I slammed it, then sprinted into the living room and wrapped myself in a blanket. I opened the door again. 

"You're special," she noted. "Can I come in?"

I widened the door awkwardly. 

"'Kay, so, I work at the movie theater across town, right? Today, they fired this old ass guy at the counter who screamed at me. You know what that means? They have a spot open! I thought since you loved movies, you'd love this job!"

I opened my mouth. 

"Oh, wait!!" she interrupted. "Do you even need a job? I probably should have opened with that."

I shrugged. "It can't hurt. So, what did the old guy yell at you for?"

"Let's just say I'm not too good at working the concession stand," she admitted sheepishly. 

"When's the interview?"

"E-Mail me your resume, then I'll forward it to them."

"Cool."

"Very!" she chirped. "I will be sure to come back immediately if I hear any news."

"Or you could just call me," I offered.

"Or I can come back and see what outfit you have on next time I unexpectedly knock on your door," she decided.

"Your appearance was totally uncalled for," I defended.

"Well, now you know I'm bound to return. I expect to see a great outfit!"

"Suit and tie?"

"I'm looking forward to it, Clifford."