Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 35: We Are (Broken Carts)

Ezra and I only talked from time to time in the months leading up to the start of my first semester at Brighton. The rhythm of our communication was basically to have intense texting conversations that lasted the entire day, only to not contact each other again for a week. I definitely didn't like this arrangement, but it was natural given how busy we were: Ezra had taken up freelancing as a ghostwriter, and I worked at two grocery stores, because apparently I couldn't get enough of working in the intersection of customer service and leafy green vegetables.

School started and I was reminded of how structured learning environments have the incredible ability to sap all traces of energy from students' bodies. Although my eight AM gen eds made me beg for the sweet release of death, my music production courses were insightful and inspiring, affirming that I was in the right place. Andrea even turned out to be one of my professors; when she handed me a syllabus on the first day, she gave me a thumbs up.

Unfortunately, due to my workload both in and out of the classroom, it became harder to find time to talk with Ezra after school started. We were nearing two weeks without a proper conversation when he called me out of the blue.

"Hey," he said in an atypically melodic tone. "What's your address?"

I sat up in bed and dog-eared the page of the textbook on my lap. "Why? Gonna send me a present?"

"Sort of. I'm around and I need to come over. It's important."

Once I told him my address and we got off the phone, my heart started racing. I always figured by the time he visited, my room would be a proper reflection of my inner coolness— but at that moment, the walls were bare, my dirty clothes were basically a rug on the floor, and I was using a box of shit I never unpacked as a nightstand.

I furiously hurried to get things looking halfway presentable. The doorbell rang just as I'd consolidated my clothes into an amorphous blob in the corner of my room. Richie got the door before I could warn him.

"Is Milo here?"

"Yes," Richie murmured, sounding as though his mind was miles away in this-guy-is-so-sexy land. "Wait, are you—"

"Ezra," I interjected as I walked into the room, answering Richie's question as my eyes widened.

Different was the first word that came to mind when I saw Ezra standing in the doorway. He was clean-shaven, bright-eyed, and looked skinnier in a healthy way, as though he'd been working out.

To top off the surprise, he wasn't wearing his usual sweatpants-and-band-shirt combo; instead, he showed up in a slick blazer, a yellow button-down, and dress pants. He even wore a pair of shining black shoes I'd never seen before.

As I directed Ezra to my room, Richie waved at me from behind Ezra's back and mouthed, "should I leave?" I shook my head, prompting a second mouthed phrase: "I'll put on headphones."

Seeing Ezra in my new place was a shock to my system. Inwardly, I associated his unkempt demeanor with my chaotic room back home— now he stood here, looking different, instantly claiming the title of Most Interesting Thing In Milo's Barren Room.

We sat on my bed (the only piece of furniture suitable for sitting) and I struggled to figure out how to engage in small talk with someone who'd sent my pulse off on a sprint just from walking in the door.

Thankfully, Ezra took the reigns. "Sorry for being so last-minute. You probably had work to do or something."

"It's all good," I assured him. "I was dozing off in the middle of reading my textbook."

"Sounds like a productive study session. I shouldn't have interrupted."

"Yeah, way to go— what could possibly be more important than my education?"