Nighttimes

Frequently, I would come running up the steps to my porch in the green twilight, dirty from the swampy forest, looking for a bite to eat. My ever-obliging mother would fix me something as I counted the little stones and twigs I had collected on the checkered woven tablecloth. The evening would become dark blue, and the yellowed fluorescent kitchen light would illuminate the room like a miniature sun. I take my time eating my vegetables. Time, after all, is nothing to me. Nothing in the world matters, except that I am a child and I can think and play and be whatever I want. Running up to my room on the second floor after dinner, I flick on the lights and hop onto my bed before the wide open windows. The night is warm and dark but a faint twilight lingers on the horizon, and the moon and stars are bright.

You come running up my front porch and my heart pounds as I hear your footsteps on the rotting wood. The promise of an evening with you makes me shudder with excitement as I put on dusty rose lipstick. There's a tear in my dress, but I know you won't notice or mind. Handsome as ever you smile when I come downstairs. You lightly touch my back as we head out the door... innocent and fleeting, but of course I put meaning into it. Your truck is parked outside on the carpet of dead leaves that constitutes my driveway. Slamming the car doors I breathe in the night air through the open window, and close my eyes as the light from my front porch fades from behind my eyelids as you pull out. As the crackling radio softly plays, I smell your scent from a few inches to my left and imagine it on my skin.