Bored in Class

All around me I hear the clicking of keys on laptop computers. I think to myself about how many people aren’t paying attention. I think about the books I want to read: the one in my bag, the one with the pretty cover laying in my car. I think about the weather and how perfect it would be to curl up with those books and listen to the rain. Soon - today is an easy day. I’ve wrapped my black shawl around my shoulders and I like how it feels; comfortable. It offers me a place to hide.

Again my mind starts to wander. In these situations I always have this reoccurring daydream... that same dream since high school with the only variant being my location. I’m sitting in class and this feeling sort of comes over me. I look around at all the blank faces and the clacking of the keyboards slows… then stops all together. Except for mine. The professor’s voice fades out before he can finish his sentence and there is a sound like a record player being scratched in slow motion mixed with a gong (honestly I don’t know why this is the sound but it is). Again I look around and everyone is frozen mid task. The guy with the water bottle is still drinking, and the girl in the corner who was about to nod off is suspended in air as if her head is about to hit the table. Cars outside are still on the road, but they aren’t moving forward. Pedestrians have become statues, silent and unseeing. The whole world has stopped rotating… or maybe it is but no one cares anymore.

Cautiously, trying hard not to interrupt this stasis, I push back my chair and stand up. It feels as if the very molecules that make up the mass of desks have become heavy and sluggish. It takes greater effort to stand up. Yet I can still stand up. Time has stopped for me, I can do whatever I want. I know exactly what I want to do.

I walk through the Hall slowly, pushing through the air as if suddenly it has become a tangible object. The building is eerie in its silence. I make my way down the stairs and out the door. I head to the café… I’m hungry and the bagels are just sitting there, so why not? That taken care of I begin my search… I’m looking for him. I have to think to myself where he might be and so I start towards his Hall. Class… he’s probably in class. Wait, though. How am I going to find him? I don’t know which room he’s in, there could be hundreds of people in that Hall. I stop and turn over my shoulder. I could spend hours looking for him in that Hall, but there’s a good chance he hasn’t even left home. I veer towards his home and try to pick up the pace, but it’s almost as if I’m walking through water. It takes me nearly twice as long as it would any other day. I’m nearly panting when I reach his door, but the door is unlocked and with a good hard push it opens. The light is on.

I wade through his house until I find him lounging in the couch. My heart thuds in my chest and I freeze, motionless. Scared by how still he is, I think that any moment he’s going to catch me out of the corner of his eye. But he doesn’t, I hold my breath, but he doesn’t stir. He’s as frozen as I am. His wavy brown hair has flopped into his deep blue eyes and his computer is open on his lap. His long legs are sprawled on the coffee table in front of him, and a sock is slipping off the end of his foot as he slouches on the couch. His broad shoulders are hunched as his equally long arms are propped by his side, curved to use the keyboard. His expression is relaxed, open. I never see him like this. He’s usually always got a smirk on his face and a quip on his tongue. He’s very quick witted. It’s nice to see a different side of him.

Stepping into the room, I maneuver around trash and books and shoes and other guy stuff to reach the couch. I feel bad, being there and witnessing his private habits. Maybe he lounges just like this every morning. I’m almost afraid to look at the computer screen. What if he’s looking at something not at all attractive?! That would ruin him forever. But there are no flickering sexpots on the screen. No, the page is Facebook. It’s scrolled down to a story by his sister. Something about a dog. He looks so adorable, his hair all mussed and his shirt all wrinkly. How could anyone help but like him. I touch his arm and expect to find that it has become rigid and hard like the statue he seems to have become. But it’s not. It’s smooth and warm and soft. I lean in, thinking about other things that might be smooth and warm and soft. Our faces are just inches from each other…

And that’s about when I wake up from my daydream. I can’t seem to get to the actual kissing bit…. I suspect this is because I have no experience kissing and therefore no way to imagine kissing.

Depressing really….

(oh how I ought to be a smut novelist... I think I might be quite good at it ;)