AE0
March 31, 20XX
He runs through his neighborhood shirtless. He lives in this really upscale neighborhood in south Charlotte, where all the houses are two stories with fancy windows and rolling lawns of even grass. They also have garages or fancy cars in the driveway, and even though my 2010 Honda is a nice dependable car, it’s hard not feel out of place or self conscious among the BMWs and Mercedes. He runs twice a day; he’s a big man and I worry about his knees. He should probably use an elliptical or just swim for his aerobic exercise, but of course I can’t tell him that. I shouldn’t even know that he runs. I should have forgotten about him when he stopped calling me for Uber rides, but there was a part of me that wanted to know if I was right, that there was something romantic starting between us and he had stopped calling me because he is married and wanted to avoid the drama of cheating on his wife.
But how long can you hold on to hope?
This morning I saw him running with a small towel hanging from the back of his shorts and he didn’t notice when it fell to the ground, so I got out to get it. It smelled like a man, almost like my kitchen when I make curries and the smell of cumin fills my house. I figured it was a good excuse to go to his, to actually park and knock on his door, because I had the excuse. But, why was I even in his neighborhood? I knew it would beg more questions so the direct interaction was out.
I drove back to his house and did my best to inspect the windows, hoping for some confirmation that no one was there. And when I had my nerve, I got out and put the towel on the rearview mirror of his fancy car. Then I waited in my car until he came jogging back and noticed his towel. He reached back and felt his butt to make sure that it was same towel, and when it was clear that he was, he looked around himself confused. I smiled and drove away.
I’m outside of his job right now. I’m only here because I had hoped to finally talk to him again, but I don’t believe the fantasy in my head where I boldly approach him as he walks out and insist that let me chauffeur him. And when he finally does emerge from the building, I see him walk directly to another Uber car and I feel a pang of jealousy. I should go home.
April 1, 20XX
This must be a joke. I got a message on my previous post, a message that you can’t see if you go back because I moderate my comments and wasn’t sure if this one was spam or something. It could be an April Fools thing, but the comment is not from today.
I have to say that I didn’t know anyone cared about my confessions here on the blog. I don’t necessarily do it for an audience, I do it because I think it will help me move on when I eventually go back and review all the crazy things I’ve done, and also because I hope that exercising those feelings helps since I don’t have a close enough friend to confide in.
The message that I received was nice. If you wrote it, you should do so again so that I can verify that it’s a real person.
It does change things a bit to know that someone might be out there, following along.
PRL Serials 