Deafening Silence

After deciding definitively that trampolining, however fun, is not for me, I found myself staring awkwardly into a glass of red wine. The others were 45 minutes late, and we'd run out of conversation.

"Have you read any good books lately?"  I hear.
"Well, uh, I'm rereading Harry Potter.  But uh, I read something else before that I liked.  Um, Vonnegut. Yeah.  I read some Vonnegut."
"Oh yeah, I went through a Vonnegut phase..."
As I go into this long diatribe against Breakfast of Champions, I picture myself a year and a half ago, sitting across from his friend in a similarly crushing silence. Back then, I just put my book down and said,  "I've got a question."
"Hm?"
"Do you wanna make out?"

In an exasperated kind of way, I picture myself doing the same thing now.  No need to be clever or interesting when your lips are occupied.  I get this mini-rush thinking of how romantic and exciting that could be:

The doorbell would ring, I'd try to smooth out my hair, we'd share this knowing smile, then act like nothing happened.  The rest of the night, we'd sit a little too close on the couch getting progressively more drunk and less inhibited.  His hand might creep to my knee, I might lean into him as we all stand around the kitchen trying to figure out the espresso machine.  It could be terribly exciting.

I'm flooded with achingly romantic memories:  Rolfe dragging me up to the catwalk before rehearsal, Andy and I surreptitiously holding hands on the beach after Waltz Ball, Toph and I sneaking off during lunch,  Luke stealing a kiss in public before I have a chance to object.

I look up from my wine glass and realize this isn't one of those times.  This could never make that list.  A year or so ago, I would have done it anyway.  It was enough to be terribly exciting.

"Anyway, I really liked Slapstick.  It's about like... the Earth has gone to shit, and the last president is like... useless... and uh..."  I don't actually remember, "it's hard to explain."