I can only fall in love at night

I was stretched out like a starfish on my bed—a fitting metaphor, since I was drying up in the hot sun. I still had on my wrinkled formal clothes from work. I stared out of the window, trying to think of a funny premise for a story.

But the day was too powerful—the brilliant sun, the beautiful sky, the cheerful people talking in the distance, the busy street, and finally, the loathsome hint of lilacs that floated through the window (damn that landlady). I couldn't think!

But there was a saving grace—I could already see, out of the corner of my eye, the blue turning to red. Dusk was approaching. As the shadows grew and the light came more from my bedroom’s incandescent bulb than from the sun, a grin spread across my face.

I slowly rolled out of bed—a good sign. I could already feel something starting to bubble up. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I noticed the red sky fading into black.

I was excited for my plans tonight. After a week of work it was good to head out with the guys to Balderdash—a pub we frequented. It was the perfect spot for me to come up with ideas: weird people, cheap drinks, and no one looks at me twice when I write in my notepad.

I grabbed my notepad and tucked a pen into the binding ring, then stuffed the whole thing into my back pocket. Night had fallen—and so had the seed of an idea:

Vampire tries to make it as a comedian. Things go well until he needs to do a daytime show.

Well, it was a start. I made the note before grabbing my keys (apartment keys—I was still working on the money for a car) and my wallet. I had the plan for the night in my head: first, I'd meet up at my friend Martin's place, and then we'd all head to Balderdash. After that, I'd head back home and review my notes—expanding as needed.

I locked up the apartment and made my way out onto the street. The street lamps looked soft and inviting, and I could see the windows of dozens of other apartments light up. As I made my way down the block, three girls on a rickety balcony four stories up shouted over the music from their tiny stereo, “You going to Marco’s?”

Laughing, I shouted back, “No way! Going to Balderdash!”

She took a swig of her drink before shouting, “Aw, you suck! Go to Marco’s!”

I chuckled to myself while walking past. Marco's was a club, and that wasn't going to cut it tonight. I had to get the juices flowing, and I didn't want to look like a dork with my notepad on a dance floor. Balderdash was the scene tonight.

I stopped into a convenience store to pick up a six-pack before making my way to Martin’s. I grabbed the 65 bus and was dropped off close by in under fifteen minutes.

I always loved the street Martin’s house—or rather, Martin’s dad’s house—was on. It was an older street where the trees had grown tall, and the houses each had a unique character. Each one had gone through layers of different paint, and some had grown in odd ways through renovations. A handful of them were pristine, but most wore their age with pride. Martin's place was a two-story house that looked like it was built sixty years earlier. A shoddy craftsman had extended the entrance into a patio, and many parties had tamped it into place while also breaking one of the front steps. There were small two-by-two-foot patches of grass where the dandelions had grown almost a foot tall, left to their own devices. Thinking over the view of the neighborhood, I took out my notepad and made a few more notes:

Struggling comedian hits it big after he’s been bitten by a vampire. Starts doing well at night but struggles to keep his day job. Risks it all on a big open mic night with a famous person attending.

When I got near, I saw that Martin was chatting with his girlfriend Sam and two others—one was JJ but the second was a girl I hadn't met before. I jumped over the broken step and heard the patio heave as I said hello. “What's up? JJ, Sam?” I gave a few nods.

Martin tilted his head toward the new girl and said, “Hey! Oh, you haven’t met Harriet. She's in Sam’s Science in Art class.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said nervously while giving a little wave.

“Hey.” Harriet gave a small wave and a scrunched smile. I'm embarrassed to say I had a crush on her right away. She was small and had a cute freckled face. She wore denim shorts and a band t-shirt with the words Cranial Carnage over an upside-down cross.

Suddenly, the patio started to heave with creaking sounds and pops from joists. “Shit—too many on the patio! Let's go!.” Martin said, grabbing his drink from the railing and running inside. We followed, and I made my way into the kitchen as I noticed Harriet went to the living room. I was too nervous to be around her right now and wanted a few drinks first.

In the kitchen, JJ and two others were attempting to chug an entire can of beer in one go. After two attempts of my own, some new inspiration hit, and I brought out my notepad:

The vampire comedian is trying to impress a woman he works with. When he becomes more famous and gets a show during daylight, the woman wants to see the show.

“What are you writing?”

I looked up from my notepad to see Harriet.

“Oh! Hey—umm, yeah, these are just some notes I'm making.” I tried to dodge that I wanted to be a writer and that my best idea so far was a vampire comedian. I had tried being open about my writing before—at work and elsewhere—and found it to be a conversation killer. Well-intentioned people tried to be understanding and all, but gave a tone like I was naive. Maybe I was just too self-conscious. Regardless, I didn't want to mess things up with Harriet so fast.

Harriet laughed. “I can see that—notes on what? Are you Jane Goodall for drunks, making observations?”

I shyly accepted my fate—any lie I could come up with would be weirder than the truth. “I'm making notes for stuff I want to write about. I find I can get a lot of ideas at night.”

“Can I see?”

I put the notepad behind my back. “This idea isn't quite ready yet…”

At that moment, I felt like burning my notebook. A vampire comedian felt like the dumbest idea in the world.

Mercifully, Martin waved at me from across the kitchen.

“Hey! You riding with me? We're going to Toadette.”

“Toadette? What happened to Balderdash?”

This wasn't good—I had the whole night planned around a new idea. Toadette wasn't a club, but a punk venue. I'd look like a fool with a notepad in a mosh pit.

“No way, man,” Martin was still shouting. “Harriet’s brother’s friend is playing tonight.”

I looked at Harriet, who gave a little grin as she put her arms behind her back. “They're great—Cranial Carnage…” She pointed to her T-shirt, “...My brother does their tattoos. Should be good for some of your notes.”

I swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Sounds great!”

Toadette looked busy, and we got in line. It was tucked beneath a hotel bar, down in the basement of a crowded street. When we got inside and paid the five-dollar cover, we saw the poorly lit stage, black walls, and graffiti. It was a tiny place—packed, even with only twenty-five people. I quickly made my way to the bar and grabbed a cheap beer before finding a spot near the back of the crowd where I could avoid dancing.

My cover was blown early, however. Harriet spotted me as she headed toward the stage and waved me over.

Damn, I thought, but accepted my fate with another fake smile. I pushed my way awkwardly through the crowd toward the stage as Cranial Carnage began to play. Harriet and the rest of the crowd chanted, “Carnage!” I pressed my hand against my back pocket, feeling the shape of my notepad. I’d had high hopes for tonight—that maybe I’d finally get somewhere with an idea.

But I had a beer in my hand, and Harriet seemed fun. So I let it go. I could always try again tomorrow.

They played for half an hour before taking a quick break. I was sweating from the dancing, head-banging, and the sheer tightness of the crowd. I shook my beer bottle and asked Harriet, “Drinks?”

She nodded, and we lined up at the bar.

“So? Inspired yet?” She asked, “They're pretty good.”

“Ha, yeah—honestly better than I expected.” Though, truthfully, I hadn’t known what to expect. “Kudos to your brother—their tattoos are solid too.”

She laughed. “Oh yeah? A connoisseur, eh? You have any tattoos?”

“No!” I broke out into a smile. “But I'd like to think I’ve got a good eye for them. What about you?”

“Wouldn't you like to know…”

Before I could make my signature Fosbury Flop into flirting, I was saved by the bartender asking, “Beer?”

“Sure—” I gave a quick, awkward hip-turn towards Harriet to see what she wanted, but she beat me to it, smacking down a twenty and getting us both beers.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip.

“No problem. You owe me now.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward the stage.

As we made our way back, I took a mental note of everything. I wasn't writing in my notepad, but the night was going too well for me to care. I’d tried this writing experiment a few times before—though never with much commitment. I’d gone to Balderdash, had cheap drinks, played pool with the guys, listened to music, and chatted. I'd always feel on the cusp of something—which is why I kept going back. It always felt like another story was just around the corner

Maybe this time, that story was actually playing out.

We danced for another half hour. I only realized afterward that I hadn’t finished my drink. Harriet and I got closer and closer—though, admittedly, punk rock isn't exactly romantic.

Martin surprised me by grabbing my shoulder.

“Hey, you know Harriet's brother's friend? He has a friend, so we’re heading over to Harriet’s brother’s friend’s friend’s place. You coming?”

I smiled. “Definitely.”

Harriet's brother's friend’s friend lived in the bottom of a split-level house. Like Martin's place, it looked old and endlessly renovated. The white paint was peeling in broad strips—it was obvious the place needed a fresh coat years ago.

We entered through the side door (the front door was broken), and were hit immediately with a strong puff of weed. Inside, the space was plastered with band posters, and a bass guitar rested on a stand in the corner.

JJ made a beeline for two mismatched couches awkwardly dropped in the middle of the living-room-slash-entryway, where a couple guys were passing around a bong. Martin and Sam made their way toward the kitchen when they spotted Harriet’s brother’s friend’s friend. I turned to Harriet. She looked back.

“Wanna steal someone’s beer and find the least rank spot in the place?” I asked, waving my hand in front of my face.

“Sure—but no stealing. I’m going to borrow some of Sam’s gin, and you can have some if you’re nice.”

I laughed. “Don’t I still owe you for the beer?”

“Well—now you owe me even more.”

She slipped a bottle from Sam’s bag while I “borrowed” some flat diet soda from the fridge. We found a spot halfway up the stairs and shared a plastic cup, knees brushing as we talked.

“So, do you play anything? You seem to love your punk music.”

She raised a finger in mock authority. “Progressive punk music—and yeah, I play guitar.”

“Do you have a band?” I noticed her shift slightly and I started to see her tense up. Too personal?

“It’s just me, really. I write my own stuff. It's not exactly progressive punk either.”

“Are you online? Anything I can listen to?”

“Not so fast,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “I'll share that if you show me your notes.”

I’d forgotten my notepad was still in my back pocket. For a second, I hesitated. But the night had gone well so far—why stop trusting it now? I pulled it out.

“First—just know this is far from ready.”

“UGH, just share it already!”

So I did.

She froze for a moment, creasing her eyebrows—then suddenly burst out laughing.

“You know what? I think it's a funny idea.”

I exhaled, grinning. “Yeah? I think so too. I've always wanted to write something.”

“I think it's missing a few beats, though.”

“Oh? You got ideas?”

“That's right—get a pen ready.” She smirked.

She launched into a whole story. The woman needed to be more well-rounded—so she became a hematologist, and the vampire comedian? He was a janitor at her clinic. The vampire who bit him? Her awful, possessive boyfriend. The comedian nearly misses the big show, but in a dramatic moment, confesses his love. She reveals she’s secretly developed a cure for vampirism, and a fresh vial will hold him over through the daylight. We couldn’t stop laughing. Idea after idea tumbled out.

After our intense brainstorming session, I looked at her curiously and said, “You know… I had a completely different idea of how this night would go.”

“Really? So… disappointed?” She teased, taking a sip of gin.

“Not at all.” I looked at her. “I'm glad it happened this way—I’m inspired.”

And just like that, she kissed me.

I never felt so good while tasting cheap gin and flat diet soda. She was warm, her lips soft, and a few strands of her hair brushed gently across my cheek. Everything else—music, noise, the house full of strangers—just dropped away.

After a while, we broke off and smiled at each other. Sam burst in, giving us a wink. “I was looking all over for you guys! Martin's baked out of his mind, so I'm heading home. Wanna ride, Harriet?”

It was late, and Sam was her ride. She gave me her number. She held my gaze a moment longer before following Sam toward the door.

I watched her go. At the threshold, she turned and gave a small wave. I waved back, and then she was gone.

I found Martin sprawled on a couch beside JJ, blinking like he’d just remembered how eyes work. “I’m heading out.”

He gave a zombified nod and I left.

It was very late now—so late the buses had stopped running. I was forced to walk home, but I didn’t mind at all.

I was still on a high from the kiss. I couldn't believe my luck. The night had gone completely off-script, yet that’s what made it perfect.

All the way home to my apartment, I couldn't stop thinking about her—and about plot points for the vampire comedian. Ideas kept coming in flashes, strange and funny, and I jotted them down as I walked under the flickering streetlights. By the time I reached my apartment, I had filled five full pages of my notebook.

I jumped onto the bed and looked out the window. It was still dark, the street lights still glowing, the world outside hushed and still. Ideas kept blooming in my head, growing and tangling together as I lay there grinning to myself.

Usually, at this hour, I’d be frustrated. I'd know that daylight was only hours away. I’d know that I'd wake up exhausted, dragging myself through the heat of the day. The sun would be heavy. The streets loud. And, like clockwork, the scent of lilacs would drift through my window.

But this time, I felt different. This time, I was happy.

I'd finally planted the seed of an idea—and this one wasn’t going anywhere. When the sun sets tomorrow, I'll have my notes.