A Wannabe Poet Jumps a Fence to Impress a Girl, But She is Already Walking Away

The stars may have been visible in that clear night, but they were vastly overshadowed by the blinding floodlights that stood vigil over the empty field. There was only one pinprick of light in the sky then, and it hung just over the evergreen trees, low enough that the tall girl who pounded out lap after lap on the red pavement could keep her eyes trained on it as she ran.

She wore a tank top, black leggings, and white tennis shoes: her go-to outfit when she had something on her mind and needed to run it out. And that was how it was with her: Whenever she had something on her mind, anything at all, she would come to the track right after dinner and run. Run until she had worked it out, and some days, like this one, she could stay out for hours on end. There was no nonsense about it for her, no nonsense at all. One time she had spent the entire night running and was forced to show up to class in leggings and a tank top, without anything for school. After that night, she always brought everything she needed for school to her night runs.

That night, she certainly had some things to think about. She could already tell it would take a fair few hours to work it all out in her mind, and as she took a swig from her gallon jug of water (she drank water every other lap, no more, no less) she turned her mind to her next actions. 

There wasn’t really an easy way to confront her best friend about it (or maybe ex-best friend now) because they didn’t really have any classes together besides band, and band probably wasn’t this best class to perform a full interrogation- it was too easy to squirm out of it. Honestly, was it even the best idea to confront her? She knew for sure she couldn’t EVER talk to him about it, because no matter what she said their relationship would be changed forever, and it would undoubtedly end up worse. The option also remained of just completely ignoring it and pretending like it didn’t exist-- but she couldn’t do that, she valued her dignity too much. She had spent so much time running over the ins and outs of the situation in her mind that if she never got closure now she knew she would regret it for the rest of her life. 

Ok, so she had to somehow confront her. But how? There was really no easy or convenient way to do it....unless.... 

She was in the middle of her ninth lap when she saw the figure lounging on the bleachers. 

She stopped running, put her hands on her knees, and caught her breath for a few seconds. Then she stood up and made her way quietly up the metal rows. She always ran worse when someone was watching her, and so she had to take care of this as quickly as she could.

She stood next to the figure-- well, now she could undoubtedly tell it was a boy. He looked young, with an impish face and long, stringy blond hair that clumped in lines. Thick, oversized glasses with purple rims graced his acne-riddled face, and his clothes were really not that much better. He had on a button up short sleeved shirt decorated with colorful palm trees and the word HAWAII plastered across the chest in 80’s esque techno font, and it was completely buttoned up, all the way to the top. Legs were completely lost in possibly the baggiest pair of jeans she had seen in her life, and his feet wore stained and crumpled New Balance tennis shoes. 

There was one other thing: he was extraordinarily skinny. 

Like, there was nothing on his arms. They might as well have been sticks taped to his shoulder joints, they were so unearthly thin. What she could see of his skin was translucent and barely hanging on, and this gave him startling resemblance to a ghost, especially under the floodlights.

He hadn’t seemed to have noticed her yet- his eyes were closed, and he was mumbling something incoherent. She figured she had to say something, but she was completely caught off guard by his appearance.

“Hey, so, look man,” she started to say, “I was just--”

But she was interrupted. 

His eyes shot open in unmistakable panic and looked around him with quick, fast movements. He tried to sit up, but he didn’t have the strength for that, so instead he only succeeded in rolling off of the seat and hitting the metal floor of the bleachers with a thud.

But before she could say anything next, he scrambled up, without so much as a grunt, and stood to face her. He took many quick, short breaths, as if he was hyperventilating. He then pointed straight up, into the dark of the night above, and slowly, dramatically, with infinite patience brought his hand down until his finger pointed straight at her.

“YES! OF COURSE! GO RIGHT AHEAD!”

Silence on her part. Despite the breathing habits, he still had an unusually loud voice. Also, it was extremely nasally, as if he had a cold.

“What?”

“WELL, IT’S OBVIOUS, ISN’T IT?” He tried to run his hands through his hair dramatically, but there was nothing for him to run his hands through, and so after fruitlessly trying it a few times he shook his head and was forced to settle with standing in front of her with his arms wide out and palms open, as if he had just presented something incredibly grand to her. 

“CLEARLY, THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT TO SEEK OUT THE STARSTRUCK POET, ME, AS TO GAIN MY INFINITE WISDOM AND INSIGHT INTO YOUR PERSONAL TRAUMAS! Wait, no, starstruck wasn’t what I meant to say.” He brought his hands back and covered his face. He turned around so his back faced her and spoke with muffled melancholy. “Crap, man, you always mess up the introduction! Starstruck makes it sound like I’m in love or something, come on! This is basic stuff here!”

She turned around and began to make her way back down the bleachers again. Let me modify my previous statement, she thought, I always run worse when someone SANE is watching me.

He spun around on his heel, pushed his glasses up his nose, took a few sniffs, and made another large gesture with his hands. It seemed like he was about to say something extremely important and life-changing, and then he noticed her walking away. 

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” He regained his composure quickly and struck a somewhat provocative pose. It was so unsettling for her that she was brought back to attention for a moment.

“I WILL NOW TELL YOU A TERRIBLY SAD STORY, A STORY FILLED WITH ENOUGH HEARTBREAK AND BETRAYAL AS TO STRIKE A CHORD WITH EVEN THE MOST EMOTIONALLY DEPRIVED SOULS. A STORY THAT WILL SHAKE YOU WITH SOBS AFTER I COMPLETE IT. BUT BE PREPARED, THIS STORY IS REAL! YES, IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, AND IT HAPPENED TO ME! FOR THIS IS THE STORY OF MY TERRIBLY SAD CHILDHOOD, AND HOW I BECAME THE INCREDIBLE MAN AND SPIRITUAL GURU I AM TODAY! THE STORY BEGINS WITH ICE CREAM AND A DUMPSTER-”

She began to walk down the bleachers again.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” He coughed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “WAIT.”

He commanded this one word with such force and authority that she had no choice but to turn around and listen to him again. He took a deep breath and began once more.

“I WILL NOW USE MY EXPERT ANALYTICAL SKILLS AND MY SPIRITUAL CONNECTION WITH THE UNIVERSE TO UNDERSTAND YOUR DEEPEST TRAUMAS!”

He closed his eyes. Nothing for a few moments.

Then he began to make large motions with his hands which can only be described as squid-like, as if he was pulling her very soul out of her body. He accompanied this with various grunting and moaning noises, so obviously she was feeling incredibly comfortable.

At this point she actually decided to take a seat and watch the show, as it had become somewhat amusing to her. Besides, she probably deserved a break after everything.

“I HAVE IT!”

Dramatically, with infinite poise and overwhelming artistic flair, he pointed straight up and slowly brought his hand down until his finger pointed straight at her.

“YOU’VE RECENTLY MADE A LARGE INVESTMENT INTO THE DOW JONES, AND WHEN YOU AWOKE THIS MORNING YOU WERE HEARTBROKEN TO SEE IT HAD FALLEN ALMOST 5 PERCENT OVERNIGHT!”

Silence on her part. Then she chuckled gently and shook her head.

“Sorry, man, you’re a bit off the mark.”

He struck that provocative pose again. He spoke again, but this time it was quiet and directed at himself. He turned so that his right side was now facing her. His shirt now read HAW.

“Really? I could’ve sworn that was it...well, there maybe is one other possibility...but I don’t know, could it really be true?”

Suddenly, he spun on his heel so that his left side was directed at her. Now it read AII.

“Come on, Bartholemew, go with your instinct! What else could it be?”

He spun again. His right side now. Back to HAW.

“But...she just doesn’t seem like the type! There’s got to be something we’re missing, Bartholemew!”

He spun again. It began to dawn on the girl what was going on. She stared at the AII. There was a purple palm tree below it. What a strange color to make a palm tree.

“But Bartholomew, you forget: you are one of the smartest men in existence! If you’re missing something, there’s no hope at all!”

The purple palm tree was now traded for an orange one. The thought crossed her mind that although orange was a better color for a palm tree than purple, it still was unusual.

“You are right, Bartholomew, I am pretty smart.”

He turned and faced her. She now saw HAWAII in its entirety. Although the palm trees were now in each other's company, she still questioned the design choice.

“I HAVE IT NOW! CLEARLY, YOU HAVE BEEN--”

She interrupted him. 

“Wait, is your name actually Bartholomew?”

“AHA, BUT YOU SEE! WHAT’S IN A NAME? THAT WHICH WE CALL A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD SMELL AS SWEET!”

He looked at her expectantly for a few moments. “It’s Shakespeare, you know.” He sounded disappointed.

“ANYWAYS, CLEARLY I SEE NOW WHAT YOU ARE GOING THROUGH!”

“Oh?” She decided to humor him. “You do?”

But this time he dropped his hands to his sides and tilted his head ever so slightly. With a face completely devoid of any emotion, he began to speak.

“Perhaps some trouble with a former friend?”

She was silent. 

“Or perhaps trouble with a not-so-former love?”

She stared straight ahead and said nothing. A coy smile crept onto his face.

He bounded up the steps of the bleachers until he stood at the top. He was now completely covered in shadow by a floodlight that stood directly behind him, and as he spun around to face her she could not deny that she was just a little scared.

But all he did was point straight up into the air. And slowly, patiently, with dramatic flair and an artistic touch, with all the power required brought it down to point directly at her.

“I SEE NOW,” he yelled into the open night, “I SEE!”

“Your best friend, who you thought you could trust with anything, asked the boy who you had liked for months to prom the day before you were planning to, even though she knew you had been crafting the perfect plan for weeks! With her help, even! And now you don’t know who to trust or who to go to for help! So now you’ve found yourself running around and around in your mind struggling to think of anything to do because you always thought you had someone to rely on and break your fall if you ever fell! But now you find yourself falling, and you don’t know what to do!”

There was silence. She stood up. Sat down again. 

The boy slowly pulled his arms in and put them behind his head. 

“But don’t fret, my little one. You’re in my care now. And with my advice, you will be able to face anything that comes in your way!”

She remained silent. 

His arms went out again. Palms open, faced upwards. A smirk on his face. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She didn’t respond. And finally, for the last, terrible time: his finger went up, to the night above, and it slowly, with infinite grace, came down to draw a line straight into her heart.

And then he spoke. But this time, it was clear, and precise, and clean. A voice that struck directly into her and bounced around her skull before being absorbed into her mind.

“Follow your heart, and not your mind.”

She stood straight up and stared at him. 

His face still had that stupid smirk on it, and she watched as he slowly curled his index finger. The thought barely registered in her mind that it was a gesture for her to follow him. And then, he calmly grabbed the railing at the top of the bleachers and jumped clean over it.

The girl took the stairs upward three at a time and leaned over the railing to see where he had fallen.

But he was gone! He had completely disappeared! Without a trace!

Oh, no, never mind. She could clearly see now a bush below with a suspiciously human shaped dent in it, and the requisite sounds of human suffering. She could just make out a thin white figure below combing the ground around the bush. And then he seemed to remember where he was because he looked back up and called to her.

“We’ll-- We’ll continue this some other day! Just-- stay right there! I’ll be back, I just-- ouch! Wait right there! Fudge, man, where are my glasses…”

But she was already walking down the metal steps of the bleachers.

She stepped onto the red pavement and looked down at her feet. Then she raised her eyes to the stars-- or, in this situation, the one, pale, lonely one. 

Well, that’s over, she thought. Back to the task at hand. 

And then she began to run. She took a few steps. Began to gain traction. And then tripped over her own feet and smacked her chin painfully into the ground.

She got up. Took a few more steps. But now she felt something new: an overwhelming pressure on her entire body. A fatigue that pulled on her shoulders and sunk her feet into the ground, a tiredness that muddled her thoughts and made her eyelids heavy.

Never before in her life had she left the track early. She took a few more steps. A swig of water. Kept her eyes on the star above. But now she was filled with something else: an overwhelming and unavoidable urge to just go home. But she kept running. A few more steps. She started to gain speed. Heavy steps on the pavement. A swig of water.

And she ran into the night, stopping only when the sun peeked over the horizon and the star that hung over the trees vanished into blue sky.