Remember of course that I would never use their names on this, because they may not realized that I was actually watching them. Keeps me safe at least.
I walk in between my classes throughout the day. Granite they are in the same building, in fact the same hallway. However, so I don’t get bored during the day I walk among the people, mainly to see what trouble I can cause. In the case of this week though, love was in the air so I could watch that instead.
Triangle Stairwell
They were a floor below, the building divided in two. The top of the political science majors and the bottom of the computer information science majors; the business majors floated between the two. The unique thing was the one indoor stairwell that led from top to bottom; it was in the form of a triangle. There was a hole that formed from the downward spiraling stairwell. At the base floor was three chairs that students could sit in and “study”. Sometimes one could find an athlete fast asleep in the chair, other times it would be the professors engaging in “intelligent conversations”, also known as talking about the latest episode of “Lost”, and of course you could find the couple holding close to each other dreaming of the future as the world passed them by through the doors outside.
Today the athlete was at an athletic event, the professors were actually teaching while their TiVo’s saved their life, and all that was let was the couple down on the chairs. The three chairs themselves formed the shape of a triangle also. One would come to believe that this building was actually designed for the mathematic majors and not so much the political geeks. In the chair on the right sat the man, leaned back breathing in the oxygen his life had blessed him with, if you followed the leg that laid upon his own you would find his, “significant other” leaning back against her chair. There was a hole in her pants, close to the knee. It’s the new rage these days, a time warp into the ‘80’s and the “grunge thing”. The young man enjoyed placing his hand, which was soon gathered to be cold, on her kneecap, just to see her squirm and smack him, while laughing of course. For a while, they sat in that said style.
After a while, one would come to believe that poor woman’s leg had grown tired as she curled it back up to her body. He leaned forward as if to engage in a conversation, she began to pick at the hole in her jeans. In a sign of commitment and love, perhaps the ritual that humans take for the passage of marriage, she placed her torn pieces of jeans on his hair. She laughed, he blushed, eyes met, and the writer nearly puked. They sat in this style for a while, both leaning forward, feet on the ground, her left hand embraced by his right hand. There is something to be said about young adults who enjoy holding hands with the one that desire, things get awfully quiet. Therefore, the writer sat back waiting for a said move, but nothing took place. And for a moment, you would believe that the couple did not breathe as they looked into each others eyes, his fingers walking the length of her palm. It was quiet, yet the love for each other screamed through the halls, and up the stairs, so that everyone knew they were together and they were in love.
Sadly, yet surely she looked at her watch and moved to stand. He followed suit. They arose and she explained the plans for the day. With a gentle, yet passionate kiss, she walked out the doors into the rushing world. He walked up the stairwell triangle and sat down next to the writer.
They were a floor below, the building divided in two. The top of the political science majors and the bottom of the computer information science majors; the business majors floated between the two. The unique thing was the one indoor stairwell that led from top to bottom; it was in the form of a triangle. There was a hole that formed from the downward spiraling stairwell. At the base floor was three chairs that students could sit in and “study”. Sometimes one could find an athlete fast asleep in the chair, other times it would be the professors engaging in “intelligent conversations”, also known as talking about the latest episode of “Lost”, and of course you could find the couple holding close to each other dreaming of the future as the world passed them by through the doors outside.
Today the athlete was at an athletic event, the professors were actually teaching while their TiVo’s saved their life, and all that was let was the couple down on the chairs. The three chairs themselves formed the shape of a triangle also. One would come to believe that this building was actually designed for the mathematic majors and not so much the political geeks. In the chair on the right sat the man, leaned back breathing in the oxygen his life had blessed him with, if you followed the leg that laid upon his own you would find his, “significant other” leaning back against her chair. There was a hole in her pants, close to the knee. It’s the new rage these days, a time warp into the ‘80’s and the “grunge thing”. The young man enjoyed placing his hand, which was soon gathered to be cold, on her kneecap, just to see her squirm and smack him, while laughing of course. For a while, they sat in that said style.
After a while, one would come to believe that poor woman’s leg had grown tired as she curled it back up to her body. He leaned forward as if to engage in a conversation, she began to pick at the hole in her jeans. In a sign of commitment and love, perhaps the ritual that humans take for the passage of marriage, she placed her torn pieces of jeans on his hair. She laughed, he blushed, eyes met, and the writer nearly puked. They sat in this style for a while, both leaning forward, feet on the ground, her left hand embraced by his right hand. There is something to be said about young adults who enjoy holding hands with the one that desire, things get awfully quiet. Therefore, the writer sat back waiting for a said move, but nothing took place. And for a moment, you would believe that the couple did not breathe as they looked into each others eyes, his fingers walking the length of her palm. It was quiet, yet the love for each other screamed through the halls, and up the stairs, so that everyone knew they were together and they were in love.
Sadly, yet surely she looked at her watch and moved to stand. He followed suit. They arose and she explained the plans for the day. With a gentle, yet passionate kiss, she walked out the doors into the rushing world. He walked up the stairwell triangle and sat down next to the writer.
Hands Behind the Table
The young woman sat behind the table, staring down the long passageway. Classrooms on both sides, and she sat in front of the offices that directed the classrooms. It was her job to ensure that papers were taken care of, and the professors did not have a mental breakdown; during working hours at least. It was usually very lax, and every so often the writer would come in and have a seat across from the young woman on a bench.
Eventually, as timed past on another person would join the young woman and the writer. He would come in and grab her laptop and begin to search within the internet. This took place for some weeks, and on occasion she would show that man photos of her home, far away from the location that the were currently located sitting behind the table. For weeks the writer would be entertained by their company, and the time at which the young woman would have to work seemed to past by quicker and quicker each time.
As time moved on, the chair that the man sat in next to the table seemed to move closer to table; or even more importantly, closer to the table. It finally came to in this past week as the writer was sitting on his bench, laptop on…lap, typing his thoughts away; he noticed the table grew quiet. The noises that are associated with the life of a college one grows used to, it’s when it becomes quiet that someone believes something is up. This strange phenomenon took place with the writer. He raised his head in alert to quietness, and there they sat. The young woman and the man sat closer to each other then ever before, and in the midst of them growing closer, his hand came to rest on her leg, her eyes rested in his, and with the gentle movement of one arm her hand came to lay in his. The quietness came as the two realized the common ground they shared, the interest they both knew, the love that they had for each other. The writer made no noise, almost as if watching deer in the pasture, just made mental notes and thought of what to write for the next day, while the couple held onto each other from behind the table.
Thoughts of the End
Love surrounds us. I was blessed this week by watching 2 ½ relationships form. The ½ will be discussed at a later date when it becomes a full. Though myself, the writer, finds himself alone in the evenings, knowing that those around him are happy. Sometimes that feels better then being the only one with someone else. I chose to think of it this way. The more people around me that fall in love, the more I have to write. Remember this though, the time that these writings grow cold and quiet. The writer has no more say because his stories have finally hit home.
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