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Sometimes
Sometimes
When I drive home on Friday afternoons,
I like to get lost in the music.
I fly across Pittsburg
With all the windows rolled down
And I crank up the jams far louder than necessary.
Sometimes
I sing my heart out,
I bob my head,
I try to ignore the looks
I think I'm getting
From the drivers
Of neighboring cars.
Normally I'd be worried,
Worried about seeming obnoxious
Or annoying
Or weird.
But sometimes
On Friday afternoons,
It doesn't matter.
I can't be bothered to care.
For the ten minutes
It takes me to get home,
I'm a rock star.
And sometimes I want to believe it.
Sometimes
When I drive home on Friday afternoons,
I putter my way home
With the music turned all the way down
And choose instead
To get lost in my thoughts.
I think about my class
And my classmates
And I wonder if I came off
As desperate
And clingy
And awkward
As I typically feel.
Sometimes
I smile fondly
When I recall that
Smiles and laughs were had,
That my classmates
Seemed to genuinely like me,
To enjoy my company.
Sometimes
I'm quiet and pensive.
Sometimes
I'm all grins and laughs.
The best Friday afternoons
Are the ones when I actually find myself
Wishing
Chemistry could have lasted
Just a little bit longer
If only to prolong the fun that was had
In spite of being so concerned
With making friends
And retaining the material.
Sometimes
When I drive home on Friday afternoons,
I make the turn onto my street
And the sight of the cows
Idling their way
Up and down the hillside
Reminds me of
My love of the outdoors
And nature
And animals
And life itself.
Sometimes
I want to jump the fence
To join them;
But the fear of
Being caught trespassing
Halts me before I can
Make that leap.
But sometimes I want to do it anyway.
Sometimes
When I'm driving home
And the windows are down
And the wind is whipping my hair around,
It reminds me of
Walking along the train tracks
From the Antioch Marina
To the Dow Wetlands
With Gary,
And with the rest of our chemistry class,
And it made me think
I truly belonged.
Sometimes I want desperately to believe it.
Sometimes
On Friday afternoons
When the sun is low
And begins casting a shadow over my street,
I want nothing more
Than to run down the street with my dog
With no particular destination in mind
Simply because being outside seems
Far too wonderful
To squander
By being cooped up indoors.
Sometimes
On Friday afternoons
I want nothing more
Than to park against the curb
And sit in my car,
To watch as the scrub jays
Hop along fences
And as the crows
Line up on the lampposts
As if waiting
For something
To finally happen.
Sometimes I wonder what they're waiting for.
Sometimes
When I drive home on Friday afternoons,
I think about you.
I think about what could be
And what could have been.
I think of all the reasons
You should and shouldn't
Like me.
I think about
All the things there are to love about you,
And I think of an equal number of reasons
Why I shouldn't be having those thoughts.
Sometimes the thoughts are pleasant.
Sometimes thinking of you puts me in a better mood.
Sometimes the thoughts hurt,
And on those days
The drive home is quiet.
And sometimes
When I drive home on Friday afternoons
And I'm singing
Like I'm at a sold out show
And chemistry is on the mind
And I'm thinking of you,
I want to be like
The crows.
Sometimes
I want to sit
And wait
Like the crows do.
But sometimes
On Friday afternoons
I also want
The freedom
And the ability
To fly away––
To fly away
From the dreams of
Living a life
More fulfilling
And exciting
Than my own.
To fly away
From the worries
Of being a college student
Who wants nothing more
Than to fit in.
And to fly away
From the thoughts of you
That so often plague me
When I drive home
On Friday afternoons.