I sat down on the steps at the corner of Victoria and Queen. Sophia texted me that she was just leaving the gym. If this were true, she’d arrive in four to eight minutes. Four minutes if she cut across the science building, went down the lab hallways, and crossed the intersection at the plaza. If she got caught in the clots of first years around the 101 lecture halls then waited for the slow lights next to campus, it would take her eight minutes.
I pocketed my phone and looked around. There were low and grey buildings with cracked parking lots. The only interruptions to the grey sky were wires and poles. Students filtered in and out of food spots with some kind of bag: plastic, gym, hand, or backpack. I fell into a rhythm of checking the two sidewalks that Sophia would come down, catching faces in between. Some faces were familiar and I tried to remember if they were from a class, a bar, or Tinder.
Eventually, I spotted Sophia heading down the sidewalk–the eight-minute one. She caught my eyes at the intersection. We waved at each other but then looked away because the light was red. I got up and hugged her when she crossed the street. We chatted about the Buddhist tattoo on our Psych professor’s forearm and our hopes that the midterm would mostly be multiple-choice. After a couple students bumped us with their backpacks, we decided on an uptown coffee shop for our date.
The scenery for the walk was naked trees, brown grass, litter, and puddles. An inconsistent wind pushed everything around. Sometimes she’d walk behind me to avoid a puddle. Most of the time we walked next to each other. My eyes wandered back and fourth between her eyes and the city.
The first street we walked down had a house with a big window. When I would pass it after night class, it was easy to see the group of guys on the couches with their laptops perched on their thighs, the TV flashing different colors on their faces. Other houses had small windows, windows with wire screens, windows with curtains: windows you couldn’t see through. On the way home, I made guesses about all the life behind mortar and brick.
Then we passed another house, a stone’s throw from campus. They had a porch that was perpetually overflowing with garbage bags and soggy pizza boxes. Last semester, it seemed that every time I walked by, I would always catch this one girl leaving. I’d watch her lock the door, pick a song on her phone then adjust her handbag strap on her shoulder. I though there was something dignified about the way she held herself amidst the mess on her porch. But when she stepped on the sidewalk, she became just another student marching to campus.
Sophia and I walked past a bar. She told me that she hated that place. I didn’t tell her that I went to Hip-Hop Wednesdays every week. I didn’t tell her that one Wednesday I left with no one and nothing but ringing ears. That night, on the far end of the parking lot, a boy in a t-shirt and a girl in his sweater were on the curb, sharing a cigarette. As soon as they couldn’t see me, I started to run home, sprinting in the space between one streetlight then walking until the next. When I got home, I felt accomplished because I didn’t message my ex-girlfriend.
At this row of houses, on Homecoming mornings, all the front yards were filled with purples clothes and people drinking for honking cars, singing louder than their portable speakers. The following morning, on the way to get a sub, I saw an old man stop his shopping cart next to their broken beer pong table. He ignored the red cups and picked up the bottles.
Sophia and I walked past an elementary school. For a semester, my walk to class coincided with their recess. The boys would run in their sloppy sweatpants with wet hems, their jackets hanging on their heads by hood. The girls would huddle in a corner of the field, leaving no hints of their conversations. All there was in between this primary school innocence and student housing sin was a rusty fence, shorter than a fifth grader.
Finally, we got to the coffee store. Sophia went to the bathroom, so I was left alone in front of the window. Across the street was an old pizza store where I’d gotten into a fight. Before I could throw a punch, a club bouncer speared me and I smashed my face against the street. It turned out the bouncers had a deal with the pizza store: security for leftover pizza. Luckily, I didn’t lose any teeth. Unluckily, I was supposed to meet my girlfriend’s mom the next day. By the time my face healed, we were breaking up.
After five years in this small town, I’d seen everything in every way. The houses, buildings, stores, trees, schools, and parks all held memories. The places inspired nothing new; they just brought me back.
When Sophia sat down, I looked at her, wondering if I’d ever find memories in her face. I looked back at the sidewalk, but then scanned the small town under grey sky, and wondered if things would look different if I were in love.
