9/13/12

Clarity
By Kait Gilleran


Meet me by the place we first saw each other at four o’clock, she says to me. This is like an emotional scavenger hunt—who remembers crap like that? We went to the same school since forever, I don’t remember her much during primary school—but I guess that would be the most reasonable assumption. Women.
I put on a newly pressed shirt and khaki pants for the occasion—a first anniversary only happens once per person. I buy her flowers on the way there, her favorite—lilies. A bracelet I bought her a week ago will look perfect hidden within them. Women like that shit, right? Shiny good smelling shit? That’s why I shave until is shines and wear cologne, and why my headboard’s a mirror and my sheets are doused in Axe.
I get there at 3:30, just as the busses are pulling away and wait outside of the building, good old Greenwood Elementary. My polished black loafers glisten in the afternoon sun. I wait. And I wait. Suddenly, it’s been an hour. Where is she? Did we see each other even earlier? Have I forgotten some clandestine meeting in a sandbox at the park? That bitch and her vague instructions, these feelings of mild anger and disappointment are far too familiar.
She’s crazy, maybe we had a class together. Maybe she’s in there, sitting at her assigned seat, pale knees stuck in a little chair waiting with a pinched pink mouth and wide brown eyes. I step into the building and it feels pleasantly nostalgic to step onto the tiles of earlier days. My eyes adjust to the fluorescent bulbs and take in the pale puke green tones of the walls; I close my eyes and take a moment to take in the scent of the unclean sterility of a grade school hallway. I can practically hear the squeak and crunch of my Velcro sneakers running down the hall, and Mr. Gerbles yelling at me to stop. Opening my eyes, I realize that I am actually hearing just that.
A young boy, blond haired and scrawny, turns his head towards a more withered and white haired Mr. Gerbles, who is assessing me suspiciously. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the kid runs into the bathroom down the hall.
“Picking up a kid? I don’t recognize you.”
“No, just looking for my girlfriend.” Crap. His eyes. Okay. Okay. Fix that. “She told me to meet her here, it’s not what it sounds like Mr. Gerbles.” I feel like a child.
“Mr. Gerbles… how do you know my name.”
“I was a student here…”
“Wait, Petey Sheffer?”
“Yes!” Relief.
“Sheffer… I knew you’d turn out to be a creep you quick footed little fuck.” Crap. No choice, only one logical solution to this problem.
I run. A small laugh escapes my lips as I slide across the linoleum floor in my loafers. Nearly falling more than once, I feel free. I can hear the heavy footfalls of an aggravated Mr. Gerbles swiftly following mine, and it just makes me laugh more.
Hightailing it out of that situation, I feel my phone buzzing. After catching my breath, hidden in an alleyway, I open it to find several voicemails. I call her without listening to them. She answers.
“Asshole. I’ve been sitting at a table outside Marceli’s for an hour! This is humiliating. Let me guess, Peter, you forgot where our first date was.”
“No, it’s just you said…saw…I thought you meant our elementary school. You know… ”
“We didn’t go to elementary school together. Did we?” What a bitch.


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Kait Gilleran is an incoming senior at Montclair State University in New Jersey. She is an English major with minors in Creative Writing and Classics.