I imagined a place in your heart and mind
But both of those places
Have become occupied
by a better tenant of your choice
I was waiting to see if you were
the right home for me
But I didn't put in my offer
fast enough.

Now my dream home is being
lived in, felt, breathed in, and cared for
by a tenant who is much better than me

I was ready
I had packed all my boxes,
The most meaningful memories
ready to be unleashed in this home

But now I'm left astray
with these boxes
in my U-Haul
That I don't know where to drive

I have to find another place,
But I can't move on right now
I can't find one as good as yours

Maybe your house wasn't as
great as I thought
and it was a sign from God

But now I'm stranded
Figuring out where to take this truck full of
boxes and heavy feelings

I secretly hope that your tenant will grow to dislike
what you're leasing out
I hope she'll one day decide to move out
and hope that you will offer it to me.

The wheel of fortune has spun our way,
we’re on Spring-break for 8 more days!

The transition to leisure was as smooth as oil,
without classes, he’s just a guy and I’m his girl.

For three weeks we’ll have had the suite to ourselves,
it has all the amenities, it’s like a hotel.

We’ve never been together, alone, for so long before,
it’s so deliciously heterodox, it’s like a reward.

Peter (my BF) observed, “This will be a reality check.”
Yeah, he’s a hopeless romantic.
“Sorry sir,” I said, “It's my policy not to cash reality checks.”

It was the second morning of “daylight savings time,” and the change was noticeable.

My BF Peter has a doctorate in applied physics, he's an expert, so I asked him, “How do they move the sun?”

He gave me one of his patented, blank looks, “What, who moves the sun?” He answered.

“Well, yes,” I said, “I suppose the “who” is important, but HOW do they move the sun? Peter can be dense sometimes.

“What are you TALKING about?” Peter asked, his head tilted in confusion.

I explained, “It’s daylight savings, ya? The sun is different, SO - how do they move the sun?”

“They don’t MOVE the sun,” he said, in a smug "I've got a PhD" way, “people set their clocks ahead an hour.”

I was stunned - Could it all be a cheap trick?
How, (I snorted in my mind) could they get everyone on earth to do THAT?

I didn’t argue, but I didn’t set my Apple Watch ahead or my laptop, or my desktop, or my iPad or Alexa - his “apotheosis” was obviously wrong.

He’s a new PhD, they just haven’t told him how they do it yet. I can wait. I patted his hand for support.

Peter also says that, out there in the “multiverse,” there may be an earth where I don’t have homework. First of all, isn’t it just like a guy to believe all of that “marvel comic” stuff?

“So, Superman’s real then?” I asked. He just lowered his head - burn: I had him there.

Secondly, can he get me/us to this planet “No homework?” NO.

Applied physics may very well be useless.

It’s Sunday morning and we’re in the new, exciting, daylight savings time.
Peter and I are sitting next to each other on the big, red, corduroy couch in my suite’s common room.

All of my roommates are gone so we’re free to relax in our PJs. We’re quietly heads-down on our devices. When, suddenly, I realized, as I do every 10 minutes or so, that it’s Spring Break!

I side-eyed Peter who was reading something. Probably some interstellar statistical report whose roots were calculated in base 7. I slowly, so as not to divulge that anything was happening, lowered my iPad and set it aside.

Then I slowly, very slowly, begin invading his space - he doesn’t notice at first but I lean on him gradually harder and heavier. He looked at me, confused, but now I’m crawling onto his lap - rolling onto my back. He moves his laptop - holding it up and away with one hand.

“EXCUSE me,” I say, “I beg your pardon, couldn’t be helped.” I repeat about three times as I roll a complete 360° in his lap with glacial, disruptive slowness - making sure to elbow him gently in places and cover his face with hair.

As I climb off him, I jump up and start singing and dancing to this song I made up (with maximum arm flail):

K k k k King kong song
I’m sing the king kong song
I’m dancing to the king kong song
Feel free to sing along.

I point at him and sing, “I’m talking to YOU!”

K k k k King kong song
You’re listening to the king kong song
Feel free to sing along
To the K k k King kong song!

I stop, striking a pose like someone on a Broadway stage waiting for applause.

“YOU,” he says, are a complete NUT.” But he’s smiling, broadly, as I jump onto his lap and begin smothering him with kisses.

I found a seed, and I planted it.
Watered it daily
Checked the soil in which it sat
Nothing happened so
I changed the potting,  
Giving it sun,
Made sure it saw the light
Checked it everyday
Did everything right,
Waiting for it to sprout something
Anything even.

But it didn't grow,
because the seed died

It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer. If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.

"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hair-band on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hair-band on my wrist I feel out of control."

There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.”

I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.

I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.

The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.

My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.

What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”

She was not amused.

Peter and I are together and we’re in a grove.
Time is our treasure, precious and dwindling.

I watch for signs of the future unfolding,
like a twitch that might be the first sign of a stroke.

Answers will come - slowly - or they’ll parachute in from nowhere.
We spend a lot of time together but most of it is spent studying.
We both have silences that shouldn’t be penetrated.

I have so many questions, but I keep them at a safe distance,
so I don’t feel the need to interact with them.

All I know is we’re alive, and we still have to dance.
It's not always fun, operating in the face of uncertainty
but what else can we do - except go through the motions?

“When exactly did the world lose its collective mind?” I asked, reading the news on my iPad.

Peter looked up from the book he was highlighting with a phosphorescent pink pen.

“They’ve found toxic metals in CHOCOLATES. Everywhere.” I announced, like that Poe bird.

“I guess we’re canceling chocolate then,” he said, sarcastically, “we’ll adapt.”

“Yeah, you bet.” I said with genuine irony.

Leeza (the 13 year old sister of my roommate Lisa) and I are in the building 220 lobby, heads-down on our phones, waiting for Lisa and Peter (my BF). The lobby is huge and deserted except for a lady concierge at the front desk, a security guard and the doorman - all far away from us. This is by way of explaining that our masks are off - mine hanging, useless, on my left ear.

When this unmasked guy, I was grazingly introduced to at last year’s 220-building Christmas party walks up to us and says, “Anais, Hi. You’re back!”

I flinched. I know a lot of people are over the whole mask thing and the covid thing - and have the temerity to risk it all, but I don’t - did I mention flu season or covid variations? Someone unmasked getting unexpectedly up in my personal space is jarring, rude, and on several levels dangerous and scary.

“Oh, hi,” I said. I vaguely recognized him, but I couldn’t remember his name. He’s one of those guys who’s cutely strange looking. He’s short (5’4”) (nothing wrong with that, short kings, you’re valid), his hair’s dark at the roots but blonde tipped (beach-hair?) and when he smiles, and he smiles a lot, his smile looks too big for his face. I remember he’d seemed socially awkward when we met, and Lisa had said his father is someone important.

“Yeah,” I said, with a shrug, “Holidays again.” I briefly bob up on my toes, to glance over Leeza’s head and to my relief, I see Lisa and Peter coming out of the elevator. I decide to mask up and seeing me do it, Leeza does as well.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “I remember you, but I can’t remember your NAME. I’m an idiot.” I give him my best, ditzy shrug.

He reintroduced himself, “Merritt,” he said, offering his hand and smiling again, still unmasked. As I shook his hand he twisted in Leeza’s direction and said, “Hi Leeza!” She gave him the smallest possible 13-year-old’s courtesy nod.

Peter and Lisa arrived, having masked up. “Merritt, hey!” Lisa said, greeting him warmly. “Have you got senioritis yet?” she asked, cheerfully. “Merritt’s graduating from Brown this year,” she announced, turning to include us all in the good news. “Public policy, ya?” She followed up.
“That’s it,” he confirmed, beaming.
“Congratulations!” I said, nodding.
“Way to go!” Peter added with a “yes” nod.
“Merritt, this is Peter,” Lisa said, taking charge. “He belongs to Anais.” she reported, as they shook hands and exchanged nods. “Merrit,” Lisa said, in a disappointed tone, “I hate to rush off, but we’re in a scramble for a dress fitting,” she lied. Lisa can lie like a politician.

And just like that, in something like 45 seconds she shook-off Merritt - who seems like a very sticky guy indeed - without resorting to mace or anything - Lisa’s got charm.

Thoughts about charm..
My grade, in physics 3 (an A-) was 2-one-hundredths from an A+. I almost certainly (like 85%) could have charmed the professor for that tiny bit. We’ve all seen it done - you put on a self-effacing smile and say, “I’m so close, is there something I can do for extra credit?” But I can’t DO it, physically, I can’t say the words and beg for grades. It’s like I can picture my mom watching me having to beg for something she earned, and I’d be mortified to even try. It’s my small disadvantage, a self-imposed handicap.

Besides, if I did betray my code, there’s the awful chance the professor might say no - and that would **** me.

Lisa, on the other hand, wouldn’t actually have to charm. She’d ask about her grade, periodt. The teacher, seeing there’s something he or she could do for this goddess - would just do it. With no asking involved.

Imagine you’re an airline agent and Beyonce´ stepped up to your station. She has a little problem you could effortlessly fix with a click of your mouse. Would you, do it? Hells-yes you would and before she even asked. “It’s already done,” you’d say - just to have Queen Bey smile at you.

The rest of us have to work at it (sigh) - and take our chances..