See You Soon | Rochelle Bauer

See You Soon

We’d stayed laid up in bed all day that rainy Saturday. Sometimes, the thunder was loud enough to be heard over the television and the fan going in your room so you would fake being scared, hide under the blankets.

And even when the sun began to set, you didn’t want me to leave. I didn’t want to either, but I needed to brush my teeth.

If I had a dream guy, it would probably be you. You made me pancakes and eggs, even did the dishes right after. Plus, like you said, you’re the cutest 23-year-old in the state of Indiana.

And you waited under the small awning of the porch in your gray shorts as the rain poured down, until I pulled out of your driveway in my little blue car. I could barely see through the veil of rain as I waved goodbye, but I’m glad. That means you didn’t see the ridiculous, goofy grin of a girl falling in love.

But can you blame me? You kiss the bruises and kill the spiders.