The Obsession- 11/95

Tuesday night, I wash my jeans in the laundry room
on the ground floor of my dorm.
I knew before I came down that he'd be here,
as he is every first Tuesday night of the month,
sitting between the Coke machine and the dryers, reading a book.

I sit across the small room, on an empty table near the window.
He doesn't look up.
I try to study psychological addictions for an exam Wednesday,
but I find myself glancing up,
trying to catch his eye.

I start to swing my foot, back and forth, back and forth,
hoping he'll raise his eyes from behind his glasses.
He still doesn't look up.
I drop my keys on the floor, and they make a small clank.
Still, nothing. The dryers are too loud.

He's wearing his Braves cap backwards again.
I don't recall ever seeing the top of his head.
Maybe he even sleeps in that cap.
I can see a lock of his dark brown hair,
escaping from the confines of the rim, close to his neck.

Finally, my washer stops. I jump down.
He is really engrossed in that book.
As I put my jeans in the dryer, I steal a glimpse of the cover.
It's The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand.
And now, he looks up.

"I think your clothes are dry." I say.
He stands. "Thanks."
"Uh, interesting book?" I ask.
"It's for my Architecture class." He answers.
I smile. "So, is that you major?"

I actually did know the boy in question, but he didn't know I had a huge crush on him. I created the scenario, of course. He later told me that he had planned to ask me out near when we had first met, but he thought I was dating someone, which, of course, I wasn't.