On Finals' Week

Sometimes, when I see something, I have to write. Like, it's not an option. The words are coming out, and now.

While everyone is studying their butts off, I'm writing... I have to laugh at myself.

Rain softly played against the single pane of glass separating her from the grey outside. Taking a sip of filtered water from a plastic cup, she listened to the chorus of her fingers’ typing drowned slightly beneath the speakers sounding slews of lyrics and chords. Her cell phone lay inactive beside her; she could not stop her eyes from glancing down at it between typed sentences, though. Tugging at long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail for a moment, her eyes skimmed over the most recent paragraph of her essay. Leaning back in the blue cushioned chair, tan rocking chair legs hit the carpet solidly. One glance at the phone. One glance out the window, seeing more of her own reflection than the tree outside, the dark blue of a sunless, cloud-filled sky swarming her background.
Finally, that much anticipated buzzing. She grabbed the phone from its place beside her elbow, eyes scanning the digital clock beside her. 8:23 PM; only an hour later than the ballpark time frame he had given her earlier. She opened her phone, placing it to her ear, saying, “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you, too,” came his tired voice.
She smiled. “Where are you?”
“In the visitor parking lot.”
“Alright. I’ll be out there in five minutes.”
“Ok, bye.”
Closing her phone, saving her essay, closing her laptop, pushing her feet into shoes, grabbing her keys, all in one fluid motion, she was out the door, down the stairs, and out in the rain, walking purposefully toward the parking lot, and to him. The rain soaked into her hair, chilling her fingers, her feet in insubstantial flats, the tips of her ears and nose. Pushing hands deep inside her sweatshirt pocket, she jumped down the flights of stairs separating her from her destination. Finally, almost jogging up the street-scape, she made her way into the parking lot, dodging a growing puddle, spotting his car.
He saw her coming, and opened the door, unfolding himself from the driver’s seat. She ran the last couple of feet, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her against himself, arms secure and strong around her back, lifting her off the ground a few inches.
As they separated after a few moments, she asked, “How was the drive?”
“Long,” he said, straightening the baseball cap on his head. “but five hours alone is worth it to be here now.”
She smiled, sliding her hand into his, fingers interlocking, once again in that place that felt more natural than any other. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of the rain.”
He locked his car, and they traversed up the stairs together. As they ventured inside the building, he yawned widely, his jaw cracking. She looked up at him, and he smiled softly down at her.
“You a little tired?” she asked.
“Just a smidge,” he returned.
“You want to take a nap?” she asked, pushing open the door to her room.
He looked at her for a moment, then said, “I’ll just lie down for a little while.”
She ran her fingers over his back as he slipped his shoes off. He curled up on the small couch in the middle of the room, rain-sprinkled jacket still on, hat not leaving its home atop his head. He gave a great sigh, eyes falling closed, knees pulled up almost to his chest. She touched his cheek softly for a moment, then took her place in the blue rocking desk chair once again.

"He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"
-Micah 6:8