Lightning in a Bottle

Eddie was stocking a filterless cigarette with freshly ground herb while we sat near the back of the bus, alone with nothing but the wheel bearings and screeching brakes beneath our feet. Passive, aggressive, and all together agitated over being out so early, he remained silent, tuned into his tedium until it was through, and then promptly dove into his black notebook with a flurry of frantic scribbling, pausing suddenly at each surge of inspiration, and finishing a few with an exclamation point. Once or twice I saw him smile, but Eddie would quickly subdue the expression so as to maintain his edge over the situation. Without saying it, Eddie seemed to understand my reluctance to stay cooped up in the apartment, dwelling on the eventful weekend as if it were a sort of climax I might not ever reach again. The empty bus, the sterile air of another lecture hall, and each playful post-it note were hopeful attempts to distract the mind from wandering too far in one direction. For almost a week had gone by, and I still hadn’t heard from Alix. But to this, Eddie simply scolded me for not following the first rule: Don’t leave anything up to chance. Now, I was just a number, and the odds seemed quite unfavorable for such lightning to strike in the same place twice.

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