The courtyard light slipped in through the venetian blinds, now closed for the night, and always kept me up for a few moments longer. We joked that living next to a hospital would be a good thing; “Rainy days,” you said, but someone always seemed to get rushed to emergency when I least needed them to. The sirens jolted me awake just before I slipped to sleep and I watched the red light scream across the ceiling.”
“Goodnight Blake,” I heard that about an hour ago. We are habitually bad at stopping talking, but we do, because these all night chats simply aren’t sustainable.
“Goodnight Veronica,” I said, and then, “Wait, what’s your schedule for tomorrow?” and we took off from there. You were nervous about something you had to do. I don’t remember what. I told you that it would be okay, that you always get that stuff done. You said, “We’ll see.”
I should have learned by now to ask what your schedule is for now, right this moment.
So often, those answers are best.