It's been, like, twenty years since I've been here.
And now I've got the damn hiccups.
It's a sign.
The specks of chipping paint on your ceiling are more interesting than she is. You quietly sigh as your girlfriend continues to speak into the phone, almost forgetting that you are there.
You feel so trapped inside of these four walls, when there is an entire world outside your window. Houses on fire in the night roll down the neighborhood road. Each house quiet, each house sound asleep at this time of night.
An irritating squeak that is surprisingly not coming from your girlfriend's mouth captures your attention. Out the window in the backyard below you is a girl. Thick black netting cages her in her trampoline. You assume it's just a little girl, but it's not. No, you know this girl.
Instead of a small girl with innocent features, you see a slender silhouette caught in the fluorescent lights that hang above her garage. Blonde hair whisks over her head for a few milliseconds and spreads across the dark horizon as she jumps. Yellow tendrils come sprinkling over her frail shoulder blades as she meets gravity again.
You are intrigued.
By the irony. The trampoline is so innocent. But that girl you know is far from. Your eyes roll down the shadow of her elegant neck into her blossoming chest which stops in time to give way to her delicate waist and stomach. You groan without knowing.
You want to join her on that trampoline.
She leaps, flies into childhood at such an unsightly hour. It is night. But it is bright and sunny inside of her trampoline.
Your girlfriend wants to know if you are still there.Well, are you? Are you still listening? Or has your attention been sold to the girl with the trampoline?
You cough politely into the phone and excuse yourself. You are suddenly feeling sick, you tell her. And you hang up without a goodbye.
Shamelessly, you look back to the window. If she knows she is being watched, she gives no clue. But you watch nonetheless. You watch as she slowly ascends towards heaven, then is brought back to reality again. Over and over again... normally... you get tired of things like this... but... you are intrigued... totally and completely... intrigued...
Your throat locks and your cheek burns as you notice that she has stopped jumping. She turns and looks up to your illuminated window. With a small hand a visible smirk, she beckons for you.
Time to escape these four walls. Time to explore that entire world outside your window.
You stumble out your back door without bothering with shoes. You don't need them. You need her.
You cut across the grass into her backyard, paying no attention to the naked trees that scratch your biceps and shoulders...
...then you remember that you are not wearing a shirt.
But it doesn't matter because by now, she is in front of you, her fingers holding on to the netting of the trampoline. The golden legs that extend from her shorts don't have goosebumps, despite how fucking cold it is.
She wants to know if you want to jump.
Fuck yeah, you do.
You scramble up the two metal rungs and hastily tangle your way past the netting onto the trampoline. The taut, flexible fabric beneath your feet gives in. The coiled springs that keep your dream together give a faint squeak.
You really do know this girl, you tell yourself again.
But you forget again, because she is gracefully stalking across the strict webbing with the moon burning in her eyes, and it takes you no time at all to realize that she doesn't want to jump with you.
You find your arms quickly encircling that same waist that was highlighted by the lights as she jumps at you. Your feet give out from under you and you find yourself not-so-politely pinned to the trampoline. The fabric wavers under the sudden shift of weight and the two of you fluidly bounce.
She slyly smiles on top of you and wastes no time stealing your breath away with a certain kiss.
God, you find yourself kissing her back. Your hands find their way into her blonde hair and she pushes her small body flush against yours. How did you get here? It's not like you care or anything, because you're already there and you're kissing her and she's kissing you and you can taste the sour tang of betrayal on her mouth.
The trampoline cradles you and sweeps you in a soothing pattern as you pull away from her and suck back loads of oxygen. The moon is in her hair and you laugh.
It's funny because that moon glows like a halo. Like an angel. Which she's not, you can tell, especially by the way she presses her lips back to yours and works her tongue in expert ways...
You want to say her name or something, because you know it. But you don't.
You just oblige.
And soon enough, the trampoline is no longer sweeping up and down like a lullaby. It is violently tearing back and forth, driven by the emotion, the passion, and the wanting to explore the world outside of your window.
"Sharpay..." you groan.
You finally say it...
...And then you suddenly wake from a dream, your nose buried in long, impossibly dark brown hair.
I hope you understood the ending.
If you didn't, then that's cool too. Make whatever you want out of it. I'm just really happy. This is my first piece of work that I'm proud of since I was diagnosed with WRITER'S BLOCK.