She sits. No matter what she does, no matter how she tries, she can't erase how she feels. She sits and looks out on Clinton Street. The traffic has slowed and only now and then does a stray vehicle move by her street facing two story walk up. The blue neon light from "Gordon's Rexall" flashes into her room.
Off-on-off-on...the 1950's era sign beats like her broken heart. It's PM 11 on a Tuesday night.
She sits and thinks how Johnny Yaeger made her feel. Light as air, yeah, she was light as air when she was with Johnny. Smells were keener, colors were brighter and her skin could feel sound. Johnny was like some sort of drug, maybe like cocaine. Gabrielle has never used cocaine or any other drug for that matter, but she read an article in Vanity Fair Magazine about how drugs make you feel. Life seemed all so simple when she was with Johnny.
She sits and wonders what happened. She plays it out over and over again. She can't explain how their Sunday kind of love could be done. Well, done for Johnny. He blindsided her. Not in person, but by phone, "...not in love...it's not you...you deserve somebody better...find myself...always be friends...sorry..." That was three months ago.
She sits and cries, just a little. Love and its attendant emotions can't be shoved under the rug like so much accumulated dust. Although her days go by the nights are brutal. Long, dark and lonely, she yearns to smell his smell and touch his touch. Too proud to chase and too cool to beg, she never went after him. Just as well, Johnny dumped her for a red headed floozie from Pennsylvania.
She sits and checks her play lists. When she comes across One Fine Day by Natalie Merchant, she pauses. As the blue hue suffused her delicate face, she lit a Marlboro Light. She closed her eyes, flicked her iPod and drew her breath... She sits and she waits. Gabrielle knows he will come back to her. She sits and she hopes. She sits. And so it goes.