You look at every face in a crowd
Some shine and some keep you guessing
Waiting for someone to come into focus
Teach you your final love lesson
--Van Halen, When It's Love
(Generation X in the 80’s)
He drove by her house.
A quiet, residential street. A non-descript collection of white siding and windows. Rose bushes. A closed front door.
As the car went on, he turned to look over his shoulder in order to catch every angle, every permutation of the pass.
Summer vacation had started last week, and he wouldn’t see her for three months. If he only talked to her, he wouldn’t be on this street, in this neighborhood, and craning his neck like a fool as the sun deepened to orange.
But he didn’t talk to her. Like a loser.
Despite the way she looked at him.
Okay, it was clearly twice. Other times too, but not so clearly.
So he turned at the stoplight and vowed he wouldn’t circle around for another go.
But September was very far away.
And she might not look at him like that ever again.