On Thursday, I went to Fever to celebrate Halloween. I was Katy Perry, singer of such hits as "California Gurls" and "Teenage Dream." I had a purple wig, a sequins dress, and four-inch heels. I also had two bottles of whipped cream (but that was for my Saturday costume). Yes, when you are college student you have a different costume for the entire Halloween weekend, beginning Thursday (or in some cases even as early as Tuesday). I went back to my friends' apartment so one of them could drive me home. When we were in the parking lot, we heard a girl scream, "Help! Get away from me! Get away from me!" I told Ronnie to go and see what was wrong, and I did the only thing that I was capable of doing in my aforementioned costume: call the police while shouting, "I AM CALLING THE POLICE." Then I saw two men dressed all in black run away from the sidewalk that leads to the entrance of the apartment building that I had left just moments before. I ran over and saw Ronnie kneeling down to help a girl who was lying on the ground. She had blood all over her face, but I knew that she was conscious because she was crying loudly. The police arrived in under five minutes, but it felt like several hours. She told them that the men had demanded her purse and then hit her in the head with a gun. When they heard Ronnie running over and me shouting about the police, they ran away, dropping everything except the purse itself. Everything of value, her wallet, credit card, and cell phone, were left behind. An ambulance came and took the girl to the ER, and I stayed to talk with the police. They told me that the men had probably been there when I walked into and out of the apartment building, but because I was with Ronnie, they chose not to attack me. When I saw them running though, it was only from about twenty feet away. And I was calling the police, in my purple wig, sequins dress, and four-inch heels. Had they turned their gun on me...
And now it's Friday afternoon, eight days later, and it feels like months have passed since then. But only fifteen hours have passed since that fleeting moment when Gary's hand traced the outline of my inner thigh. Time is arbitrary like that. In moments of fear, and excitement, it just...slows down. But then again maybe the joke is on us for trying to quantify the unquantifiable. In one second with Gary, there was a hand, a leg, a tingle of excitement, a smile, and a memory worth writing about. In this past hour, there has been only a cup of coffee, a lot of thinking, and about 500 words of typing. Can what happens in a second be experienced as both one-sixtieth of a minute and more than one-twenty fourth of a day? At this point, I think it is safe to say that only time will tell.
And now it's Friday afternoon, eight days later, and it feels like months have passed since then. But only fifteen hours have passed since that fleeting moment when Gary's hand traced the outline of my inner thigh. Time is arbitrary like that. In moments of fear, and excitement, it just...slows down. But then again maybe the joke is on us for trying to quantify the unquantifiable. In one second with Gary, there was a hand, a leg, a tingle of excitement, a smile, and a memory worth writing about. In this past hour, there has been only a cup of coffee, a lot of thinking, and about 500 words of typing. Can what happens in a second be experienced as both one-sixtieth of a minute and more than one-twenty fourth of a day? At this point, I think it is safe to say that only time will tell.
