Colin
7:14 p.m. Electric Brew Coffeehouse. Goshen, Indiana. Monday, December 6, 1999.
I am sitting here, and there is conversation all around me. My classmates are talking, my professor is talking, and the entire populace of the shop tonight is talking, talking, talking. I am silent, and deep within me I feel something drawn to a person across the room.
Whatever is deep inside of me speaks to my mind, and my mind recalls all the facts I know about this person in chronological order. And then it processes what I see; the face, hands, shirt, pants, hair. Before I can object, the feeling and my mind unite and collaborate on a story of who this person could be to me.
The noise is drowning, but I am trying hard to focus on the story my classmate is reading from across the table. In the pauses, I look up, entertaining my mind and inner being. The urge rushes within me, in my blood and in my bones, to know him. I want to clear the shop out, join him at a table, and listen to him speak. For hours, if possible. I feel like I could listen to him the entire night. I want to know the details, the stories, the facts, and the ideas he has.
I want to know everything and then dissect it and pull it apart in order to silence my co-conspirators.
