The Applause of Crickets

We cradled the cracks on the sidewalk with careful steps.  There was nothing more to be said on the subject, so we said everything again, this time with more expression and hand movements.

"I just don't get what the use of a 'break' is!" I voiced to the night sky.

"I know!" Up went her hands.  "And I hate calling it that.  It's only two letters short of a break up."

It was a sad but cathartic rehearsal.

Quiet gathered around our soft, rhythmic pace.  Our performance must have rendered our audience of passers into awed silence.  I let out a sigh into the night sky, then shook my head.

A bus pulled up on the street beside us.  Just as she was about to roll on to repeating Act 1 again, I pushed her up the wet metal steps and dragged her onto a seat.  She was almost surprised, but not enough to protest.

We fidgeted, and sat.

A woman across from us in droopy, laundry-sack clothes fished an apple out of a walmart bag and took a bite.

"I just wish I knew what he meant." She said simply, looking off.

 I hushed her. "We're going to take this bus wherever it's going."

"Should I just text him and tell him I think we shouldn't call it a 'break'?"

"We both know you won't be able to focus on your classes tomorrow, anyhow.  You won't miss much by skipping them."

Her voice rose.  "And who's going to get the kids?"

"We'll get a room wherever we end up.  Somewhere cheap. I have my debit card."

"Obviously you are going to side with me.  But... what about the rest of our friends?"

"Plus, you can just get notes from other kids in your classes.  People like you, cause you lead all the group projects.  They owe you."

"I don't want there to be this... weird... division." She looked me at me with those perfectly framed blue disks of ocean.  "What if he decides this is it?"  The ocean stirred.

I breathed. "It's not over yet.  Don't count your doom-chickens until they hatch."

"They do owe me."

"What?"

"For the group projects."

"Oh."  I slumped further into my seat. "I thought you were talking about the doom-chickens."

The apple-woman's lips were leaking juice out of the sides of her mouth with every crunch.

The bus rumbled beneath us, and with every toss, our necks became less and less eager to hold our heads up.  Like old helium balloons, our heads slowly slacked and rested comfortably together.  I closed my eyes and imagined that we were headed to New York City, where it was snowing a magical snow that covered the streets in glimmer.  I pictured us stepping out into a world of white that made us smile and want to buy red satin gloves.

When we jerked awake, it was not snowing.  It had begun to rain again as the bus screeched for us to exit.  The woman was gone, and had left behind a browning core on the seat.  We shifted out and wandered onto the damp florescent-lit street.  The bus pulled away as our eyes were still trying to adjust to the night.  I peered at the silhouetted buildings, the trees, and then down at the cracked pavement.  We had taken a campus bus, which had looped back to where we had started.  I took her hand and we walked back to the dorms, accompanied by the applause of crickets.

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