And there he was, sitting on your couch, showing as a reflection of the past the trash you turned into when John told you he couldn't do it anymore.

He was sure that he loved John and that John loved him. Until that new year...

<em> Why was she still looking at the sodden sidewalk with people running around with their colorful umbrellas? </em>

<em> "Prom was over for him, and listening to the band play was the best thing he had to do until his car was released." </em>

<em>" John ran his fingers over one more star, prying it easily from the top, dropping it into the bag attached to his ladder." </em>

I scanned the room, noticing several people studying or talking quietly with their friends, until someone caught my eye. He was staring at me, but looked away when I looked back. I started to notice him, his way as he read his books, his looks of boredom when reading them, but to be honest, he had nothing in common with the men I used to be interested in. Every now and then he would look at me, his expression not very easy to distinguish, and I would look at him, too, surreptitiously, over the top of my big 70s glasses.