Orange Lights

This is a continuation of my I Developed a Crush story "On Dave"
 By the way I was a stalker.  Was.  I'm not anymore. ^_^  Don't most people go through a... phase?  A Stalker phase?

Anway, here's part 2 of my three-part story.


Once I realized Dave liked me, I felt inclined to get to know him better.  I thought I had made a new friend.  I knew plenty of people, went to enough parties, had anough numbers in my phone book, but I didn't feel that any of those people were friends.  They were disposable to me, and I to them.  That's how things go in this town, in almost every respect.  A comradery with Dave felt like a new goal, a blessing, an escape from the monotonous mediocrity of my every day life.

   So when a night came that I felt lonely, and bored, and apathetic, I thought of that night a while back when Dave and I drank red wine and wasted the night away talking and laughing.  I thought that maybe we could have another night like that one.  I set off to find his house. 
  Although I had been there once before, I didn't know how to get there; I wasn't yet completely familiar with the town, and everything looked different at night, besides.  But at the moment I had given up and turned to tread back to my lair, I recognized a wall of a building.  I was right by his house..
 I went up to the door and knocked, but no one answered.  I felt let down, but at least I now knew where he lived and could return any time.

So in the next following weeks I went by several times, and usually there was no one home.  Some times I would look through the windows.  So eager, but it seemed the house was always empty.  It gave me fluttery feelings in my chest to thin of talking with him, being near him, knowing him.  It seemed he was never around. Until one day he was there, and let me in. He introduced me to his mother.  He seemed distant, as if he didn't want me there but was being polite.  I ignored it and proceeded to get to know his mother.  She was very welcoming and we sat and talked for up to an hour.  We hit it off great.  In hindsight I wish we hadn't, but at the time it was pleasant and I felt I had stumbled upon a great treasure; a smart boy with an amazing mother.  I thought that even if he and I weren't to be good friends, I would probably always come around to see her.  Deeper in my mind I knew I was creating an excuse to come over to his house and see him more.

I would walk by the diner where he worked and look in the windows to see if he was there.  All I wanted was a glimpse of him.  Some proof that he still existed.  I wouldnt always go in and talk to him though, because he was so off-puttish, I didnt want to annoy him.  I didn't want him to know I liked him this much. 

I started going around his house more often.  When he was at work I would sit and chat with his mother about gardening and books.  Some times I would go over, and he and I would hang out for a while when all of a sudden he would want me to leave.  I always felt I did something wrong or said something stupid.  He confused the hell out of me.  Especially the time when we were watching some show on tv, and he took my hand and held it.  It was so weird.  All the time he seemed like he hated me, he would ignore me and scowl when I came around, but these random moments of affection would occur.  Unfortunately, these moments of affection prompted me to come around more, to try harder, and to have hope.  I really had begun feeling a frantic need for his acceptance.  It was ridiculous how much I wanted him to like me.  It wasn't in a romantic way, I just really needed a friend.

Back then I thought I needed him, I wanted him for something.  However, it sometimes seemed he needed me too.  I recall a night when he called me on the phone, he was gabbering on as he did.  Being confusing and philosophical and depressed.  he was practically yelling into the phone.  He seemed crazy, I didn't know he was drunk.  I was thinking that he was going crazy and was going to kill himself or something.  When he hung up on me suddenly, I pulled on my shoes and coat and headed into the cold foggy night to his house to make sure he didnt do anything stupid.  I was truly worried.  Maybe it was kind of naive and silly to think it, but I really did believe he would kill himself.  The way he was talking on the phone had me so worried.  On my way there, he called me and said "Will you please come over?"  I let him know I would be there in a few minutes.   Come to think of it, this was the very night I spoke of earlier, when he held my hand.  When I got there, he seemed changed.  He seemed more together, less crazy.  After he calmed down a bit more, he suggested we watch this funny tv show he liked, and we were sitting there on the couch when he took my hand.  I felt uncomfortable, but somewhat pleased.  Hmm, thinking of it now, it makes more sense to me.  A lot of things make more sense to me now.  If I had known then what I know now, I wouldnt have been so erratic in my behavior, and eager to move things along, I would have given him time and space, as his mother had suggested I do.  Instead I was too needy and pushed him away.  That night, that was a night when he needed me, and I was there for him.  Thats why he held my hand.  I dont know why I had been so confused about it back then.  Getting older, getting wiser, things in the past seem so obvious.

One time I went over.  There had been a blackout from a storm.  It made the town seem so peaceful, mysterious, and different.  I made my way to Dave's.  The weather was balmy and pleasant and everything was dark.  He answered his door, and we sat on his porch and talked a while.  I began picking at my banjo, when he excused himself and went inside.  I waited for him to come out.  I kept playing a new song I had learned, I felt proud of it and wanted him to hear it and think highly of me.  I was eagerly awaiting his return.  I thought he'd be impressed that I was learning the banjo (as he himself is a musician).  But almost twenty minutes went by when his mother came home, and told me I should leave.  She went in, came back out, and told me Dave was sleeping.  I felt like such an idiot.  In hindsight, I should have been offended by his rudeness in just leaving me, not even saying good night or letting me know he wasnt going to come back out side.  I should have thought "What an ***"  But I didnt.  Instead, I felt like a fool, and wished even more that he would like me.  I wondered what I had done wrong, and felt stupid for trying to play the banjo for him.  I wasnt very good yet, he probably thought I was such a loser.

There were more instances of no one being home.  I would some times come by several times in a day.  I really had nothing else to do.  Again, deep down, I knew that was just an excuse.  I suspected that he was there but was ignoring the door bell.  I'd peek in the windows just to make sure.  It hurt my feelings and confused me, it made me want to see him more. 

Some nights I would walk around the town, I would know better than to go to his house (I knew I was becoming desperate and had to back off before he wrote me off as too annoying)  but I would walk by his house several times to see the light in his bedroom window.  I would some times sit on the curb in front of his house, listening to him playing the guitar.  His music was so unique, so beautiful.  I wanted to see him, but I knew I'd rather sit and listen to him than inturrupt.

One time I was hanging with a good friend.  We were drinking strong Russian beer, and enjoying a game of chess behing the 7-11 parking lot.  It was a great night.  I felt good.  He was ready to hit the hay and I wasn't tired yet.  I wanted somewhere to go, I wanted the night to go on.  I horded a few of the Baltikas and proceeded to make my way to the bus station.  I knew I should go home, I had school in the morning.  But when I got off the bus, I wavered.  I looked south to where my house lay a few miles of a walk away, and I looked down the backstreet, knowing it lead right to Dave's house.  I turned left.  I knew inside that I had had a good night, I had enough to drink already, and I should just call it a night and go home.  But I had an indescribable desire to see Dave, and talk to him.  On my way there I felt very sad.  Defeated some how.  Drunk.  I changed my mind, I decided going to Dave's was not going to turn out well, and I made my way to Main Street.  I felt better after following my intuition, but still lonely.  There I walked through the desolate streets, a chessboard and a banjo, and a few brewskies but no one to share with.  No one with whom I could share a game, or share laughter, or share music.  Feeling so lonely, the orange lights beating down like distant souls, I made my way back and headed to Dave's again.  

I knocked once.  I knocked twice.  A slit in the blinds appears
He says "I'm busy."
the slit closes, and there's nothing more

I felt like hell that night.  It was so illogical, it was so stupid, and emotional.  I felt so utterly rejected.  I turned away and walked down Main Street crying, drank the last three baltikas, and headed to the train tracks to wollowin my pain a while.

I went home that night and vowed to not try to get in contact with him again.  He would always just push me away and I knew it.

Fastforward a few weeks later.  I was in the city, far uptown, drinking gin at an apartment with a group of people I had met on the bus.  What did I do then?  I have to strain to remember, as I was very drunk.  I took a bus south-bound, heading to a place where I could sleep for the night.  At some point on this trip I made a hasty decision to hitch-hike 30 miles west to my home.  I got off at the end of the line and walked down the high-way with my thumb out.  My intent wasn't really to go home, my real destination was Dave's.  Looking back, I can't recall the feelings I had, or why I wanted to see him.  I just knew that was point B, and that's where I was headed.  A pick-up truck truck stopped and let me in. He was a nice guy, I could have stayed with him that night.  He had his guitar and I had my banjo, he didnt live too far.  I wanted to stay with him, but my heart was set on going to daves. It was like an obligation.  I guess that was the result of being so drunk.
 He let me off by the graveyard, a few yards from Dave's house.  He asked me once, twice, if I was sure this is where I wanted to be. I said yes and walked away.
Its pretty nuts, I went almost an hour out of my way just to see him..  just to see him.  Its so ******* dumb, looking back on it.  Especially considering what happened next.

The lights were out, I didn't want to wake his mother, so I took the back steps.  I knocked on his window, and sat on the steps waiting for a response.  I knocked again, then again.  He came out, and said "What do you want?"
  And stupidly, I responded "Can I sleep here tonight"
He said his mother wouldn't allow it, and went back inside.  That night I slept in a stairwell.


Soon after that I ran into him at the diner, he stopped me in the hall and said very firmly and seriously, like he was trying to thoroughly convince me "Look, you're not my cosmic mate."

Looking back on these events make me cringe with regret.  How did I allow myself to be wrapped up in someone this way?  I was so infatuated with him, so curious about him, and I cared about him and his feelings, when all the while he really couldn't have cared less about me. What's more is I had a boyfriend at the time who knew nothing my new obsession.  Indeed, he knew nothing of my pain and loneliness, and was probably a factor in why I was so lonely.  I look back on Dave's actions and mine and see he wasn't as great as I had thought.  I had put him up on a pedestal.  I wanted him to be something more than he was.  He had other things going on, I was just a pest.  A silly little girl, with fickle emotions, and too much time on her hands. Not his cosmic mate?  Yeah we were definitely on different planets.  He was always talking about cosmic ****, and I was always trying to ignore it.  He thought I had a crush on him, when really I just wanted a friend.  It felt like a crush, but it was more than just that.  We didn't understand one another, though, so in the end everthing fell apart.

After that night of passing out in a dirty apartment complex stairwell, I stopped going to Dave's house. He had once said that the lights here, being orange instead of white, were so morose, and he wanted to go back to his home-town where lights were white.  I still think of that when I walk around the city streets.





There has been a new development since this story was written.  I'll have to write about it some time, long-story short: Dave is again in my life, but things are different this time around.

Cade Cade
4 Responses Mar 3, 2009

What a beautiful story. You should not concentrate on Dave, but on writing. Love,

What happened in this situation was a little unfair from my perspective. This person encouraged the interaction and gave you mixed signals. Don't blame yourself for all of this. <br />
<br />
Hope you are doing well :o)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT HAPPENED! Did you turn it around into a positive relationship? DId you and Dave communicate? Was the relationship normalized?

I can't find the first part of this story, can you give me the link?

Me too please!