Little Blue Light

I'm lying on my couch at 6pm on a Friday night, watching the sun go down beyond my windows, which it took me months to realize were west-facing ones; I think I told you that before. No other plans tonight. I haven't seen you in weeks, but that's normal for us. We've been texting back and forth all week, and two weeks ago we spoke on the phone. When I daydream at night, I replay the sound of your voice.

Pouring myself a new drink, I set it down gently and flop back onto my couch uninhibitedly to reread our conversation, reliving all the thrills and adding some trills around your inflections. I never analyze my own; I trust you got their intended meaning, buried like easter eggs for you to find when you reread them tonight. Hint: they're between the letters. They're the raised and lowered notes my phone couldn't send.

Not yet, anyway. It's getting there. Soon, we'll be even closer.

So when you ask me to marry you, I'll know if you're being sarcastic or not before I write back, "yes! #cantwait"

I probably shouldn't have this third drink because these thoughts are crazy!! What would you think if you knew them!?

My heart leaps at the sudden sound of a text. It's been 3 hours since your last one (or my last one? I know that it takes two to tango.).

It's not from you, but it's gotten me thinking about the way your texts sound again.

I replay the little beep in my mind, then go into my settings to manually raise and lower the volume of the alert tone, remembering you and what we were talking about. What were we talking about? What we ate this morning. You said you felt fat from the holidays.

When it's dark outside, I start a movie on my laptop and put my phone's alert on silent but leave it resting on the cushion after I type, "There was a gorgeous sunset tonight. Did you catch it?"

A pulsating blue light emerges on its corner during the opening scene, catching my eye and pulling up a little smile as I snap off the movie to watch the glow in my unlit living room for a few beats before picking it up.


The phone remains in my hand after I snuff out the light with a couple firm presses. Now I note the still darkness of it in my lower field of view while my eyes turn back to the movie. This is a movie I've long wanted to watch with you. I glance at my phone's black reflective surface and think of your name. Soft emotions start to well within, in sync with the film's score. There's a lot of meaning in this one. You'd like it, I think each word distinctly. I get myself into a comfortable ball lumped on one cushion and bring my arms in closer, my left hand still holding my phone resting at my chin, screen up.

This movie makes me feel a kind of intimacy that a film rarely does, I think because the film itself has an intimate vibe. It’s low key, has few sets and subtle lighting….

With the swirl of close feelings images drift around freely in my mind; the image of you; the round blue light, first sign of a message across our line. I glance at my phone's motionless black screen and overlay a soft blue light pulsing in its corner, focused momentarily more on this vision than on the movie, before my eyes turn back to the screen that has images. I recall the best part of today's conversation and smile, let the phone rest on my lips until the screen is warm below them, press them into a kiss. A kiss on the corner where the little blue light comes on. Right over that part. I part my lips and kiss it more, kiss it until the kisses are wetter, until I run the tip of my tongue over the glass and taste it, then do it again, and again, losing awareness of what scene we’re on.

I pull it away, my heart still beating a little faster and my muscles still tensed.

"I’m watching a movie," I type and send to you, then put the phone down and watch the film. But out of the corner of my eye I wait. And wait. The rectangle’s darkness grows insistent and loud, but I force myself to ignore it.

Suddenly, fifteen minutes into the movie, the familiar light appears by my side in silence. I watch the blue light for a second, a faint thrill in my heart, before reading.