the trouble with dreams is they don't come true
and when they do, they can catch up to you

I kept Carey's words in mind the next night, and tried a little harder to keep my troubles private. Everyone seemed relieved.

Once in a while, I'd sneak a glance his way, but most of the time he studiously avoided my gaze. Even during the show, our usual chemistry was off. It felt like I'd done something wrong, and that was seriously starting to annoy me.

I wasn't the one who started casting random kisses at inappropriate objects of unrequited affection.

It became a game: I chased him into corners without moving an inch. The game would be endearing if it wasn't so infuriating.

Look at me! I screamed silently at him, but he either ignored me or didn't bother to listen.

After the show, I cheerily told everyone good night and announced I was leaving.

When he came out the back door alone not long after I left, I grabbed him by the arm and whispered the command: come with me.

He didn't protest. I shot furtive glances into the darkness to make sure no one was watching as we hobbled at an awkward speed toward my car. I opened the unlocked passenger door and pushed him inside. He kind of smirked at this unlikely concept but obeyed, pulling his own legs inside and closing the door. I locked the driver's door behind me and glared at him. He maintained a forward gaze, steadily staring out the windshield.

"All right," I said calmly. "What the hell, Carey? Why are you avoiding me? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"I sort of expected it to be mutual," he murmured.

"But I haven't done anything wrong."

"So you do think it was 'wrong.'" He looked disappointed; I knew I'd have to choose my next words carefully.

"No… I just think it was one of those things that happens. We don't have to talk about it. It doesn't have to mean anything."

He shook his head indignantly; I mistook it for repentance.

"Hey," I said lightly. "It's okay, you're forgiven." I laughed a little, trying to soften the impact, but I was taken aback by the vehemence of his nearly-hostile reaction.

"You forgive me?" he asked incredulously.

I just nodded.

"Well, what if I'm not sorry?"

"Then I don't forgive you, I guess," I replied, slightly dumbfounded.

"Good!"

"Fine!"

I interrupted his sulking after an excruciating silence. "I guess you can go, then."

"I am sorry," he said finally. "It just seemed like . . . something . . . I don't know. It was stupid. I'm sorry."

He reached for the door handle, but before he turned it, I impulsively touched his hand, an echo of the gesture he'd performed the night before.

He stopped and turned to look at me, waiting for anything. I really wasn't sure what to say at all.

Should I look at this more seriously? No; that was pretty ridiculous.

Was it possible that there was some mysterious 'something'?

Should I apologize again for leading him to believe that I felt something that I didn't?

Was I even sure that I didn't?

I mean, it was obvious that I couldn't, for so many reasons. Still, I hated to let him down so clumsily. I opened my mouth and closed it again. His expression didn't fade, though: he was willing to patiently wait for me to put the words together.

"I just don't know," I said finally, after reviewing our history for several minutes. "I mean, maybe, yeah, okay, but--"

"I knew it." He smiled triumphantly.

"Well, wait a second--"

"I knew it."

"Stop that. What I'm trying to say is that of course it's impossible. It's impossible to even think about. I mean, can you imagine what would happen if anyone found out?"

"I know," he said seriously.

"You've thought about that, but you still…?"

"Yeah, I still do."

"Well," I said, as if it should have been obvious, "I just can't."

"You can. You won't."

"It's not that easy."

"It isn't anything but easy."

"Don't you ever think about the future?"

"Don't you ever stop thinking about the future?"

"Feel free to stop that, too."

"Don't tell me what to do." He grinned again, and I really hated letting him feel as if he'd won something or gained some ground. Because he hadn't. Of course he hadn't. There was no ground to gain, was there?

"It's completely insane."

"Okay," he said, still grinning obnoxiously. "Of course you're right. It's crazy." He reached for the door handle again.

"Wait. Just… wait, okay?"

I knew I wasn't helping matters.

I decided to concede this round; he could win tonight, and I would forfeit. I'd just make up for it next time.

(I would say later that it must have been the insomnia attacking my inhibitions that made me give in so easily. It clearly had an effect on my ability to carry on conversations with just about anyone, because the concept of small talk had seemed detestable for days. I couldn't have been very pleasant to be around.)

I sighed and closed my eyes, letting the rest of my defenses drain away.

He knew what would happen next.

He closed the door.

(if you let me down, it's all right
at least that leaves something for me
because you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams
)

- - -

Eels, "Trouble With Dreams"