Late Nights & Early Mornings

It's strange how ideas presented at two o'clock in the morning make so much sense. It's as if the darkness cloaks all the less feasible aspects of crazy suggestions and leaves only their core beauty.

So of course, when he says, "Let's go to Hollywood and become screenwriters," it's not only possible, it's also a good idea, and in ten minutes we're online finding cheap air fares to L.A. We set a date - a week from Thursday - and decide to meet at the little hole-in-the-wall café we both adore. We'll take it from there. Our lives are ahead of us, and the velvet dark is all around, and it seems like we're the only two people awake in the entire world.

Our conversation moves on to other topics, like the felonies either of us would commit for a mocha frapuccino, the fact that neither of us liked Hero, the colors we're considering for our rooms. I'm writing and need an adjective that begins with "B;" he supplies a whole slew of candidates.

Just before I sign off so I can hope to sleep for more than three hours, he mentions Hollywood again. "We could so do this American Dream thing," he says.

And in the middle of the night, under a cloudy autumn sky, I close my eyes and believe him.

( Two first drafts of poetry for my GW creative writing class )