The next morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. I was already running late for classes at George C. Gills, and I had missed my bus. It didn’t really seem like it mattered to go, or do anything since what happened yesterday.

I thought about the young man with the matches, and the significance of him standing there. I couldn’t place why, but I had a strange urge to seek him out…to find him and talk to him about something. Anything.

Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t spoken to another soul in what seemed like forever. Sure, there were the polite ‘thank yous’ and menial back and forth exchanges at the business college. But, I couldn’t even place the last time I sat down and genuinely spoke with another person.

I stood up, and rummaged through my closet, putting on a starched grey dress, black shoes, and a black wool cardigan. I stopped short at the mirror, didn’t even care to brush my hair, but dabbed on a bit of red lipstick to give myself a little courage.

I was going back.