Eugene is walking through one particularly brightly lit corridor of the Bell building on the way to class. His feat produce light squeaks on the sparkling tiled linoleum floor. His mind whispers small, localized excitements. Things such as: this floor must have just been cleaned.
He is alone in the hallway save the approaching footsteps from around the corner just ahead. Suddenly the deja-vu. Again? He knows before he sees her who it is. It is as if, for this split second, he can see through the wall. He can see through the wall.
The young man stops to allow his transcendental liaison to turn the corner so as to avoid a collision, but also to gather his thoughts about what to even do or say. Time will not slow time down, it marches right on through his road block, unimpeded, like her feet do the line. The girl of his dreams, his writing, and his confusion -- she is not smiling, nor does she even seem to notice him, standing there on the polished tile floor.
She doesn’t see him at all, continuing by without pause.
Eugene watches the stranger as she turns another corner, and out of his life. Their moment was so intimate he just sort of assumed that the girl would, at some level, recognize her involvement in his life. The fact that she would have no reason to recognize him is the one thing Eugene had not considered.
It was just a ‘hi,’ after all.
Eugene does not feint again. The image of her tired-looking face floats around in his mind, a foreign element now, untying itself from emotion in a final tryst. He considers, as a final parting thought, what their collision may have resulted in. The physics in all of this reveal an immensity far beyond any ocean of his own love, or the scope of what any novel could be. It is utterly defeating, yet freedom all the same. The rest of his walk to class is normal enough: the narrative in his head the most banal of presuppositions, and there is something about this which is welcomingly sufferable.
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