That First Night

We promised we would go to the mstrkrft concert. He purchased our tickets, and honestly, we wanted to go. That first night out in D.C. required something, anything, different from our sweatpants Friday, Saturday nights of the weeks prior. My train pulled into the station three, four hours late. Her flight landed five, six hours late. Broken trains, skin rashes, thunderstorms, and standing room only, we collapsed into our dorm-room apartment with only enough time for Thai food and a quick get-away to the concert. Black lighting, techno beating, bright lights flashing, we had finally arrived in our summer city. Exhilarated until yawns, heavy eyes arrived. A projected three a.m. appearance of the main act sent us in a cab back to our dorm-room apartment before mstrkrft even arrived at the venue...

Our delayed arrivals eliminated the time for our planned Target run. Carefully packed suitcases full of t-shirts, shorts, suits, shoes, didn't allow room for blankets, sheets, pillows, towels. Our beds stood bare in our rooms. Dorm-room mattresses on dorm-room frames under dorm-room lights. Without sheets, pillows, blankets... We stood for a minute, evaluating the situation, chilled by the airconditioned air. And then we did the only thing logical in a situation like that. We unpacked our suitcases, made pillows with t-shirts, and blankets with our suit jackets. We slept under our clothes that first night. Exhausted from a day of traveling, a night of techno beats, and a year of struggles, we couldn't be more pleased with our arrival in our summer city, and nothing felt more right than that first night asleep under our clothes.