My friend and I are traveling together to another state, maybe rural New Jersey, maybe far off Long Island. We are on the bus. He takes out a year book of pictures of people we know and points out this woman I know. He tells me she is very cute, smiles and puts the book away. I agree she is cute and say so. Yes, she is cute. We step off the bus and meet the girl who is cute. She's part of a large gypsy family. My friend and I both prepare books and letters for the girl who will soon be going on a trip. My friend's gifts and letters are more thoughtful than mine. I'm certain he's in love with her and feel jealous, but try not to show it. I sprint out of the door for a run around the neighborhood. I run through the living rooms of neighbors. Through rush hour traffic and a November loss of sunlight. It begins to rain. I'm back at the house with my friend and the the girl. We put her on a bus and wave goodbye. It's hard for my friend to say goodbye to her. We walk up the street and see the girl hiding behind a bush. She's having a meltdown and can't go anywhere. Her eyes shake. We bring her to her brother's house and watch as her siblings conduct music in the dark. She's alone and beautiful. She's not who I want to be.