My eye lids felt heavy in the late hours of Friday night. I struggled to stay awake, but my open real estate book (for one of the non-architecture classes I am taking) that I've allowed to be my only "distraction" was not interesting me enough to keep me alert. My mind could no longer keep up with my eyes that raced over the pages filled with pie charts and business-school terms. The couch felt so comfortable and soft and I felt my body melting into it. I was now enveloped in warmth and real estate was the last thing on my mind.
All of the sudden I was laying on a bench park, my head in Matthew Broderick's lap. I looked up at him just to make sure that it was really him. And it was, a younger version - circa Ferris Beuller-era - but it was him, nonetheless. The leaves were red and gold on the trees all around us and they continuously twirled and twirled, detaching themselves from the fragile tree branches and landing in the nearby pond, on paved paths, on the bench and on us. He was telling me something profound. He was so smart and witty, I thought with satisfaction. I raised my body up a bit so that his arms were wrapped around my waist now. His hand was holding mine, and it was my turn to speak now. I remember myself getting all philosophical on him, and I remember having the most engaging of conversations. I was surprised because, I think, a part of me realized that I was never really attracted to Matthew Broderick when I saw him in any of his movies. Sure, he was boyishly-cute and incredibly charming in Ferris Bueller, but I never had my panties up in a bunch about him.
But here I was, enjoying my time with him, on that park bench, on that warm fall day, where time seemed to stand still and the leaves just kept falling in an endless cascade. And I wished for nothing else but for him to tell me that he wanted to kiss me. He was my soul mate, right then and there, the smartest guy in the world, the guy who was not only eye candy but who I could spill my guts to, who could understand me because we were on the exact same level of intelligence, who, I could tell, wanted to make out with me just as badly as I wanted to make out with him. But we kept delaying that moment, perfectly content and slightly excited by that feeling of anticipation, when you are having that incredible mental connection but are feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter around just like those fall leaves in the wind. What a wonderful feeling it was to experience once again, even if the object of my affection was Ferris Bueller.