I made it to Baker Hall and shuffled down the stairway to the basement floor. Boxes were stacked outside the neighboring room. I unlocked my door, shouldered it open, and shut it behind me. I switched on the light. I checked out the bunk beds and considered taking the top bunk. Instead, I spread my blanket over the single bed and turned off the light. The moon lit up the door. Laura entered my thoughts, and I had this crazy urge to hop a Greyhound before school started. I heard footsteps outside. A hinge creaked. I’d come a long way to find someplace lonely, but I knew it would pass. I imagined my father on his flight home. He’d beckon the stewardess and order martinis. He’d jiggle the change in his pocket. He’d check and re-check his Timex a hundred times.

The man of iron was gone. Part of me was relieved, but a bigger part craved his approval. I wanted to give him a reason to love me. I was his son. I pictured us driving the twilight fields south of Boulder while the radio played “Rocky Mountain High.” I imagined a world with a father who was there to pick me up whenever I faltered, someone who never blamed me for coming up short. He pointed to the lights coming from Denver and drummed his palms against the wheel to the beat of the song. My future was somewhere near those lights, hidden in the shadows beyond the city.

Kirby Wright‘s third play was performed at the Manhattan Rep’s 2017 Non-Fest. He won the Gold Fox Award at the 2017 Calcutta International Film Festival for his treatment of an animated special. Wright will be attending the 2017 Golden Film Awards in Hollywood this December, where he’s a Finalist in the Screenplay competition.