Spring

by Ian Schobel

I wasn’t your first.

You told me to be sure this is what I want.

I found you online, all your awards on display, the screen grabs, and the bio.

“We are storytellers.”

I figured your inbox must be worse than the line to a Fortnite cosplay booth but still… I reached out cause I thought I had a shot. You agreed to meet me, you who were so no-nonsense, experienced, but not cynical. I wasn’t that thirsty but I was looking, and it felt like we had just enough in common, like it was the right time for both of us, you know?

You took my hand in yours and we agreed to see each other three days a week. You’d smile at me when I walked in. Me, always the boy too up-in-the-clouds to notice the signs, knew you had a thing for me right away, and after a couple weeks you hit me with that you’re-mine-this-right-here’s-the-real-deal nickname: sweat-boy.

I woulda come every day but you know those other classes had me locked down, forced me to commit early, made me hang out late, always sending me emails when I left, reminding me how important they were; cause I’d always talk about you.

Straight up, I cared about them. But not like you. They’d pout but they knew our thing really meant something, like when we drove down to Washington D.C. for Responsibility.org’s Ask, Listen, Learn shoot: a 12 hour day filming with 23 Attorney Generals, and gold-medal Olympian Summer Sanders. It was in the Ritz Carlton conference room, wrapping up the equipment check the night before, that I could see how proud you were that I wrote that script.

It was only supposed to last three months, but you trusted me to touch your software and let me write inside your server. I just want you to know I never took that for granted.

I don’t like to think about that first Wednesday in April, when, realizing the end of the semester meant the end of the internship, I read over the contract I signed three months ago. There, on the first page, it stated that two days from then, Friday, would, contractually, be my sending off. I got so caught up in the days together I didn’t have time to think about life without you.

But that’s it, we’re over, I’m not your intern anymore, and I suck at goodbyes. So maybe, let’s try again, when we’re ready.

This project was created as part of the JTWO [INC]ubator Project. A semester long internship program built from the ground up to give young filmmakers, content creators, and all around hungry for a challenge individuals a place to stretch their creative minds while preparing them for the road ahead.

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