Authors: Lucy Lacefield
“Lemonade.
Do you mind if I make you a plate, so I can get everything out of the pot?” I ask, trying to decide in our
meager
existences the best way to get our food to the table.
“Sure—thanks. What
veg do you have?”
“Carrots, potatoes, and onions,” I say, looking in fishing around for them after taking out some tender chunks of meat.
“A pass on the carrots.” She sets barbecue and Worcestershire sauce out on the table, along with some salt and pepper and butter. I put our plates down next to the drinks in front of her. “What a feast!”
“Tomorrow I’ll bring us leftover barbecue beef sandwiches for lunch. Don’t pack anything,” I say, pleased that she likes it.
“We’re going to make each other into walruses. You know that don’t you?” she laughs, putting a spoonful of butter onto her potatoes.
“Albeit—happy walruses,” I say, unscrewing the cap of the Worcestershire sauce.
We mull over the day and mock Richards’ thrashing during lunch while eating, when I get the courage to change the subject.
“Hey Jen, can I ask you a serious question?”
“Sure you can—I’m all ears.” She reaches for the lemonade pitcher pouring us both more. “What’s up?”
“Well, it’s Dane, you know,” I say a little hesitantly, introducing the subject, and just nervous myself to be talking about things like this.
“Yeah,” she offers encouragingly, “go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Well, he asked if I wanted to watch his meet against Harvard this weekend. What do you think about that?” I wait, giving her time to process it and taking a drink.
“Really? You saw him again?
Does he reside on the bus bench?
—No—I’m sorry, but really, is he hanging around in the mornings?”
I feel a little embarrassed to admit that we had both been
hanging around in the mornings.
“No. . . he’s not living on the bench,” I say, smiling, letting her know it’s all alright and easing myself into talking about it further. “But we have seen each other the past couple of mornings, and this morning we went for a short walk before classes.”
She looks a little amused and smiles. “Well, aren’t you stepping out there?”
I twist up the corner of my mouth—not sure of things.
“Hold on, you’re alright. I think it’s a great idea to go watch it. I can’t make it though. Saturday I’m tutoring all day down at the union.” She waits for my reaction. I’m sure seeing if that causes me to back out. But what I decide I can’t tell her, is I was going to be meeting him, and that I didn’t plan on me and her going together to watch it.
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” I let a second pass as if contemplating it. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you’ll be fine! Anyway, if not—there’ll be about 25,000 witnesses.”
“You’re endless.” I say, pouring the last bit of lemonade into my glass. “Tutoring. I almost forgot you had that going on this Saturday. Did you get all your spots filled for it?” Jenny and a couple of other grad students take turns offering help to the undergrads. For twenty dollars an hour, it’s an easy way to make some extra money. . . even though she compares it to filing her teeth down the front of her desk for half a day.
“I did. The signup sheet was full again—five names. It’ll be a hundred bucks for half a day’s work—if they all show—
if they all pay
.” She passes me the bottles to put back into the refrigerator and starts clearing the table.
I set the salt and pepper shakers back on the stove and grab a dishcloth to wipe things up. “Thanks for letting me come up,” I say with my back to her wiping the counter in front of the crock pot and sliding it to the edge to take home and put the leftover roast into the refrigerator to shred for sandwiches.
“Hey Jen?” I call, turning around to see she’s wandered off.
“Hang on—I’ve got something for you!” Her voice comes from the closet in the bathroom, where I can hear her shuffling boxes around.
I walk over to where the doors at to try to get a look at what she’s doing, if she needs any help with the boxes.
“There—found it!” she manages. She’s squatted down, pulling at something lodged in the bottom of one of them, when it releases itself—and she stands up, turns around, and
fomps
a flash of blue onto my head. “
There!
Have a look!”
I’m a little traumatized. She gives me a little pull around to get through the tight squeeze of the bathroom door and closet door, still open with boxes strewn out of it, and turns me to face the mirror. My mouth drops.
“Really. . . ?”
“Sure!
Why not?!” Her enthusiasm makes me want to hug her. She has no idea how much of a friend she is to me—
even in this moment
. “You want him to be able to notice you in the stands don’t you?”
I stand looking at myself in the mirror and we both start laughing. The Dr. Seuss hat with its Yale Blue and white stripes isn’t too flattering. “I love it!”
“Sure you do!”
I pop it off beside her to read the large buttons she has pinned to it like Christmas tree ornaments. “Let’s see,” I say, holding it with her reading them. “I think this one is my favorite: Say No To Battery Farm Chicken Eggs, oh, oh, and this one: Down
With Fish Dredging.” She rotates it in my hand pointing, proud of my narration of her
exhibit
. “Yes. . . and Save The Whales. I think the whole biology building knows how you feel about the whales.”
She looks
pleased. . . and humored. “It’s yours for the day,” she grants me.
I give her a big hug.
dane
There’s a notebook piece of paper in the center of the table as I walk into the kitchen, with my name written largely in black marker:
Dane: Some guy called for you—Malloy. Call him.
That’s an iconic first. Vince’s
girlfriend
must have probed him to leave a note. . . both their backpacks are right inside the door, in tripping range. Otherwise I’d just get asked days later when they called back if I ever got the message, same routine every time.
I drop my backpack onto the table and grab a glass of water and make a sandwich before finding the phone to call him.
She’s coming to watch me.
I take my last bite walking the plate to the sink, spotting the phone on a sofa cushion, getting comfortable and placing the call.
“Hey, Coach Malloy. I got your message.”
“Dane—how’s it going?”
“Great! No complaints. How are things with you?” I ask, knowing Kate and mom just saw him a couple of days ago and he’ll be out here soon.
“Good, good.
You feeling ready for Harvard this weekend?” He keeps a close watch on the other collegiate runners and knows where my real competition is at.
“Sure—ready to go.” I’m in the best condition I’ve been in. My body’s showing the discipline that I’ve gotten used to, and the maturity, even since the last meet-up with Harvard.
“Trace Cappelletti’s time is improving—he came out ahead against Dartmouth last Saturday. Have you been watching it?” he asks, not doubting that we’re on the same page.
“Yep, he’s looking better—not too worried though.” I slide my free hand down the top of my thigh, feeling the definition of toned form.
“Alright then—good, that’s what I want to hear. I should be arriving around 7:00 tomorrow evening. You got time for a late supper?”
“Sure.
Sounds good.”
“Let’s say I’ll get you from your place about 7:40.
How’s that?”
“Good, 7:40. See you then.”
“Okay, Dane. See you then. Bye.”
“Bye.” I toss the phone lightly aside and get up to make another sandwich before hitting the books.
shay
It’s not a first date.
It’s just a
walk. . . a planned walk.
I can do this.
I put Jenny’s and mine’s sandwiches into baggies and slide them down into a paper sack, along with a couple of apples, looking around my small apartment to see if I have everything.
Of course I have everything.
What else would I take besides lunch, a coffee, and my bag?
Shake it off Shay.
I let my shoulders drop a little and allow myself a slight shudder. I’ve been distracted since last night. I couldn’t hardly fall asleep to begin with, and I had to rely on focusing to something to slow my mind down from the day, from Dane. . . and I thought of his eyes, looking up at them, and his soft, strong hand, warm, in the middle of my back. . . and I refused anymore thoughts and finally fell asleep.
And now I’m fidgety. Super fidgety. Maybe the walk up the hill will calm me. . .
I hope
.
The mornings are getting warmer, and I coach myself to take cleansing breaths walking up the main street, just to be able to be a little better at talking with him today than I was yesterday.
I’m just so nervous inside. Is it this way for everyone—in the beginning of liking someone. . . am I normal? No. . . I’m not normal; I know that. At least Jenny doesn’t care that I’m not. . . and he doesn’t seem to care either, I don’t think. Why else would he have asked me to come to watch Saturday? But he doesn’t know me yet—that I’ve kept all boys at a distance all of this time.
I’m fidgety all over again.
Breathe.
Pace yourself. . .
As I get to the top of the street I take in the view. From this distance the whole campus sprawls itself out in front of you. It’s really magnificent, breathtaking.
I truly feel lucky.
I look over at the picturesque, spanning lawn and the wind flitting through the leaves of those beautiful trees. . . and wonder if Dane has ever sat there. . . under one of the trees. . . with someone. . . like other people. I think it’s wonderful. . .
people
. . . having someone to be there with, as much as I can’t see myself. . .
no
, it’s just not comfortable for me being there together. . .
a man.
Oh, what am I doing? What does he expect of me? Maybe I shouldn’t be meeting him today. . . Saturday. . .
dane
Coach Malloy will be here by late evening—I’ll tell him about her, that I’m giving one of my tickets to her. He’ll have someone sitting beside him, there for me too. I hope he doesn’t mind. I know he won’t.
Two more blocks and I’ll have a view of the campus. 6:55. I won’t make her worry, today.
I’ll have to be at the stadium hours before my heats. It’ll be better if we just arrange to meet near the athlete’s entrance about 45 minutes before I run, and then give her the pass to the assigned seat. At least I’ll get to see her that way for a minute, and know she’s there. I didn’t bring it with me today; didn’t think about it. That’d be a little presumptuous—
here’s a pass; see you in a couple of days—maybe not, I’ll be stuck in the middle of the arena.—Hope you enjoy it. . .
Wow!
Catch your breath Dane!
Up this hill and I should be able to see her from here. It’s been hard to focus on anything this week, without yanking my mind to redirect itself so I don’t fall behind.
I wonder if it’s the same way for her—likely not.
I’m struggling though—maybe it’s a good struggle.
It feels kind of like a racehorse that’s gate got stuck when the gun fired, and I’m being forced to stay standing behind it. Yeah, that’s it. Not just mentally, but physically. . . everything’s elevated.
Whew. Easy.
I know how it feels to have
eager participants
at my whim if I’m willing. I’m sure not going to turn tables. Besides, this is different; they’re disingenuous. And what I’m feeling is. . . real.
—Christ—I’m glad to see her
today
. . . but from here she’s nowhere in sight.
shay
I feel ill from indecision.
I can’t ease myself. Maybe that’s my sign—if you can’t decide on something. . . don’t do it.
I open the refrigerator in our student office and find a place to put our lunches for later. I catch a glimpse of the large white clock to my left and see it’s almost 7:05, looking away.
He’ll be here soon, if not already.
I need a minute to think. I don’t know what will force me one way or the other, but if I take too much time, surely he’ll leave, but that can’t be the reason I go.
The door to my lab has to be unlocked; I’ll take care of that as I’m sorting my head.
I make my way to my room about six doors down from the office, as I do I pass the set of windows that gives me full view of the bench from around the shrubs and trees.