Do-Overs (17 page)

-41-

Homework Vs. Romance

Al and I had been an official item for two weeks, three days and two hours and forty-five minutes, not that I was counting, complete with a Facebook status change to
in a relationship
. It was scary to me how quickly we had fallen into the couple thing. One minute (okay the one minute thing had happened more than once) we met and then we clicked. I’d always dreamed there was such a thing as love at first sight, but I was also mature enough to know that dreams are just that. Dreams.

Most of our
official in a relationship
time had been spent with Al in play rehearsal and me up to my ears in a Lit. paper that was rapidly becoming due. Homework stoppeth for no man (nor woman), even those in love. Thus, my Thursday evening would be spent in the library while Al was just a few buildings over in the theater.

Literature is wonderful when reading much-loved books like
Anne of Green
Gables
or
Little Women
. Or authors that make you think deep, seldom thought feelings like Dostoevsky or Sinclair. It is drudgery when trudging through
Moby Dick
. (Be honest. Has anyone ever actually enjoyed
Moby Dick
?) Even worse when your sadistic teacher wanted an in-depth analysis and comparison of the
Dick
and the
Old Man in the Sea
. Nothing in common but water. And by the end of both stories, I couldn’t have cared less if they all drowned.

I sat in the library contemplating using that as my thesis statement, while checking my email, Facebook, Snapchats, and text messages every couple of minutes. Just in case Al had a break and thought of me. I was pathetic.

“I only have shore leave for fifteen minutes. So I snuck out the back door,” said Lt. Cable who had stealthily sat down next to me. I love a man in a uniform. “How’s your paper coming?”

I looked at the blank screen of my laptop. “Okay, I guess,” I fibbed. I didn’t want to confess that my mind had been out to sea, but not with the old man or Moby. Rather on a little island in the Pacific with a certain Lieutenant.

Al reached up to gently touch my cheek. Things were looking promising. “I wanted to catch you and let you know, we’re going to be extremely late. The first two acts were dead tonight. Completely dragging. So after we finish, we’re starting over.”

“No Coffee Corner tonight?”

“Sorry. Can we meet for lunch tomorrow?”

“I can’t. I have a study group lunch. What about supper?”

“We’re starting rehearsal early, so we’re having food brought in on the set.”

“It’s a busy time.”

“Very busy. But this play will go up in a week. And it only runs for two weekends. Then I’ll be free.”

With a peck on the cheek he was gone. Back to his Tonkinese fling and I was back to M. Dick. Being an item was great. Being one with time to spend together would have been even better. Well, the least I could do was double the little time that we did have together. Out came my trusty friend and Al was back next to me for an instant replay.

“I only have shore leave for fifteen minutes. So I snuck out the back door,” said Lt. Cable who had just sat down next to me. “How’s your paper coming?”

“Fine,” I lied again. Did that make me a pathological liar if I kept repeating the same lie in different realities? “So your rehearsal isn’t going so well?”

Al gave me a deep look. “Wow, you are perceptive. We have just barely gotten to know each other, yet you seem almost to read my mind already. Scary.” I was going to blow it. Soon he’d think I was some psychic freak and run for the hills. Then he gave me that magical smile and touched my cheek again (the one on my face, in case there was any confusion.) “A very nice scary. Yes, the show is really dragging.”

I needed to remember to play by the original script.

All too soon, with a peck on my cheek, he was gone

-42-

Holy Smoke

Halloween is supposed to be the time of terror, with skeletons, witches and vampires (and not the sparkly kind.) Friday the Thirteenth is the day to hide in your room afraid that luck will run out. But no day holds the terrifying suspense, that intense fear of the unknown, that ultimate dread of what might not happen—no day is more horrifying than February the fourteenth—Valentine’s Day. Monsters can only kill you. Valentine’s Day can break your heart.

For years I had dreaded that day. Back in high school it had been a major status symbol to receive flowers delivered to the school. Woe be it to the pitiful boyfriend who didn’t. Many a budding romance dissolved due to the lack of floral arrangements. By my sophomore year, after picking up a sobbing freshman up the year before, my mother knew to always send me anonymous flowers on that fateful day.

Finally, the fates had changed my destiny. I had a boyfriend. Valentine’s Day had become a day of anticipation, not dread. So then why was I more terrified than ever before? Why? Because the stakes were suddenly so much higher. Not only did I have the wonderful anticipation of receiving the perfect valentine from the perfect guy, I had to give the perfect valentine to the perfect guy. What a perfect dilemma.

“Something to do with coffee,” Stina suggested. It was two days before the fateful holiday. Great minds were converging in our dorm room for a strategic planning meeting.

“He does like his coffee,” Rachel agreed. “But is that romantic?
We
need something so special, so unique. Something . . .” Rachel was stumped. As were we all. This discussion had been going on for over an hour and lord only knows how many calories worth of cookie dough had been consumed in the name of romance.

“Guys are impossible to buy for,” repeated Olivia. “We all know the one thing they want.”

Stina came to Al’s defense. “Not all guys. There are some good ones. Right, Lottie?”

“Lottie?” asked Rachel.

“See he’s already been putting the moves on you. Hasn’t he?” Olivia demanded.

I hadn’t really thought about it until that point. I was so caught up in the magic of first love I hadn’t noticed that for the first time ever I was dating a gentleman. Sure we had had some major snogging in the stacks, but no trying to slip his hands where they didn’t belong. No trying to sneak a grope in the pretense of a hug. No staring at my cleavage instead of my face.

“Earth to Lottie,” Stina said with a worried giggle.

“No, no he hasn’t,” I finally said. “Wow, isn’t that amazing. He truly is the perfect guy.” I was gushing all over the place.

“Or gay,” Olivia snorted.

“Time to get back on task,” teacher Stina interjected. “Maybe it isn’t a gift, but something thoughtful that will make the day special. What is his schedule like on V. Day?”

“Class all day and then play practice all night. We are planning to meet for lunch. He has no other free time all day.”

“If only you could create time,” Stina pondered aloud wistfully. I snorted a quasi-hysterical laugh. If only they knew how close that was to the truth.

“Girlfriend, sometimes you are so abnormal,” Olivia said once again giving me that wondering look.

***

So the day had arrived and our plan was put into action. I had one addition to the plan that the rest of the crew knew nothing about. I was sticking to that magic eraser like cat hair to black pants. At any slight sense of failure there was a magical redo ready to be done.

The day started earlier than planned. That’s what fire alarms do.

“Oh my gravy! What is that?” Stina shouted over the noise. It was three a.m. That would be three in the MORNING. I had a dilemma. Which was better: to get up at that ungodly hour and be safe, or stay in bed and take my chances that it was a false alarm and not a real fire? Stina made the decision for the both of us.

“Lottie, get up! We have to go out!”

We scrambled to find sweatpants and shoes to throw on. It was February, cold and dark.

“This place had better be burning to the ground, or someone is going to regret it big time,” I was griping as we went up the stairs and out.

Fire trucks had already arrived, complete with hunky firemen. Not that I was looking, of course. The majority of co-eds seemed more stressed by the firemen seeing them without their make-up than the possibility of our temporary homes going up in flames. Suddenly, there was one more red vehicle zipping up to our dorm. A little, red Miata. And a frantic knight in shinning armor came leaping out. My first thought was to hide so he wouldn’t see me with frizzled hair and black mascara rings under my eyes. Instead I started to use my magic eraser. Only one problem, it was in the dorm. I contemplated running back into the possibly burning building to retrieve it. But one look at his face changed that plan. He looked frantic, vulnerable, even scared. I could hear him asking everyone if they knew where I was.

“Al, I’m okay,” I shouted as I rushed over to him. My reward was a bone-crushing hug. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I could breathe again.

“I was just leaving the theater, and I heard the sirens. Sorry if I overreacted,” he broke off. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I simply had to know that you were safe.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the Dorm Director shouting, “It’s all clear. No fire. Just someone, who will be getting a rules violation first thing tomorrow morning, was trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich with her iron and forgot about it. The smoke set off the smoke detectors. You can go back in. Oh, and you guys over there with the cameras—there had better not be any photos of these girls in their PJs on the internet.”

It wasn’t until she pointed it out that I noticed the contingent of male students with cameras and cell phones playing paparazzi. I was glad I had put on sweats, cause no amount of threats from our Dorm Director would ever keep those photos from the World Wide Web.

“Do you think anyone got pictures of us?” Al asked. I was wondering if he wanted a souvenir photo of the occasion, but he seemed worried, not nostalgic.

“I hope not. I’m just glad the light is so bad out here. I hate for you to see me looking like death warmed over.”

Al smiled and looked deep in my raccoon eyes. “You’re beautiful, Lottie. If you could see yourself like I see you, you’d never question how absolutely beautiful you are.”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All I could do was look into his wonderful kind eyes and sigh. I loved fire alarms.

“Are you going in or not?” asked Stina. Where had she come from? It seemed that there had been only two people on the planet, when suddenly we were back on Asbury lawn surrounded by fire trucks, firemen and half dressed co-eds at three thirty in the morning. I gaped at her like she had just materialized from another planet.

“See you in the room,” she said, giggled and left.

Al and I stood there staring at each other like two demented fools. I spoke first to break the trance. “Why were you at the theater so late?” I asked

“We were working on sets. See, paint. You caught me red handed.” He held up his hand, which indeed did have red paint on it. Why did something so innocent sound like a lie? “Sometimes I get engrossed and totally lose track of time. I had no idea it was so late until I heard the fire trucks. I guess you want to get back to bed.”

“I guess you need to head on home yourself.” Neither of us moved.

Al reached out to smooth my ratty hair. “I should let you go back to bed,” he whispered. “See you for lunch tomorrow.”

How could something so benign as
see you for lunch tomorrow
sound so utterly romantic? If we weren’t careful, the firemen were going to have a fire of a totally different kind to put out on the lawn of Asbury Hall.

“Tomorrow,” I answered as he turned to walk away.

He stopped and turned back. “By the way, happy Valentine’s Day.”

***

I awoke the next morning to find the truth of Al’s late night theater work. Standing outside my ground level window was a big, red, four-foot  tall, plywood heart with the initials A. D. + L.L painted on it with sparkly paint. It was so silly, so middle school, so utterly the best Valentine’s Day gift a girl could ever hope for.

-43-

Just You and Me Against The Wind

“Perhaps a Valentine’s Day picnic wasn’t such a good idea,” Al said as he returned from chasing down a paper bag with half our lunch in it that had blown across the park. “The weather man predicted it would be unseasonably warm today. He said nothing about the wind. Does this ridiculous wind never quit blowing?”

Our picnic was a perfect example of the
it’s the thought that counts
concept. Al had picked me up an hour earlier with a blanket, a coffee, a Diet D.P. and a bag of tacos, all ready for a leisurely romantic picnic in the park. Reality had started to set in when we tried to get out of his Miata without the wind blowing the doors off. Maybe the thermometer said it was one of those freak days in February that are close to seventy degrees, but that was without factoring in the wind-chill. It felt like the forties, the very cold windy forties.

We tried for a good ten minutes to make the picnic idea fly. Instead our food was flying. When the wind finally conquered Al’s beloved coffee, retreat to the car was conceded.

“Al, it was a great idea. Just maybe the wrong day for it.” I smiled as I tried to nonchalantly clean the coffee stains off my shirt. Yep, when the wind had blown it from Al’s grasp most had sloshed my way.

Al started to put the keys in the ignition.

“We don’t have to go yet, do we?” I asked. “I’m fine with a picnic in the car. Especially this tiny little car.”

“It does give us an excuse to be rather close.” There was that smile. With a little spark I hadn’t seen before. “So tell me Lottie Lambert, what has been going on in your world the last few weeks? I’ve kind of been stuck on an island out in the South Pacific and feel totally cut off. I’m looking forward to a time when we can see more of each other.”

“Well, I got you a little Valentine’s Day gift that might help you there.” With trepidation I gave him the gift I had fretted over, discussed with the council on love and basically had a mental meltdown before deciding on. The first gift exchange was such a pivotal point in a new relationship. What to get him? Something fun and whimsical that said we were in a fun and whimsical relationship? Or something meaningful and deep? But that might make him think that our relationship was getting too meaningful and deep too fast. If I gave him something too expensive he might feel stupid for giving me a plywood heart—which I totally loved. If I gave him something too cheap would he be embarrassed that I had given him a piece of junk? I held my breath and my pink eraser as I handed him his present.

“Oh, Lottie you shouldn’t have,” he said as I handed him my gift. Now did he really mean I shouldn’t have to be nice or did he mean I shouldn’t have at all? My right hand had a death grip on my magical friend while my left hand held his gift.

Al gave me an ambiguous look as he began to open the envelope. Like a gentleman he read the card first and replied, “Of course I’ll be your valentine.” Then he turned over the two tickets to read what they were for. “
Mary Poppins
tickets,” he said neither sounding thrilled nor excited.

“It’s not until next May, but I thought we could go then.” Why did I say that? May was so far away. Did he feel trapped? I needed to erase that last comment. Give him the gift again. I started to wave my eraser but was stopped short by Al’s response.

“I used to watch this movie as a child and totally hated it. Now...”

Of all the musicals in the world, how had I picked the one that he hated?

Before he could finish telling me how totally un-perfect my perfect gift was I flipped my eraser filled wrist and we were back to “So tell me Lottie Lambert, what has been going on in your world the last few weeks? I’ve kind of been stuck on an island out in the South Pacific and feel totally cut off.”

“Nothing much,” was all I could come up with. No gift after all. Relationship disaster averted. The tickets would stay in my purse where they belonged.

***

We spent the next two hours sitting in that itty-bitty car discussing any and every thought that we had. We talked about classes. I told him the gist of my paper on
Moby Dick
. I think I blushed when I said the title and then felt stupid for it. He told me about some of the pranks that they had played backstage during rehearsals. Seems that there is a lot of down time during practice and actors are imaginative people who come up with clever distractions. It was mystifying how comfortable I felt talking with Al (except for the final ten minutes as I really had to pee, but I didn’t want the moment to end.)

Somewhere along the way, with the tacos all gone and before I had to pee, Al gave me a very penetrative look. “You’re special. You do realize that don’t you? Somehow I don’t think you do. I hear you talk about your family, and don’t get me wrong they sound wonderful and I look forward to meeting them. But, Lottie, you always talk about them like they’re just short of supernatural and you’re not.” I had to look away. He was so sincere and I felt so inadequate. “Lottie, please look at me.” I did, feeling vulnerable. “You are special.” His hand gently stroked the side of my face. “I’ve barely gotten to know you. And I hope I’m not frightening you off by being too intense. But, Lottie, you are the most amazing, intriguing, beautiful woman I have ever met.” With that he gave me the most amazing, intriguing and beautiful kiss ever. And I gave it right back to him.

“Lottie, I’m so sorry I have to say this,” Al said as he took a breath. Oh great. He was going to tell me that I was a lousy kisser or that my breath stank. Which it did, but he’d had the same stinky tacos. “What’s wrong?” he asked sounding panicked as he looked at my face. I was really going to have to work on not being so transparent. “Darling, I just have to get to the theater. It’s getting late.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I was embarrassed. I truly had to quit jumping to the conclusion that every time he said sorry that the next words would be that he didn’t want to see me anymore.