The Season of Shay and Dane (10 page)

shay

We begin walking the
other direction that will take us to the housing around campus. . . to my
house. . . my apartment—the first time I’ve had someone walk me home. . .
someone. . . I’ve wanted to walk me home.

The quietness of being
together gets sweetly interrupted.
“Did you enjoy the meet?”
he asks,
shifting his bag from his arm nearer me to the other one and tenderly glancing
over my face, even though I don’t turn his way.

“I did. . . very much.
. . you’re amazing,”
my voice is more faint, now that we’re
alone.

I want to tell him how
happy I am to have been introduced to his coach, someone so important in his
life, who was sincerely receptive of me, how when he crossed the finish line,
it was a moment of complete joy. . . and when he kissed my cheek, the feelings
for him that came up for me. . . the first time I’ve felt this way. . . but,
the newness of everything is unfamiliar and has formed a gentle grip inside of
me, leaving me uncomfortable, and only glad for the few words I can say, and to
be walking beside him.

“Thank you. . . I’m so
glad you came,”
his voice is kind and sure. The way a
gentle man’s voice would sound in a distant dream, and each time he speaks, a
blanket of safety envelopes me.

“I’m glad too.”

The backs of our
fingertips delicately graze the others. . . searching. . . waiting. . . slowly,
smoothly entwining.

dane

I look up the street to
the direction we’re walking in to her house, a few blocks away she said, and
think of how I should say goodbye. The softness and warmth of her fingers
encased in mine, pads in my heart. I slowly stroke the back of her small hand
with my thumb as the feel of her cheek flashes past my lips in memory.
I
want to kiss her gently and long. Have her feel secure in my arms. Allow me. .
.

. . . I can’t. Not yet.

There’s such a caution
about her. . . and I honor that. I’ll have to have a clear sign; something that
doesn’t make me question the invitation. I’ll wait, as long as it takes.

. . . And for that, I
want her even more.

“Shay,”
I begin,
“would you want to see me tomorrow? Maybe go to the natural history
museum on campus for a while?”
My words feel like they’re about to falter;
the eagerness to not go the rest of the weekend without seeing her again, when
we’re about to her house.
“Do you like the museum? Or we could go somewhere
for lunch.’

“I do. . . like the
museum,”
she answers, looking up at me for a moment, our
strides slowing. I can tell there’s something more.
“I told Jenny. . . my
friend, that I’d help her tomorrow. . . at the biology building. Would you want
to. . . meet  . . . maybe in the afternoon, after lunch. . . maybe at the
biology building?”
  We’re standing in front of her house now, stepped to
the edge of the sidewalk, not yet letting go of hands, and the sweetness coming
from her overwhelms me.

“Sure, at the biology
building. Would two o’clock be alright?”

“Yes, two o’clock.”
Her
fingers slowly fall away from mine.

I slide my hand into my
pocket, almost forgetting the small, folded piece of paper with my phone number
on it.
“This is for you, if you should ever need anything.”
I lay it in
the palm of her hand.

shay

I look again at the
numbers before guiding it down inside the lined pocket of my satchel and
zipping it closed; it’s only possession.

Today was perfect.

Dane was perfect.

I lay back on my
daybed, gazing out of the window, looking at the last strong, golden setting
rays casting glistening brightness through the leaves on the giant tree, and begin
to daydream. . . about a man close to me. . . Dane close to me. And I let the
thoughts come freely, incandescently, as my eyes fall shut.

dane

“Who was the
tight-chick I saw you walking with?” Vince slams the door to the apartment, alone
this time.

My back’s to him and I
decide to blow him off as I move things around on the shelves inside the
refrigerator.

“You’ve been holding
out! —
What a dog!
You’re gettin’ a little! Good ol’ Dane—pillar of
decency!
I knew it
!”

I turn around with a
container of leftover spaghetti, snapping off the lid. “Shut up, Vince.”

“Hey, man—you don’t
need to be so sensitive—we all have needs.”

He doesn’t get it. I’m
so
fucking
done with him. “Get out of my way,” I gesture as I try to get
around where he’s planted himself between the table and refrigerator, blocking
the path.

Some form of a grunt
escapes his narcissistic lips as I brush past, walking into my room and kicking
the door closed with the back of my foot.

Sure, I have
needs—shit!
But I don’t need some jerk-off who
treats girls like they’re disposable, banging it into my head nearly every
goddamned day.
What’s he going to get out of it?
—
Forget that.
These girls get passed around like they’re cafeteria trays—willingly—and he’s
just waiting for new material.

I drop the container of
spaghetti onto my nightstand, swiping up the remote control and lying down.

The more I think about
it, the more pissed off I’m getting.

I scan through about
ten channels and toss the remote back where it was.

Why do I let him get me
worked up?

I rub my hands through
my hair, tucking them behind my head on the pillow.
Does she think about
things though, intimacy, being touched, if even just kissed?
The scent of
her when I leaned in today, feeling the moistness of her skin, subdued all of
the excitement around me. All I could think about the rest of the meet was
moving my hand along the nape of her neck, pulling her waist to me and tasting
her lips.

Shit.

I don’t want to be like
him—things mean something to me. She means something to me.

I realize what’s
happening; I’m falling for her. And in the nearly three years I’ve been here
and all of the temptations I’ve been dealt, none of them ever got me this, wanting.

I turn over on my side,
not even caring to pick up one of the mounting textbooks that lay facing me
beside the bed, and think of her, as I wrestle desire to stay calm in me for
now.

shay

I’m happy with my
choice as I look over at it hanging from the back of the chair. It’s a spring
day; a sun dress is logical.

The thought comes to
me, unless he asks I won’t mention it, church. Just because it’s a Sunday and
I’ll be wearing a dress. . . the association—
no
. Anyway, my moral
compass doesn’t come from a Sunday service, even though my parents would’ve
liked it if I would’ve found a nice church to join when I got out here, but
they eventually resigned the thought after my persistent recitation of how
uninterrupted Saturdays and Sundays were ideal time to have some concentrated
studying, and accepted the idea that I’d walk with them to our little church
back home when I was there.

I squeeze the towel
wrapped around my hair and check the time. I told Jenny I’d just meet her in
her lab around 10:00. I pass by the tall, oval, free-standing mirror beside my
dresser and catch my reflection; I look rested, better than rested. There’s
color to my skin from being at the stadium yesterday. I look. . . nice. . .
maybe kind of glowing. I humor myself a little at the embarrassment I feel from
my own thought.

dane

1:10. I have time for
another slow lap around and a long, steamy shower to settle my energy, and
nerves.

I don’t know much about
the exhibits in the museum. Mom and Kate spent a couple of hours in it with me
when I first came out here, but I haven’t been inside since, just seemed right
to go there today. There’s a lot of space to walk around on three levels, and
something else to give focus to when we’re maybe both finding things to say, seemed
right for her. And I don’t mind it either.

It’s a good day for
being on the track. The weather’s right, barely any breeze. I decide to take a
third lap around.

It seems hard to
believe yesterday these stands were filled with thousands of people cheering me
on. I pass by the place where coach and Shay sat, and the surge of happiness
from it ripples through me, all over again.

shay

“Want to head out and
grab some late lunch, maybe Chinese?” Jenny asks with her back to me as she finishes
wiping down the lab table. Teaching the undergrads becomes a little consuming
with the outside help they sometimes ask for, and it makes our own studying
pressured for time. And Jenny needed to get some input today on things, which I
was more than glad to do.

“Chinese sounds great,
but I’m just going to grab some crackers from the vending machine.”

“What? I knew it. You’re
going primadonna on me and worried about weight—too many good meals.” Of course
she suspects something else.

“No.” My apprehension
to saying anything by now leaves. I didn’t want to divert her thinking, focusing
on things this morning, by talking about me. “Dane asked if I’d like to go over
to the museum at 2:00. And I said yes.”

“Cool,” she smiles past
me, walking to put away a folder in her drawer.

“Thanks.’

“You have 25 minutes. Better
go grab those crackers.” She plops down in her seat at the desk and lets out a
small moan leaning back. “
Christ
, those lab chairs kill your back! Who
ever thought those stools didn’t need a back—let alone the
beating
your
butt takes on them!”

I look at her, fussing
in her chair, and begin to lightly laugh.

“Really, you should get
your crackers. I could see you standing now looking into the display window of
the taxidermic prairie dogs and mountain goats and your stomach being the only
sound echoing through the museum.” She makes
herself
start to laugh.

“Thanks for watching
out for me, to your own amusement,” I teasingly banter. “Want anything from the
machine?” I offer, headed to the door.

“Yes—yes, I do. I want
chocolate and caffeine—surprise me.”

dane

I’ve worked up a good
sweat. I stop half-way ‘round lap three and make my way across the grass to get
a shower.

“Good job out there
yesterday, Dane,” one of the football guys calls out walking past me in a
group, headed out to toss the ball around.

“Thanks.” I push open
the door to the towel room and grab a couple of towels and a travel size
shampoo and soap.

Thirty minutes before I
see her. The urgency in me is calmer, but the sight of her is probably all it
will take to rocket up again.

I undress and turn on
the water to start warming it up. As I step back nearer the bench in front of
the wall of dressing mirrors, I have to smile somewhat at how much more white
my ass cheeks appear to my legs now. You can tell it’s full on spring.

shay

I pick up the thin,
white sweater that I brought just in case the museum is chilly, and reach
inside the small pocket for the key ring with only two keys on it, that I
attached this morning, one for home, one for my lab, should I have needed it.
And decide to go unlock my door and get the pink fabric pouch out of my desk with
a hairbrush and personal things in it, just to go to the restroom and check
myself. . . just to be sure. . . just to. . . look. . . fresh.

As I finish smoothing
my hair and put away the toothpaste and toothbrush, I’m aware of the expression
looking back at me—naïve and nervous. . . and mostly afraid. . .

Surely Jen will hang
around in her lab for a couple of minutes. . . lingering, until I’m gone with
him. . . surely.

I walk back down the
hall to put my bag away, and get my sweater from Jen’s lab.

Her mouth’s full of a
bite of Snickers and her bare feet are up on the middle of her desk. She
extends the bitten off candy bar to me, swinging it, urging I take a bite.

“No thanks,” I smile, her
endless jovial mood easing me for the moment. “I have to be going.”

She swallows prematurely
and reaches for her Dr. Pepper, taking a fast drink. “Have fun. . . at the
museum. No, really, I hope you have fun.”

“Thanks, Jen,” I say,
picking up my sweater leaving, and stopping at the door to halfway turn and somewhat
wave.

The building’s always so
quiet walking through it on a Sunday. I wonder if the museum will be as quiet
today.

There he is.

. . . This time he’s waiting
at the end of the steps. I’m too far back the hall for him to see me yet. He
looks so handsome. . . polished, today.

My nerves flit at the
top of my stomach, and I slowly open the glass door.

dane

She’ll be here soon.

Standing here in front
of this building waiting for her doesn’t seem real altogether. This whole week
she’s consumed me. And today, the first time we’ll actually spend any length of
real time together. A first date, I guess. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

I move my hand down the
back of my hair to the crest of my neck, then lightly feeling my collar, before
bringing my hands together, twisting and rubbing my palms.

It’ll be a good day. .
. relax.

The sound of the door
opening gets my attention.

She looks amazing.

I don’t think I’ve felt
this happy before. The rest of the world seems shut off when I see her.

“Hi.”
I
walk over to her coming down the last couple of steps.
“You look very
pretty.”
I can tell there’s a heightened nervousness to her.

“Thank you.”
She
doesn’t make eye contact. Instead she looks down at her sweater draped over her
forearm and lays her other hand carefully over the top of it.
“You look nice
too.”

The museum is about two
blocks away through campus from where we are. The walk will be good, before we’re
more restricted to ourselves inside of it.

The footsteps behind me
padding down the concrete stairs, urges me on to begin going that way.

Shay’s thoughts seem
interrupted by it to.