Homecoming Weekend (29 page)

“Wow. Well, you got us there,” Tranise conceded. “That had to be awesome.”

Catherine and Earl

H
omecoming for Catherine was not as much about seeing the many friends from her college days as it was about falling deeply in love. It was a liberating feeling for her, an entirely new feeling. After a twenty-five-year marriage collapsed and the subsequent two relationships fell short of what she desired, Catherine did not give up hope on true romance. But she was not that optimistic, either.

Finding Earl aroused emotions in her that were either dormant or had gone untouched. He inspired her, amused her, uplifted her. He
changed
her. At the core, she remained the lovable, sweet, genuine woman many knew and adored. But he altered how she felt about love, how she felt about being in love, how she felt
being
loved.

“Where did you come from?” she said to him half-jokingly. “I mean, really. The things you say to me, the open communication, the way you make me feel . . . This is not normal. I don't mean that it's abnormal. It's unique. It's no ordinary love.”

It surely was not. Earl could not pinpoint the moment he knew he loved Catherine, but it came around the time he created a new word to describe how he felt: “loke.” He never explained it to Catherine when he texted It to her, but she knew right away it signified a combination of like and love.

The feelings he had for her inspired him to lengths neither of them had ever experienced, lengths of romance from a bygone era: Earl wrote her letters. He sent her gifts to her office, he held her hand, he kissed her often.

There were times when he was unable to pull himself off of his couch because he was so caught up in imagining himself with her. Not sexually, either. Just enjoying her presence, her effervescent demeanor, her warm and true spirit. He felt good being around her, which helped him make her feel good about being around him because he always was in the best mood. Basically, he aimed to please.

That he was not consumed with making love to her was the ultimate indicator of how he felt about Catherine, that he, indeed, was in love. He had been in love before, or so he thought. Compared to what he felt for Catherine, the past relationships were child's play. It all seemed so run-of-the-mill.

It was different with Catherine. For him to fall in love with her—and her with him—before ever making love told their rare story. His feelings translated into giving Catherine the kind of thoughtful attention she had never before received.

During her visit to Charlotte, more than a month before home-coming, he presented her with a “care package” that included items that showed he paid attention to her. She spoke at some point about enjoying the beach; he included a seashell in the package. She spoke of being a Starbucks fanatic; he included a gift card to the coffee shop. She liked inspirational quotes; he gave her a beautiful book of motivational quotes from famous African Americans. She said she enjoyed fresh scents; he included an aromatic Voluspa candle. She loved music; he added a custom-made CD of all the songs they listened to that espoused love and togetherness.

Catherine was surprised and honored. That “care” package showed Earl cared enough to be in tune with her. It was extremely romantic. Still, she was cautious about taking that relationship-changing step of making love.

“If we ever do make love,” she started saying to Earl one evening. He cut her off.

“Let me let you in on a little secret—we've already made love,” he said. “To each other's mind. That is the most pure and lasting kind of intimacy two people can share.”

Catherine was blown away. “You're right,” she said. “This romance we have had has been awesome. I feel like we have grown so much together. I love the way you communicate with me. I love the way you listen to me. I love the way I feel when I talk to you or hear from you or even think about you.”

“The other part to that,” Earl said, “is that there is no ‘if' we make love physically. It is an eventuality. With the passion we have and the emotions we have and the connection we have, there is no way it will not happen. It's just a matter of when.”

That time came at homecoming. And by the time Saturday morning rolled around, they had made love four times in one-and-a-half days. Earl partook of the tailgate and football game, feeling revived and buoyant from their intimacy. He hung with his boys and had a beautiful time. But every pause allowed him to think about the passion they shared—and would share that night.

He could not contain his glee, so he called his closest friend, Raphael, in California, Friday before his round of golf. “I know it's early out there; sorry,” he started.

“I'm good; what's up?” Rafael said.

“Slim, I'm caught up,” Earl said. “My girl and I . . . ”

“I know what you're saying,” Rafael said.

“How?” Earl asked.

“I've been knowing since before you ever had sex,” Rafael answered. “You have talked about Catherine for the last five months like you've never talked about a woman before, like you and she have the magic that it takes to be something special. So, you call me in the morning and I don't hear any distress in your voice. I hear excitement. I hear fulfillment. I hear joy. That's how well I know you. You and Catherine christened the relationship, so to speak, and I am not surprised.”

“Well, I'm a little surprised,” Earl said. “I didn't count on it and I wasn't expecting it. It sort of happened.”

“Not sort of happened; it
did
happen,” Rafael said. “And I'm gonna tell you something that you might be surprised I know: That woman adores you. You have taken her to a place she's probably never been. And she's done the same with you. I can hear it.”

Raphael took Earl's silence as confirmation of his instincts, so he continued. “You have proved my theory,” Raphael said, “which is that women are a virgin twice in their life. Once when the hymen is broken in the very first encounter . . . and again, later in life, when she falls in love with the right man and experiences intimacy in a way that she had never even imagined.”

When Earl told Catherine of Rafael's theory, she thought about it for a second and said: “He's right. Being with you is like nothing before you ever happened.”

As Earl recalled her response, he altered his plans for Saturday night. In the two weeks between their Richmond rendezvous and homecoming, he did something he had considered “over the top” and “almost silly”: He wrote a poem for Catherine. After he finished it, he asked himself: “Is this too much?” He even questioned if he should give it to her. But the romantic in him prevailed.

He had planned to give her a printed version of it after they returned from the Best of Friends party, when they were back at her place, alone, sipping champagne. But it struck him as he walked to the football game to e-mail it to her at that moment. She was at home resting; it was a great time for her to hear from him in this way, even as he was enjoying homecoming. That's what being in love with Catherine inspired. He consistently sought ways to surprise her with expressions of his affection.

He called the poem, “What You Do.” He had e-mailed it to himself, so it was easy for him to forward it to her from his BlackBerry. It read:

I heard your voice and my spirit was replenished

Soft, strong, assured. Sweet.

It moved me, made me smile.

Made me walk to the rhythm of your words

I saw your eyes and your soul was revealed

Warm, genuine, pure. Kind.

They made me look beyond the obvious

Made me see the magnificence in you.

I kissed your lips and I felt your heartbeat

A scintillating cadence of anticipation. Hope.

They were soft and irresistible, delightful

A lasting, tasty pleasure

I held your hand and you touched the center of me

Gentle, firm, sensitive. Delicate.

In it, I felt life and joy.

And an unbreakable connection of like and “loke” and love.

He knew the words would mean a lot to Catherine, a woman who loved being loved by him. But as soon as he sent the poem to her, he could not shake the feeling that he might be moving too fast, doing too much. Not even forty-eight hours had passed since he'd told her that he was in love with her, which she reciprocated. Two days since they had made love for the first time. That was a lot. Plenty. Maybe the poem should have come later, much later—or not at all, he pondered. He started to feel anxiety about it.
What if it turned her off, made her feel like I'm moving way too fast, that I needed to back off?
, he thought.
What if she thinks it's corny and too mushy
?

His head was spinning for the first time about something negative as it related to Catherine. It finally occurred to him that she did not check her e-mails often. She had access to them from her iPhone, but she infrequently checked her e-mail account. Maybe she would not get the poem right away. Maybe she would not get it until he was back home in Charlotte—or later. Those counter thoughts allowed him to go on and enjoy the rest of the day on the Yard and at the game without much consternation.

Catherine, meanwhile, was reflective. She rested on her couch a significant amount of Saturday. She put on a Norfolk State T-shirt and a few times she wished she were at the tailgate with her sorority sisters and with Earl. But those thoughts were fleeting. Her life had come together in a remarkable way, and she was thankful for the opportunity to rest and think. Catherine liked to think, to get her thoughts clear before she proceeded. That's why she was resistant to sex with Earl, even though they had “dated” for nearly five months and grew to become the closest of friends with a strong physical attraction.

“Sex changes things,” she told him. She coveted the relationship they built so much that she did not want to risk losing it or even
it being one iota off what it had been. But the connection they had was combustible. They lived apart, but the depth and transparency of their communication brought them together.

Earl said, “It
will
change things—for the better. It doesn't have to be a change that pulls us apart or makes things awkward. With us, the change will make us even closer. I'm going to leave it at that because I don't want to sound like I'm trying to convince you to do anything. I want you when you are ready for me to have you.”

She appreciated his patience and his calm. He respected her caution and concern. And that was a key to their happiness: there was mutual admiration and consideration.

Catherine poured herself some cranberry juice with a little water to dilute it, put on her sunglasses and took a seat on her seventh-floor balcony, basking in the sun and in her romance. Her mind raced to various places, all of them with Earl. She wondered how they had the same major and took several classes together for four years of college and yet never had so much as a memorable conversation. If they had, maybe they would have changed the course of their lives.

“You can't really question that,” said her friend, Starr, whom she called from the balcony. “This is your time now. You can't question God's plan. It could be that if you all started something back then, it wouldn't have lasted. This is the right time for you.”

“That's what Earl says,” Catherine admitted. “He says that he wasn't ready for me back then. Well, I tell you what: He's ready for me now.”

Starr knew what that meant—that sex with Earl was one of those fireworks occasions. He had told her their connection was “combustible,” and he was right. There was a synergy to their passion. Every touch was in the right spot. Every kiss was delicious
and sensual. Every movement was as if they were dancing. Catherine smiled when thinking about their passion.

“A woman without passion in her life is living an incomplete life,” she said to herself. Starr had long since hung up the phone. Catherine was left with her thoughts and emotions.

Suddenly, though, like a supernova, a thought streaked across her mind: How would Earl handle their appearance at the Best of Friends party that night? It was the awesome close to a special weekend, and their classmates would be there in big numbers.

Catherine pondered how Earl wanted their classmates to view them. Would he want to show up at the Best of Friends party that night together? Would he want to meet her there? Would he be attentive or would he leave her for long stretches to socialize?

Earl had not shown her anything but a caring and respectful nature.
But sex changes things,
she told herself, and since they actually had experienced it, was that enough for Earl? Was that his entire mission? Was she the proverbial “notch on his belt”? She sipped her juice and came back to her reality: Earl had never, not once, shown himself to be that way. He was forthcoming and generous and kind. And when she got past that flash of insecurity, she was embarrassed to even consider he pursued her only for sex.

She called Starr back. “I'm sorry to bother you, but I want to make sure I'm not crazy,” Catherine said. “You're riding with me to the Best of Friends party tonight, right?”

“Yes,” Starr answered.

“Okay. Earl and I never really discussed how we would do the party, whether he would go with his boys and meet me there or if we would go together, as a couple,” Catherine said. “Would I be thinking something into it if he decides he wants to meet us there instead of walking in with me?”

“I'm willing to bet that he wants to go there with you,” Starr said.

“That's why I love you, girlfriend,” Catherine said. “You always have my back. You're always positive . . . I'll be at your house around ten to pick you up. Hopefully you are right and Earl will be with me.”