Love in the Time of Cynicism (14 page)

is that I have found a light

one lonely, spectacular girl who reminds me

that I am alive and I am important

her cotton candy hair tell me each and every day

that the angry white scars

riddled across my less-than-white biracial arms

will not separate me from her

the piercings in her ears let me know

that my higher than the average two point four kids family

will not make her think less of me

so to the people of this city

where I will stay as long as she’s here

throw all the punches your privileged arms can carry

because I will tolerate a world of white-washed demons

for the sake of a cotton candy angel.

Rhett steps back and walks off the stage via the steps on the left instead of going backstage like everyone else as the room severs from its anxious silence into a world of uproarious applause. I can only stand there, dumbfounded, as Rhett cross the forbidden line never to be crossed by a mere customer and walks behind the counter.

And then, beaming because I can’t stop myself at this point, I dash over.

Before either of us knows what to say, he’s leaning toward me, tilting my chin forward with his fingers as I shut my eyes. Our noses bump and I feel the smile on his soft lips as they part mine and his hands slide from my shoulders to the small of my back, stopping briefly on the tense bones of my hips. A shiver shoots up my energized spine. I press my body against his chest as some weird, primal ache to get closer to him takes over me. Like the hours upon hours we’ve spent together have been leading up to this exact moment. Everything stops and I can’t hear the voices swirling around us in the taste of his skin on mine. For those few seconds, there are no string quartets or fireworks or anything I expected. Instead, there’s absolute calm mingling with intense heat spreading from the spot where my nose brushed his in perfectly synchronized awkwardness to the electrified synapses of my no-longer hurting muscles.

We pull away at the same moment. The audience’s applause intensifies because, apparently, they watched this interaction and are very pleased. For some reason, surrounded by a cloud of foreign thoughts and feelings brought on by this unknown reality, my fingers brush over my lips, as if testing to see if this night is real, if his lips really pressed mine moments after reading the first poem ever written for me in order to earn the rights to go on a date with me.

“That was…” I stop in an attempt to understand my life. His hands are still on my back, distracting me until I can think of something appropriate. “Um, wow.”

He laughs out loud. “The poem or the kiss?”

“I…” My face has surely gone beet-red and my tongue has tied itself into a constrictor knot so tight it won’t let words out.

I didn’t think it was possible, but his smile spreads wider across his face. “Cordelia Kane, you’re acting like this is the first time you’ve been kissed.”

Embarrassed, I glance at my shuffling feet and the next poet begins to speak. “Not once.”

He nudges me playfully on the arm. “Come on, Cordelia, you are so downright
kissable
I’d be surprised if you’d been kissed less than a thousand times.”

I look back at him and say honestly, “I have been kissed by a grand total of one boy besides you on a whopping two occasions.”

For a moment taken aback, Rhett locks eyes with me and smirks. It’s the same expression he donned when finding out we had the same favorite holiday. “We’re on an even playing field then.”

“Are you lying?” The idea that this glorious boy in front of me with lips like paintbrushes and eyes like a museum had been kissed as few times as someone as gangly and weird-looking as me is a baffling notion about as strange as Rhett’s existence.

He shakes his head, black curls bobbing in the dim white light, and tell me, “In fact, Cordelia Kane, I have had but one girlfriend who I dated for two months and kissed twice. I was never a romantic until I moved here and met you, strangely enough.”

“I’m shocked,” I say quietly and stupidly, “but glad, I suppose.”

“Glad?”

“To be your third kiss.” I stand up on my tip toes and kiss him lightly on the lips. “Not quite as monumental as your first, but arguably more important.”

“Arguably? The last girl I dated was the kind of girl your mother wanted you to be and nowhere near as sensational as you.”

I extract myself from his arms and reply, “I need to get back to my job, so hang around for another forty five minutes and we can get out of here.”

“I expect you to decide on a favorite food and favorite color picked out before I return.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Still buzzing and excited from the already spectacular evening, I go back to making drinks for happy poetry-enthusiasts, several of which inquire after my relationship with Rhett. The minutes blur by as anticipation catches up with me. Though I’ve seen
The Breakfast Club
a hundred or so times at this point, I imagine watching it with Rhett will be an experience in a league all its own. Every time I’ve watched someone else’s favorite movies or listened to a favorite song with its owner, the most exciting thing is not the media itself but being given the privilege of watching a face light up again and again with joy, seeing that child-like enthusiasm busting through an honest smile. And Rhett, being so absolutely full of life and love and an insane zest for all of it, will not disappoint.

“Sup, skank, I’ll have your best Affogato.” Needless to say, Sky has walked in,
Chaz
dangling off her, and ordered what is essentially a shot of espresso poured over a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I do the deed, feeling sick to my stomach at disgracing coffee like this for three dollars plus tip. She squeals, never one to beat around the bush, “I saw you kissing lover boy earlier and may I just say I’m
so
proud of you coming into my training! FYI, call me any time to cover for you with your mom and Michael if you ever want to stay out late with your poet boyfriend.”

I laugh, “Thanks, Sky. Your support is always appreciated.”

“Seriously, thought, I’d bang that like a screen door in a hurricane.”

“Boyfriend, right here!”
Chaz
complains, though, knowing Sky, he’s well-used to this behavior.

“Babe, can you go get us a table upstairs,” she lowers her voice, “where we can be
alone
.”

He nods and leaves without another word.

“
Anyway
,” Sky groans, tired of having to deal with the constant stresses of being a goddess in the eyes of men everywhere, “that poem he wrote you was seriously romantic.”

“I know,” I sigh dreamily, thinking not about the poem but what followed.

Sky takes a spoonful of her ice cream and asks, “What’s it like to have someone adore you the way Rhett does?”

“Ask
Chaz
, why don’t you?” I tease, knowing Sky would hate dating someone who actually treasured her. She doesn’t like commitment or emotional attachment. “He seems pretty into you.”

“Into my ass, more like it. Can’t keep his hands off me for a second.” She leans against the counter, speaking through her ice cream, “I want a guy to sweep me off my feet in the middle of a hallway, a guy who’ll write poems about me and sing to me and love me with his whole heart.”

“The easiest way to do that is not to date assholes.”

“Easy for you to day, Del,” she bemoans. “Mr. Right happened to be loitering in here like destiny had the whole thing set up for you. It isn’t that simple for me…” I tune her out while making drinks and selling pastries. Eventually, after explaining the anatomy of every relationship she’ ever been in, she stops and leans over the bar. “Can we talk, like, seriously for a second?”

“Sure Sky, what’s up?” I ask, already sure I can tell where this is going.

She looks around briefly and speaks, concern masking her porcelain face. “I didn’t think you were all that serious about Rhett until tonight and I have to ask, as your best friend, are you going to be okay dating someone again? I know you haven’t dated anyone in, what,
three years
? And we both know how well that turned out.”

“Sky,” I assure, “Rhett’s nothing like Eric.                         

leaves to join
Chaz
and my shift ends around nine thirty. Rhett’s lounging on one of the brown suede chairs when he sees me and stands up.

“Are you ready to experience the full glory of 1985 cinema? Your life
will
change, I guarantee it.”

I grin. “I’ve never been more thrilled to watch someone else’s favorite movie in my life.”

“Which reminds me,” he says and tosses an arm around my shoulder as we move toward the door. “Have you decided on your favorites yet.”

Without missing a beat, I answer, “Cotton candy and the color of the sunlight on the willow tree we sit under after school.

Surprised by this response, he merely says, “I’m glad I’ve had such a profound effect on you.”

We’re stopped right before reaching the door by the world-renowned Ebony Vine. “You’re that devilishly handsome Rhett Tressler, right?”

He removes his arms from my shoulders and gestures to himself. “In the flesh.”

“And Cordelia Kane, faithful worker, you’re the girl he wrote that poem for?”

“Guilty as charged.”

She pauses and places one firm hand on my shoulder and the other on Rhett’s. “Let me say I have
never
, in my, ah,
numerous
years as owner of this fine establishment seen the kind of energy the two of you share.” She lets out a full, hearty laugh. “Hell, not even me and my husband look at each other like that. It’s a gift, children. Cherish it. And Rhett, not only are you handsome but you have a
mean
knack for words, boy. Keep coming here whenever you can because I
loved
hearing you.”

Unsure of what to say, Rhett fumbles out, “Thank you. So much. It was an honor meeting you.”

“Oh I see. You’re tryna get away from old Ebony,” she chortles. “Makes sense; you lovebirds probably have a hot date to get off to.”

“Not at all,” he argues immediately. “Well, I mean, we
do
have a date, but talking to you is cool.”

She smiles at him, her entire gum line and more teeth than I thought a person could have showing in her laugh. “I’ll see you two in a couple weeks, alright? Until then, good luck with whatever you’re up to.”

With Rhett at a loss for words, I chime in. “Great talking to you again, Ebony. He’ll read at the next one if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fantastic!” With that, she goes off to commend Tracy on another Job Well Done even though my manager does almost zero work on show nights due to stress.

Rhett catches my attention once more by positioning his arm comfortably around my waist as we leave the building. “She’s really something, huh?”

“You could say that.” We reach the back parking lot and I realize something. “You’re going to have to drive me home later.”

“Oh?” It seems we’re both logistical error here.

“I drove Amanda’s car here – long story – and she came to pick it up because I told her Sky would give me a ride home.”

“That’s fine. I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll drop you off up the street from your house so your parents don’t see or hear my bike, and you can be on your merry way.”

Not wanting to think about it, I agree and we reach his motorcycle, which I cannot begin to remember the name of. Rhett climbs onto the bike and I arrange myself behind him, this time more than willing to rest my head on his shoulder and rest my hands on his stomach as we roar through the bleeding night lights. Being on the back of a motorcycle is like riding a roller coaster under the stars. Lights smear past and it’s impossible not to stare even as wind smashes against my dry eyes because the sight, the pinks and reds and whites and yellows of street lamps fusing and harmonizing with one another, is more than mesmerizing.

When we finally stop in front of his house, where every light is still on, I’m dizzily happy to be there under Rhett’s arm, going to watch one of the most iconic movies in cinematic history. We have one final moment together as our footsteps hit the cracking pathway at exactly the same moment. Though neither of us says anything to the other, the quiet is warm and inviting.

And then the door breaks open and we’re rushed by Rhett’s parents and, shocker, the twins, one near-asleep in both parent’s arms. It’s the quietest I’ve ever seen them as the blonder of the two (Evan?) smiles at me and mumbles, “The alien girl.”

Susie grins at Rhett and gives him a one-armed hug. “How’d it go, darling? Did you ‘crush it’ as much as we were anticipating?”

“Absolutely, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you getting up there and sharing your amazing words with everyone, kiddo.” It’s clear she means it earnestly and it occurs to me briefly that I haven’t had anyone tell me they’re proud of me in a
long
time. “Sorry we couldn’t have been there.”