The Season of Shay and Dane (11 page)

shay

Oh, no. I’m sure she
waited as long as she could—until she thought we’d be gone anyway.

The questioning furrow
in Jenny’s eyebrows as she continues to walk past behind Dane must mirror my
own tension.

I release my expression
and soften to a small smile, that she catches—and takes
cue.
Only then
to raise her balled hands up to her sides, forming a concentrated, exaggerated
look and taking the next few steps in long, animated strides like a sprinter.

Oh, Jenny.
If
this percolating laugh I managed this moment to bottle in my throat comes up,
he’ll know something’s happening behind him.

I move a little to the
side as if making room for us both for a passerby, but not before Dane catches
notice of Jenny who hurriedly collects herself just in time for him to see only
a shared glance between us.

“A friend of yours?”
He smiles her way, turning back to me.

“Yes, a friend. . . a
very good friend.”
I’m interested in his momentary thought
of her. Nothing changes in his kind smile. . . if only he knew.

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”
The dormant butterflies begin to stir in my stomach.
“Shall we go?”

“Sure.”

dane

I don’t want to let on
that I’m a little more nervous today, like she is. And the afternoon sun
glistening on the curves of her small shoulders doesn’t help matters much.

“I’ve only visited the
museum once since I’ve been here.”
I become aware of my
hands in my pockets, and rub the crease of lined fabric in one of them between
my finger and thumb.
“You probably know every exhibit, being in biology. We
could’ve gone somewhere else.”

She’s quiet.
“I like
the museum.”

“Yeah.”
I slip my hands out of my pockets to let the warmth of them cool.

“Do you get to see your
Mom and sister very much?”
She slightly looks over my face as
I turn my head her way for a moment walking.

“Some. Not as much as
I’d like. How about you? Your parents must miss you, being an only child.”
I’m
glad mom has Kate there with her.

“I go home every break.
And yes, they do miss me. . . a bunch. . . especially my Mom. . . but they’re glad
I got into the program this year.”
The museum is in view
and she gently lifts her sweater from her folded arm, guiding it behind her
shoulders and loosely tying it in front of her, letting her hands fall to her
sides. And in a soft motion I take one in mine.

shay

The displays on the
first floor are all North American, and very familiar to both of us. And it’s
not like a metropolitan art museum, where the atmosphere nearly demands silence,
and for this I’m glad. . . so the small questions can still be asked about each
other, even though the trepidation in me. . . could never bring me to ask the
questions I dare to even let myself think about.

“Dane. . . do you stay
here for the summer semester?”
The last part of spring
semester goes by so fast, and the three month break sees a campus enrollment
about one-fifth its size, normally.

“I do.”
I
nervously catch the smile in the corner of my eye.
“I try to get home for a
week though before the half-semester begins.”
His thumb strokes the back of
my cusped hand and it makes me feel a concealed sense of alert.
“Then I head
back for any training that I can get in around classes while the campus is
mostly dead. How about you?”

“This summer is my
first one here, and I’m staying. . . the first year grad students seem to be
expected to volunteer with teaching the introductory biology course in the
summer. . .but I don’t mind.”

We walk to find the
elevator to go to the second floor, and I urge myself on to continue talking,
and ask about his training. If I don’t, I don’t know what else will fill the
silence, and I’m too afraid to think further, with my beating heart being the
only other thing I’m hearing around us.

dane

Her soft, shy laugh is
just as sweet as her voice, when I try to lighten the atmosphere telling her
about my training regimen on the way to the second floor, which basically
includes just not eating 60 chicken nuggets and a pack of Guinness as a meal
like most of the other runners.

We make our way around
artifacts sparingly encased in glass, streaming through three small connected rooms
on one side of where we stepped out of the elevator, a bunch of cooking pottery
and utensils, with a couple of remnants of clothing with stories in plaques telling
about them.

I let her focus be on
the display cases, hoping to see her calm more before we make our way to the
other side of this floor. As we get near the last exhibit, I finally commit to
asking her.

“Shay, can I ask you
something?”
I think I already know the answer, but
nothing’s for sure.

“Yes.”
She
steps further in to a case and releases my hand, putting both of her palms and
fingertips gently down on the edge of the glass, and seeming more interested
than I know she is. And for as polite as she is, that’s a clear sign she’s more
than nervous, maybe sensing, what I’m about to ask.

“Did you have a
boyfriend back home. . . before you came out here?”
My
speech
 
slows a little as I step in to look
at the things, beside her. The wait isn’t long before she finds the courage to
answer.

“No. . . I didn’t. . .
I. . . Dane, I haven’t had a boyfriend. . . before.”
She
can’t look my way, just keeps her subtle gaze on the case.

I place my hand in the
small of her back.
“Would you want to go to see the other side?”
I
ponder my thoughts. Glad for the one thing I wanted to hear.

As we get down the
hall, a large, red fabric rope is loosely hanging looped between two gold
poles, closing off the area for renovation. There’s nothing planned after this,
so anything less to look at means, less time with her; emotion rises a little
at the thought of it.

shay

The tremor pulsing under
my skin moves wildly with every second, not releasing me, and Dane’s cautious
way right now increases the anxiety. . . maybe for him too. . . I’m sure.

As the elevator reaches
the third floor I can hear children’s voices, and the door opens to people, a
young family waiting to go down. In the moment this seems to be just what we
both need, to deflate things a little.

The ease with the way
he guides my hand into his to move around them coming on, and step out of the
elevator, feels so natural, and I become aware in this instant that I’m not
hesitating much, to allow him to take it, not anymore. The mix of emotions
coming over me today feels like a thick fog. I keep reflecting on it, at every
case when I’m trying to show interest, not knowing what will make me come
through it. . . if I will. All of this creates such a sense of dependency
towards him. . . one that I don’t understand and that makes me afraid. Even
though, I keep encouraging myself.

“Dane. . . when is your
next track meet?”

His caring eyes connect
with mine, before I look away towards the direction we’re walking.

“Saturday. . . at
Cornell.”
I can feel him looking at me. The sound of humming bees
nears us and I know we’re coming to the living exhibit sponsored by the biology
department. An incubated habitat that was made with an opening tunneling to a
vent to the outside in clear tubing for families to see the process of
honey-making and the stages of their life cycle. I liked that there was time
and budget taken for this. I know I would’ve had enjoyed it as a child.
“This
is new, since I’ve been here, a long time ago anyway, probably a lot of things
new that I’ve missed.”
I feel some relief move through me at his interest
in it.

“It was completed last
October.”
I watch as the clustering bees busily navigate back
and forth, some flying freely outside, and look up to the large window as they
make their way into the trees, feeling more at ease than I have yet to today.

dane

I step closer behind
her to see the bees that have escaped the cloister and are flying high and away.
Everything seems so right, like life has paralyzed itself into something so
good, outside of me. But it’s not outside of me. She’s standing right here. . .
with me. I lay my hands around the sides of her bare arms, her sweater brushing
the tops of them. . .  and I can feel the tension in her, succumb to a softness,
as she turns to me.

My eyes meet hers,
holding them, telling her not to be afraid, I feel the same way. And in that
moment, in that small look, she releases, she trusts me.

My hands slide down her
forearms and carefully I bend my body to hers, her fingers lightly touching my
skin, reassuring her with every subtle motion, until my eyes close and I find
her lips slowly coming to meet mine. The delicate kiss is brief, but any
resistance in her before has calmly parted, and our bodies are gently gloved, her
small frame fitting into me. I come to her near lips again, tenderly probing
the supple moistness, letting her find her way, until a slow rhythm takes us.

In the distance the
elevator door slides open. I stroke the back of her hair, kissing her forehead.

shay

The ringing from the
phone collides into the quietness as I hazily open my eyes, recalling the day,
and forming a small smile, getting up in the darkness to walk over to it.

“Hello?”

“Shay. . .” dad’s voice
sounds faint, emotionless. I look over to the kitchen for the time—11:38. An
alarm sounds in my thoughts.

“Dad?”

The words come one
after the other, suspending time, numbing me further and further—until the
phone falls to the ground bouncing one end to the other in a cracking melee,
coming to rest by the dresser.

dane

I walk back in front of
the glass doors, looking up to them.
I know I didn’t miss her.
I’ve
been here 40 minutes and I’ve seen the face of everyone who’s gone near those
steps.

7:26. I squeeze the
leather band of my watch, twisting it some on my wrist.
Damn.

I’ve got to head to the
stadium.
I peer at the shadowed glass entrance one more
time, maybe she came extra early, doubt it though, 6:50’s pretty early.
Nothing.

shay

“Hello—Jenny Giovanni
here!” her voice booms into the receiver.
I can’t. . . dad  said call the
department. . . make sure. . .  just call the department. Jenny will help. I
have to tell Jenny.

“Jenny. . .”

She breaks right in.
“Hey! How’d it go?! You have a surprise waiting for you in your room—
well
—partly
in your room—I shoved the paper under your door as far as it would go. Look
down—don’t step on it and bust your ass getting in. Big headline!
Front page
stuff!
‘Great Dane Sprints Past Harvard’—
all legs—something like that!”

“Jenny. . .”

I’m interrupted again;
the reality of time settling into her. “
Hey—
you sick? Where are you—it’s
7:30?” Tears streak more violently down my cheeks, words won’t come.
“Shay?”

“Jenny,”
I
try to swallow, just to get enough said.
“It’s my Mom. . .,”
I press my
eyes closed, forcing down the streams of wetness, finding any control,
“she
died last night. . .”

“. . . Shay.”
A surge of empathy comes through the receiver.
“I’ll be right there. . .
I’ll get a note to Professor Richards. . . for you. . . hang on, okay?”

dane

I scuff my shoe through
the dirt on the side of the track, waiting for the signal to step on for my
turn around.
Where was she?

“Dane! Get goin’!”
My look penetrates the asshole with the whistle.

I head out onto the
track, not into it and not really caring, not right now anyway.

“Again!”
This time coach burns into me.

Fine. Fucker.
What’s gotten into me? I can’t think about her right now. Now, I’ve got
everybody standing around waiting.

I gain my focus, for
the moment anyway, and give them what they want.