The Season of Shay and Dane (8 page)

shay

It’s not a first date.

It’s just a walk. . . a
planned walk.

I can do this.

I put Jenny’s and
mine’s sandwiches into baggies and slide them down into a paper sack, along
with a couple of apples, looking around my small apartment to see if I have
everything.
Of course I have everything.
What else would I take besides lunch,
a coffee, and my bag?
Shake it off Shay.

I let my shoulders drop
a little and allow myself a slight shudder. I’ve been distracted since last
night. I couldn’t hardly fall asleep to begin with, and I had to rely on
focusing to something to slow my mind down from the day, from Dane. . . and I
thought of his eyes, looking up at them, and his soft, strong hand, warm, in
the middle of my back. . . and I refused anymore thoughts and finally fell asleep. 
And now I’m fidgety. Super fidgety. Maybe the walk up the hill will calm me. .
.
I hope
.

The mornings are
getting warmer, and I coach myself to take cleansing breaths walking up the
main street, just to be able to be a little better at talking with him today
than I was yesterday.
I’m just so nervous inside. Is it this way for
everyone—in the beginning of liking someone. . . am I normal? No. . .  I’m not
normal; I know that. At least Jenny doesn’t care that I’m not. . . and he
doesn’t seem to care either, I don’t think. Why else would he have asked me to
come to watch Saturday? But he doesn’t know me yet—that I’ve kept all boys at a
distance all of this time.

I’m fidgety all over
again.

Breathe.

Pace yourself. . .

As I get to the top of
the street I take in the view. From this distance the whole campus sprawls
itself out in front of you. It’s really magnificent, breathtaking.
I truly
feel lucky.
I look over at the picturesque, spanning lawn and the wind
flitting through the leaves of those beautiful trees. . . and wonder if Dane
has ever sat there. . . under one of the trees. . . with someone. . . like
other people. I think it’s wonderful. . .
people
. . . having someone to
be there with, as much as I can’t see myself. . .
no
, it’s just not
comfortable for me being there together. . .
a man.
Oh, what am I
doing? What does he expect of me? Maybe I shouldn’t be meeting him today. . . Saturday.
. .

dane

Coach Malloy will be
here by late evening—I’ll tell him about her, that I’m giving one of my tickets
to her. He’ll have someone sitting beside him, there for me too. I hope he
doesn’t mind. I know he won’t.

Two more blocks and
I’ll have a view of the campus. 6:55. I won’t make her worry, today.

I’ll have to be at the
stadium hours before my heats. It’ll be better if we just arrange to meet near
the athlete’s entrance about 45 minutes before I run, and then give her the
pass to the assigned seat. At least I’ll get to see her that way for a minute,
and know she’s there. I didn’t bring it with me today; didn’t think about it. That’d
be a little presumptuous—
here’s a pass; see you in a couple of days—maybe
not, I’ll be stuck in the middle of the arena.—Hope you enjoy it. . .

Wow!

Catch your breath Dane!

Up this hill and I
should be able to see her from here. It’s been hard to focus on anything this
week, without yanking my mind to redirect itself so I don’t fall behind.
I
wonder if it’s the same way for her—likely not.
I’m struggling though—maybe
it’s a good struggle.
It feels kind of like a racehorse that’s gate got
stuck when the gun fired, and I’m being forced to stay standing behind it. Yeah,
that’s it. Not just mentally, but physically. . . everything’s elevated.
Whew.
Easy.
I know how it feels to have
eager participants
at my whim if
I’m willing. I’m sure not going to turn tables. Besides, this is different;
they’re disingenuous. And what I’m feeling is. . . real.

—Christ—I’m glad to see
her today
. . . but from here she’s nowhere in sight.

shay

I feel ill from
indecision.

I can’t ease myself.
Maybe that’s my sign—if you can’t decide on something. . . don’t do it.

I open the refrigerator
in our student office and find a place to put our lunches for later. I catch a
glimpse of the large white clock to my left and see it’s almost 7:05, looking
away.

He’ll be here soon, if
not already.

I need a minute to
think. I don’t know what will force me one way or the other, but if I take too
much time, surely he’ll leave, but that can’t be the reason I go.

The door to my lab has
to be unlocked; I’ll take care of that as I’m sorting my head.

I make my way to my
room about six doors down from the office, as I do I pass the set of windows
that gives me full view of the bench from around the shrubs and trees.

. . . He’s there waiting.
. .

I watch him for a
minute.

One of the university
mail carriers stops in front of the building and rolls his side door open,
taking out two large plastic containers. I see Dane get up and go over to him,
picking one of them up and talking as he walks beside him to the building. I
step away from the window slightly, just enough where I won’t be seen.

. . . I think I have my
answer.

dane

“Hi.”
Her
voice comes from behind me.

I turn, with every
anticipation, aware to keep it together.
“Hi.”

“I had to take
something inside, before we walk.”

“Sure. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it’d be nice
to walk down by the bell tower and pond. . . if that’s okay with you?”

“It’s okay. I like that
part of the campus.”

“Me too.”

A bicyclist passes by,
and it gives us each a moment’s distraction to walk comfortably.

I want to know so much
about her and this thirty minute walk isn’t enough time to get to say a lot of
things, especially delicately with her.

“Are you excited about
your track meet?”
I’m entirely soft for a second, the
thought that she took the initiative. . . my feelings swell
.

“
I am; it’s always a
big event for both schools. Can I ask you something?
”

“
Yes,
” she
allows without a change in her voice.

“
Are you from around
here, the East?
” I guess it’s really asking two questions. . . where she
lives, her family, and knowing most of the affluent families are somewhere
along this coast—at least the ones at Ivy League universities anyway. . . does
she come from one of them?

“I am, Virginia—Abingdon,
Virginia.”
A sense of disappointment, and regrettably shame,
washes over me. . . and the thought that I’m out of my league seems real, very
real. I struggle with an immediate hurt, that I’m surprised at. The pause in me
alerts her.
“Is your family here, in the East?”

“No. . . no, they’re
not
.
They’re in Kansas. I grew up in a small, rural town there. . . just my
sister, my Mom, and me.”
I wait, not knowing anything more of what to think
right now.

“I’ve never been to
Kansas, but I like what I hear about the Midwest. Do you miss it?”
I can tell she has a sense of something in me. That was a lot for her to say.

“I do. Shay, I’m
here on a scholarship. . . there would’ve been no other way.”
The words
come out before I think long on them. But there wouldn’t be any reason to
encourage things—I wouldn’t feel right.

“Dane, I’m not from a
wealthy family either.”
I’m sure something in me physical
shifted as she said that, whether it was my breathing or the steadiness of my
stride, and I wonder if she noticed. I couldn’t have helped it, the relief I
feel. . . the way my thoughts are recovering. . .

I lightly brush the
back of her hand with mine, ready to excuse myself if it’s unwelcome.

. . . Our fingers tenderly
lace together.

shay

I check myself in the
mirror, again. Only thirty minutes before I leave for the stadium. 1:00. Jenny
should be showing up anytime. Everyone knows that the congestion around it, let
alone the
non-existent
parking, makes it almost impossible to even get
near it unless on foot, or someone
graciously
drops you off as close to
it as they can get you. And that’s just what Jenny offered to do—come home,
grab some lunch, and get me to the stadium on her way back to tutoring.

The least I could do
for her driving around through the crowds all over campus visiting—who make a
day of it parading through the history of Yale before an athletic event—was to
have lunch ready for her here. And I had to laugh when her request came in the
form of peanut butter bread, Cheetos, and a banana. All of which I had on hand.

I break off two bananas
from the bundle and grab a knife to spread the peanut butter. She insisted we
eat in the car saying,
“Going 10 miles an hour along the ‘hoopla’, will be
like a right picnic.”
And we neither had time to waste.

All of the food and two
water bottles go into a drawstring bag, when I hear a horn honk outside the
window. The nervous excitement in me tingles.
This is it.

I reach for the Dr.
Seuss hat, committed to not hurt her feelings and coming to find that no matter
how small I folded it with all of its buttons last night, I couldn’t get it
into a size that would fit into a back pocket—which I never stick anything
inside of. Having then happily conceded that’s it just part of the day, along
with wearing my Yale Blue sweatshirt in the spirit of things, I’ll just keep it
near during the event.

All ready.

By now there would’ve
been a second honk if she thought I needed to speed up the pace getting to the
car. It’s not the first taxi service we’ve given each other—you learn quickly
not to get offended by the
urging on
to stay in motion with the rate of
things—it becomes an appreciation, funnily so. And the thought of rushing to
get outside, heightens the excitement in me even more.

dane

Other athletes trail
throughout the wide tunnel that opens out into the stadium, where the bright sun
is bending through. I slowly pace it, conscious to keep my limbs loose, rolling
each shoulder, letting the ripple follow down through my hands, wiggling my
fingers. She’ll be here in about five minutes.

I take a slow, deep
breath in leaning back my neck, gauging my focus, turning for the last time at
the mouth of the walkway to head back towards the small entrance to meet her. As
I do, I become more aware of the gravity of people filling the arena. First time
inviting a girl—and the stands will be
wired
.

I rub the small
rectangle pass between my fingers and thumb, which now has a slight curve in it,
and push against the metal bar on the door, stepping outside.

I gave Coach Malloy his
pass during supper and told him about Shay. He had said he was glad I had
someone else coming and looked forward to meeting her. Shay seemed alright with
it too.

Whew.
The old, familiar butterflies are starting to kick off.

Don’t see her coming
yet, but there are so many people it’s hard to pick anyone out.

I keep pacing in a
small area in front of the door, just to keep nerves in check.

“Hi, Dane.”

I face back around to
the crowds coming in and see her walking towards me. “
Hi
.” All of a sudden
I feel ready to be on the track with her here now.
“Lots of people, did you
get around okay?”

“Oh sure,”
she says with a smile.

God, it’s good to see
her. “Here’s your pass, they’ll take it just like a regular ticket. Do you
remember where to enter in at—the gate number?”

“23,”
she reassures me.
“First row, seats 9 and 10. Just like here on the ticket.”

“Right. . . sure.”
I just want to touch her, lean in and kiss her on the cheek.

“Well, I should
probably find my way to my seat and introduce myself.”

“Yeah, and I need to
have a couple of minutes in the locker room.”
Our eyes
connect for a moment.

“Good luck, Dane.”

“Thanks.”
I watch her walk away, trembly energy lighting off throughout me, and never
wanting so much in my life to have a good performance as I do today.