"somewhere other than inside the out there" -- part four
now, before he and i got involved, we had a ridiculous amount of conversations sitting on the steps of the communications building, freezing our ever-loving asses off. conversations in which he told me about bands i'd never heard of and in which i told him about words that made me squirm.
there was a pretty hilarious event that triggered all of it too.
i had turned in the last assignment available for critique, and he was absent that day. the class did a number on my shoddy paper, and i have little recollection as to exactly how bad my two hour piece of shit was (thank god).
for our last assignment, we were to make appointments for office hours and meet with the professor to discuss the practicality of our feature stories. i hate journalism. i hate research, and i hate citing sources. i can't stand the shit. so my energy was most certainly not in this. i walked up to the office (in a dark dingy basement), and there he was, standing in all of his five foot three glory, leaning all of his proposed weight onto the red lockers.
he smiled when he saw me walk up.
"sorry, i missed the critique. i was looking forward to finally reading something of yours."
"you didn't miss anything. it was probably the worst thing i've ever written."
"well, i had this whole plan..."
"really? for what?"
"i was going to give my critique, the whole bit, and then put my phone number on the bottom so that maybe you'd call me."
i couldn't help it. i started laughing. i thought he was toying with me. there was no way this witty boy could even have a minute interest in me, the girl with plain brown eyes and headphones. i really thought he was joking.
"oh, i know, very "say anything" but i was sure that you couldn't resist."
and we stood there, and we shared those smiles that you get when you know you're going to spend the rest of your life trying to live up to this moment.
"i guess i probably wouldn't have been able to resist. pity that."
and the professor called me into the office. i was sad, i thought that that was going to be the last time i ever had a real conversation with this guy.
the professor deemed me "on the right track" and let me go.
i stepped out of the office.
and he was just standing there. i had no idea how he could just stand there when every breath was labored out of my lungs.
"let me walk you home."
now, normally, this would be when a solid connection was made. a boy offered to walk me home in the middle of a boston winter. granted, i didn't live far, but i've told you about the cold.
"i'll let you walk me to the bookstore."
"that'll do."
and we chatted as we ran across the busy kenmore square. and we were laughing outside of the bookstore. and we couldn't get enough of each other at that moment.
"can i have your number?"
"if i can have yours."
"i just don't want this to be the last time i ever talk to you," and he wrote his number on a small bit of paper tugged from the inside of his notebook.
then, we hugged. if i remember correctly, snow was just starting to fall, or maybe the wind was just pushing old snow around, but i know this, i didn't want to leave ... no matter the cold or the wind or whatever crevice it found.
he smiled. oh god, did he smile. this large incredible grin overtaking his entire jaw, now chattering. i had to hold my heart.
and this is all just the beginning, a preface, some table of contents, a string of credits on the cutting room floor.
we parted, and i jumped in every puddle on the way back to my tired dorm room. i fell onto my bed and thought i couldn't live another moment.
beyond all of this, i did have other things.
there was this guy, from work, who had asked me out, and without blinking, i agreed.
now, when i don't have a connection with a person, i become that awful girl. that terrible girl with no genius left in her.
he had put me up on some pedestal, loving every moment we spent together. he took me ice skating, hot cocoa and the works. he complimented my mittens, and he told me that he'd never met anyone like me before. claiming our lost kiss as a frozen time capsule that he'd never let go of. all i wanted was honesty and a sense of humor, all i got was puppy dogs and ice cream. he and i went on and on when it should have ended the moment i realized that his idea of me was much more interesting than that which i actually am. i would have fallen in love with the girl he thought i was.
we continued through break and january, and then i let him help me down off of the that high horse he had put me on. i had nothing to offer him but my profound regrets. there's something about a boy who sees me so high that i can't put my finger on, but i know he would have been disappointed eventually. i had to help the process along, causing as little hurt as possible.
so, beginning of february of my...um ... sophomore year of college, after an amazingly triumphant fight with my ex-boyfriend over the phone and breaking it off with this guy that my mom would have joyously yelped for, i paid a visit to a friend downstairs.
"he asks about you all the time."
"great, can i have his number?"
"didn't he give it to you?"
"that was months ago. i was dating that other guy. is he seeing someone?"
"no."
"give me his goddamn number."
he hadn't called me either after our bookstore goodbye.
standing in the hallway, away from my prying and protective roommates, i called the number, given up so graciously by our mutual friend. i left a message and played that inevitable waiting game.
surely, he had forgotten who i was.
surely, he had come to his senses and no longer wanted to have long drawn out conversations about eighties movies.
surely, he knew better by now.
phone tag.
a completely base game played by two people who are too busy to be getting involved with each other or a moronic affection met with smiles and small giggles when you hear that message.
finally...
"so, let's hang out on sunday."
"that's valentine's day."
"you got plans?"
"no."
"we'll do a whole paint the town black thing. we'll just hang out. i'll call you sunday."
again, i fell onto my bed, not ever needing to breathe again.
by early sunday afternoon ... surely, he forgot. i can't call him now. surely, he's come to his senses.
when the phone rings, and you're in a state like this, it's like an electrocution. you feel it resonate through the skin on your face and echo through the ear canal. it livens every muscle and nerve to the point of mass hysteria.
"give me your address."
i gave it.
"i'll be over in an hour."
and he was.
i slowly went down the stairs to let him in. pulling myself together, pushing myself to calm the fuck down. this wasn't even a date. it was just hanging out. two people hanging out and enjoying each other's company. just friends, getting together for the sake of good conversation.
i opened the heavy door, and he was just standing there, waiting.
from behind his back, and with that sudden grin, he produced a dozen full red roses.
"in the spirit of tradition and the holiday and all that..."
it wasn't that i'd never been given flowers or that my valentine's days had been plagued with insufficient love. it was unexpected. i love nothing more than a surprise... especially from the right person, the most unexpected person, the unknown.
i've been described as "hardcore" or "badass" or "tough" since i can remember being described as anything. i don't like being treated like a typical girl. i hate when guys limit conversation because i'm a chick. i can't stand when someone has to see me drink before they respect me.
but, more than any of that blase crap that could strain any girl's reputation in the dating pool, i am a sucker for a punk rock boy with a heart.
once we scooped up my remains from the floor, i dropped the flowers on my bed and we flew to harvard square.
i still have three of those roses, tied with the same blue ribbon ... somewhere. they're dried and tired, now. they reek of memory, but they still smell like the day we met.
