Mid November came. With it, a major paper for English Lit. She was starting to crack under the pressure. To be fair, it was the Canterbury Tales and we had the hardest teacher in the whole of the English department, if not the state!
Even my brain was turning to mush.
A group of us decided to meet up at the university library in the city and hammer something out together, like we did for Beowulf.
The whole bus ride there was annoying. Traffic sucked, the bus went too slow, we had to hit every stop. I needed to get this paper written. I needed to see her.
I arrived and was headed up to the doors. I heard footsteps running up behind me. I turned just as she threw her arms open and jumped at me laughing.
Apparently, the three other people all canceled out yesterday and she was afraid I wouldn’t show up either.
She finally let go and backed away and smiled. He hair was pulled back in a pony tail and wore a black beret and a cream colored wool coat.
We made our way to the third floor and found a table and spread out. The book we had was full of annotations and cited references. The library at the uni had most of them in the stacks.
We decided what topic we were going to do and I insisted her paper had to meet two qualifications. 1) She cannot take the same topic as me. Me copying her in math is harder to figure out than her copying my English paper, and 2) Her topic cannot be “The Wife of Bath is a SLUT!” (regardless of how accurate we thought it was).
We weren’t able to check out books, so we photocopied like mad. This way we could also use highlighters and scribble on the pages. It went quicker after I taught her how to buy a swipe card and how to use the copier. All said and done, I think we wiped out a small forest between the two of us.
We sat down at a table and dug in. We hardly spoke as we went through all the materials. We did, however, occasionally look up and smile at each other.
Around noonish, she announced it was lunch time. I had brought some sandwiches, but she insisted on buying me lunch as a thank you for teaching her how to use the photocopier. Also, she said, she’d seen a nice little cafe a couple blocks away and wanted to go, but not by herself. I was hesitant about leaving as it meant packing up and taking everything with us, but she was insistent. I couldn’t say no.
When we exited the library, I took a sniff of the air. The only way I can describe the smell is “snow”. It was definitely cold enough, but no telling when it would start.
She was quiet during lunch, making some small talk. She said she was tired. She looked nervous. I think she noticed I was looking at her and she smiled. Saying she had something for me and lifted her backpack onto the table. She pulled out a flat square wrapped in wrapping paper.
I had forgotten: tomorrow is my birthday. She had used extra sticky tape and covered every seam end to end, keeping me from carefully unwrapping it. I stuck my tongue out at her, gouged a fingernail in and shredded off the paper. She giggled. I pulled the item out. It was a record. The Who, “Face Dances”. I now had their complete discography (by younger brother stepped on and broke my original copy). I smiled and thanked her profusely. She again looked her usual happy self. I picked up my backpack and carefully put the record in. She laughed as I also packed up the wrapping paper.
As we left the cafe she latched herself to my right arm and walked close to me. Making our way to the corner we had to stop for the crosswalk signal. It was at this moment she struck. Rather unexpectedly she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I quickly looked over as she quickly turned to look forward, red faced and biting her lips. I couldn’t help but smile at how cute she was, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. Seemed fair. I quickly looked forward.
I heard her laugh. I looked over and she pulled herself closer as the signal changed. We set off across the street.
We returned to the library and spread out again, going back to work. I was going back over the material that I had skimmed earlier and highlighted sections to actually read. Read them, highlighted important stuff with a different color and started taking notes.
But, since lunch I’d been having a hard time concentrating.
I looked up. How long had she been sitting there, elbows on the table, face in her hands, staring at me. I asked if she wanted to take a break. She nodded sleepily.
There were vending machines over in a tiled section near the stairs. We passed a window. It had started to snow. Heavily. She bought a hot chocolate. I bought a black tea with extra sugar. She then grabbed my arm and insisted we have our drinks outside. With no choice, I followed, trying not to spill my tea.
I told her that if we were going to leave the building, we should pack up again. She agreed.
We stepped out and it was colder. She bristled at the chill. I pulled the old, navy blue scarf from around my neck and draped it around hers. She told me I would never get it back. I kissed her on the cheek and told her to keep it.
Finding a bench under the awning, we took a seat. The air was cold, but felt nice. The break was a good idea. My brain was tapioca, but with fresh air, caffeine and sugar, I should be able to pull myself together.
We sat in silence, watching the snow fall. Then, I felt her hand on mine. I turned and looked. She was looking at me, the scarf covering her face just below the nose. Probably hiding an embarrassed smile. I smiled back, then shifted my hand so our finger would intertwine. The embarrassment left her smile, tho she blushed and turned to look forward, pulled down the scarf and drank her hot chocolate. And we sat there, in the silence, holding hands and watching the snow.
My hand felt cold when she let go. She’d finished her drink and wanted to know if I was done. I still had half a cup. She seemed to dance to the trash can and her her cup in, turned, bowed to me, and, with the same walk returned to the bench. She sat down next to me, wrapped her arms around mine, leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed. I leaned my head over on top of hers.
I wasn’t able to finish my tea before it got cold (mostly because it was awful). I sat the cup down next to me.
When I moved, she trembled and tightened her arms around mine. I heard her sniff. I asked if she was OK. She told me she just had a runny nose from the cold then, in a whispered voice, insisted she was not crying. Gently, I pulled my arm from her grasp. She looked up at me, tears running down her face. I put my arm around her shoulders. She pulled herself close to me and we wrapped our arms around each other.
She stopped trying to hide her crying.
This moment burned itself into my soul.
We never told each other how we felt. To me, she was everything. I didn’t know how I could live without her.
I wanted to tell her I loved her.
I wanted her to tell me she loved me.
In the end, I never told her.
In the end, she never told me.
And, in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Fall term would be over in four weeks. Over Winter break, because of my mother’s work, my family would be moving to the other side of the country.
She knew this.
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