Beware of Love in Technicolor (38 page)

The room was silent. My movements became deliberate as I waited for him to react.

“I miss you,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” I said back, just as quietly. I figured that if I did not stop and think, at least I’d keep myself honest. He snorted, and looked at me, all puppy dog, which he did not carry off too well. I had to laugh, which softened me.

“Really,” I said, taking a seat at the foot of the bed next to him. “I’m sorry. But missing me doesn’t explain why you are here tonight. There was a time when I missed you, too, but I tried not to bother you with it.”

“So, I’m just a bother now? I wanted you to know how I felt. I know that is a foreign concept to you, but it is important to me.”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head and staring him down. I tried to hold onto my iceberg, and not melt at all the emotions and memories swirling in my head as I smelled his familiar cologne, the one I bought him one summer day at Jordan Marsh in Boston. I reminded myself of all the times he blew me off. Of all the times he told me I ruined his life. Of all the times it had all come back to Abby.

That fucker.

“What do you mean, ‘nope?’” he asked, eyeing me differently than he had when we were a couple. We were standing on more even ground. He was still tall as a tree, but I no longer felt him tower over me. I could always take him down at the trunk.

“I mean, I don’t buy it. What happened with Abby, John? Did she finally get sick of being your backup? Your safety net? Did she put her foot down? Did that make you run?”

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he interrupted.

“Then tell me, instead of being all cryptic. Do me a favor, and just get to the point of your being here.”

“I told you, I miss you,” he said, trying to reach out and take my hand. I stood up and backed away from the bed.

“I just want to spend time with you again,” he continued. “As friends, you know, but I miss you in my life, Greer. I know you have moved on. I see that. I get it. Believe me, I’ve seen more than I want to.” He waited for my reaction, but I did my best not to give him one.

“I don’t know what any of this means,” I said, giving up on the defense, and sitting down on the bed beside him. I exhaled heavily, and leaned back against the wall along the long edge of the bed. He propped himself next to me, and this time, I did not fight him when he took my right hand in his. I kicked my boots off and flexed my toes, which were tired from a long day in captivity.

“You suck, you know that?” I asked him. I closed my eyes, and rested my head back against the wall.

“You’ve told me once or twice before,” he replied.

“I want so much right now to ask you to leave, but not because I want to. Because I feel like I have to. You scare me, John. I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“How about a friend who knows you,” he suggested. “Really knows you, and what you want. Why don’t we start with friends and see what happens?”

“Because I know what happens,” I exclaimed, opening my eyes and looking at him straight on. “You break my heart. That’s what happens. Over and over again, in so many little ways. And I am ok now. A little lost, and unsure, but I like myself again. And I didn’t like myself very much by the end of our relationship.”

He looked like someone had shot his dog. It was actually strange, to see emotion well up in his eyes, when I had gotten so accustomed to that empty, vacant gaze he had been wearing for months. But other than that, he looked good. He had cut his hair short, and looked like he was being more active. It even looked like he had spent some time in the sun. The pallor that gave him a year round gothic look was replaced with a healthy, rosy glow.

“You look good,” I said, changing the subject dramatically. “Being away from me obviously agrees with you. Why are you really here?”

“I’m a little drunk,” he finally admitted. I nodded.

“And you thought...,”

“No,” he stopped me short. “No, I didn’t think that you’d sleep with me. I might have hoped.” We both laughed, and I returned to leaning my head back, eyes closed.

“I just wanted to see you, Greer. But instead of making me happy, I just feel sadder.” He sat forward, and dropped my hand.

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t need me,” he said. “There was a time when you loved and needed me, and I blew it.”

“We both blew it,” I said. “Don’t think that I blame you completely. I know how closed off I can be, and I know how frustrating that is to you.”

“It is hard to follow you to the ends of the earth when you keep running away.”

“Don’t do this,” I said quietly.

“Why?” he pleaded. “If we both want it, why not?”

“Because,” I said slowly, steadying myself. “I don’t want it. We are as different as frost from fire, John. I need to be on my own right now. There’s a lot I don’t know, and hiding in something familiar is not the answer.”

We both sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, and stood up.

“Ok,” he said, looking at me and smiling a warm, if not sad, smile. “Before I lose all dignity, I should go.”

He slipped away and out the door without meeting my eyes. It would be months before I saw him again.

***

Before the semester was out, I managed to luck into a small apartment on the third floor of an old house on Main Street, just up from all the shops and restaurants. It was at the top of the hill, and from up on that third floor, I could look down on town and a little bit of campus. I would be living on my own, but I felt ready for it. The house belonged to a professor of mine, though she rented it out completely to students. I even had my own parking spot, though I couldn’t move in until September first. The beach house, and somewhere to spend the summer working crazy hours at a crappy job, away from the eyes and rules of parents, was looking good.

In between packing and putting together my writing and art portfolios, I dyed my hair back to its natural dark brunette shade. I was never very good at being a redhead. It felt good to be back to myself w
hen I looked in the mirror and I was happy to just be me for a while.

I also had an interpersonal communications exam to take. I arrived early and sat in the back, and never saw John come in for the test at all. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt a pang of relief at not having to see him. I took the exam quickly and took my time walking b
ack to Hadley, over the bridge where John and I had our first kiss. I paused and looked down into the swirling water, thinking about the girl I had been that night. That young, stupid, know-it-all who thought she had it all figured out, before ever having her heart put to the test.  I was caught up in my tangled memories, and when I took a step back, I walked right into the person crossing the bridge behind me.

“I’m walking here! I’m walking here!”
I heard the person cry out, and I turned quickly to find myself face to face with Topher. He caught me before I tripped on my own feet. 

“Whoa, you ok?” he asked, lending a hand on my right elbow to steady me.

“Yeah,” I said, looking at my friend who seemed to always show up at just the right moments. “I’m done. That was my last final, all my portfolios are turned in.”

“Good for you,” he said. “I just finished, too.”

“You heading back to your room?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Me too.”

We walked for a few minutes, and I saw a small smile start to creep across his face. He thought he had me. I could see how hard it was for him to stay silent for so long. He was just about busting to say something, but knew he needed time. Time for me to miss my opportunity to know it off the top of my head.

“
Midnight Cowboy
,” I said with a snort.

“Greer Bennett! “ he exclaimed in mostly mock frustration, taking the heavy art book out from under my arm and carrying it himself. “I will get you one of these times. I swear it.”

***

Later that evening, my last night living on campus, the evening was still warm as I stood in the doorway of Topher’s room and looked around. Normally alive with vibrant tapestries and vintage Woodstock posters, the walls were now blank, boxes were stacked in the corner, and there was luggage open on his roommate’s bed. He had the college radio station turned up almost unbearably loud.

“He went home yesterday,” he said, seeing me looking around the room for his roommate and settle on the suitcases.

“You finally have the single you always wanted,” I said, having to yell over thumping bass of a not-quite-ready-for-prime-time alternative band.

“Wiseass,” he answered.

“Let’s go get dinner,” I told him, snapping off the radio. “I’m hot, I want a lemonade. My hair is frizzing in this humidity.” I walked over to where he was standing near his desk, plucked the worn Red Sox cap off his head and placed it backwards on my own. I took a moment to look at him, my funny friend, and was puzzled to notice how much he had matured since I first lent him a Jetson pencil so many years ago. He appeared taller, his dark eyes darker. The long black lashes were still the dagger, though. I’d seen girls fall for it time after time. Girls who were never kept around long enough to get a better view through that particular window to Topher’s soul. I was already walking toward the door when he spoke again.

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a
while, you could miss it,"
he said. I sighed heavily for dramatic effect and turned back around to face him.

“Seriously?
Ferris Bueller
...?” But before I could give him any more shit for throwing me a softball, he was standing in front of me, in the center of the room, looking like I had never seen him. Determined, serious, driven. And then he leaned in and kissed me.

***

My head was reeling, this unexpected action, this kiss, coming at me unseen. We had never crossed this line, ever, in all our drunken, high, emotional, insane states of mind. In two years, that line in the sand had never washed away.

But now here we were, here I was, locked in a kiss that was good, so good, and I didn’t fight it. I kept my eyes closed and kissed him back, feeling his hands on my face, holding me like I might disappear from his grasp. He kissed me gently, slowly, tasting me. And then he pulled away as suddenly as he had come at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though I knew by the look in his eyes that he was anything but.

“You are not,” I said, touching a finger to my lips absently, the pressure of his lips lingering. My voice was hoarse, and he grinned.

“No, not really,” he said.

“Do it again,” I told him, unsure of what I was saying, but sure I wanted him kissing me again. He leaned in again and kissed me and I wondered how I ever missed it.

“So long,” he mumbled as we giggled and bit each other’s lips to quiet down. “I’ve waited so long.”

“Too long,” I whispered, leaning into him more. He pulled away suddenly again. His excitement seemed to fade.

“No,” he said, “No, you needed space. There was never a right time. You were always spoken for.” He took my hands and we walked to the bed and sat down.

“Spoken for?” I questioned.

“Oh, calm down,” he said, pushing some stray hair behind my ear and smiling. He lingered for a moment, and sighed. “And yeah, spoken for. It was your own doing, but you were spoken for just the same.”

I had to laugh at him, at his careless, demanding but doting attitude toward me all of a sudden. “And today I’m finally not spoken for?”

“No, today we’re moving out, and I was going to miss my chance again if I didn’t man up and do something.”

“What exactly did you plan on doing?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, squinting at me.

“Because I may have something to say about it.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, leaning back and studying me.
              “Was it anything like that kiss?”

“Might be. Why?”

“Because you should do that. Before, you know, you miss your chance again.”

***

“Come here,” Topher said to me as he got up from the bed. We had been kissing for a little while, exploring this new aspect of our friendship, my fear of this being the end of my one island of sanity in my crazy college world tugging at me. I squashed it as best I could, wanting to be caught up in the moment. Allowing myself to be caught up in the moment. I stood and walked to him while he snapped the CD player on, one of the few things in the room not packed away. Roxy Music streamed out, and I knew that at some point, on some drunken night some time ago, I had confessed to going weak in the knees for Bryan Ferry’s voice.

“Dance with me,” he said, taking my hands and moving toward the center of the room. I let out a loud laugh.