This Girl

Page 8

I look down at my watch. “Going on forty-five minutes.”
He laughs. “Shit. The way you were looking at her I would have guessed a hell of a lot longer. Where’d you meet her?”
The bartender hands me my change and the receipt for our drinks. I glance down at the receipt and laugh. It actually says, “Chocolate milk—rocks.” I fold the receipt and put it in my wallet.
“Actually,” I say as I turn back to Gavin, “she’s my new neighbor. Just moved in three days ago.”
He shakes his head and looks back in her direction. “You better hope it works out. That could get really awkward, you know.”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess so. But I have a good feeling about her.”
Before he walks away he points to the front of the room. “Eddie and I are over there. I’ll try to keep her occupied so you two can have your privacy. If she sees you here with a girl, she’ll be over there in a second trying to be her new best friend.”
I laugh, because he’s right. “Thanks.” I grab our drinks and head back to the booth, relieved that I won’t have to deal with introductions tonight. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
5.
the honeymoon
LAKE SITS UP on the bed and glares at me. “What the hell, Will? Gavin knew? He’s known this whole time?”
I laugh. “Hey, you and Eddie weren’t the only ones keeping secrets.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “Does Eddie know he knew?”
“I don’t think so. Unlike some people, Gavin can keep a secret.”
She narrows her eyes and rolls back onto her pillow, dumbfounded. “I can’t believe he knew,” she says. “What did he say when I showed up in your poetry class?”
“Well, I could go ahead and tell you all about that day, but that would mean I would be skipping over our first kiss. You don’t want to hear about the rest of our date?”
She grins. “You know I do.”
falling
“WHAT’S THE SAC?” she says when I return with the drinks.
“Sacrifice. It’s what they use to prepare the judges.” I slide back into the booth but make it a point to scoot in closer this time. “Someone performs something that isn’t part of the competition so the judges can calibrate their scoring.”
“So they can call on anyone? What if they had called on me?” she asks. She looks terrified at the thought.
“Well, I guess you should have had something ready,” I tease.
She laughs, then puts one of her elbows on the table, turning toward me. She runs her hand through her hair, sending a slight scent of vanilla in my direction. She watches me for a moment, her smile spreading up to her eyes. I love this peaceful look about her right now.
We’re sitting so close together I can feel the heat of her body against mine, parts of us touching. Our thighs, her hip against mine, our hands just inches apart. Her gaze shifts from my eyes down to my lips and, for the first time tonight, I feel the first kiss pressure. There’s something about her lips that makes me want to kiss them when she’s in such close proximity. I remind myself that even though I’m just “Will” tonight, I’ve got at least one student who is more than likely intermittently spying on us.
The quiet moment between us causes her to blush and she looks back to the stage, almost as if she could sense that I was struggling with the desire to kiss her. I reach over and take her hand in mine and bring it under the table, placing it on my leg. I look down at it as I slowly stroke her fingers. I stroke up her wrist and want so bad to keep trailing up her arm, straight to her lips . . . but I don’t. I circle back down to her fingertips, wishing more than anything that we weren’t in public right now. I don’t know what it is about her that completely enthralls me. I also don’t know what it is with her that gets me to spout things I would normally be more reserved about.
“Lake?” I continue tracing up and over her hand with my fingertips. “I don’t know what it is about you . . . but I like you.” I interlock her fingers with mine and turn my attention toward the stage so she doesn’t think I expect a response from her. I smile when I see her grab for her glass and quickly down her chocolate milk. She definitely feels it, too.
When the sac walks up to the stage, Lake’s whole demeanor changes. It’s almost as if she forgets I’m even here. She leans forward attentively when the woman begins her piece and she doesn’t remove her attention from the performer the entire time. I’m so drawn to the emotion in Lake’s expression that I can’t take my eyes off her. As I watch her, I attempt to decipher the reason behind the intense connection I feel with her. It’s not like we’ve spent that much time together. Hell, I hardly even know her. I still don’t even know what her major is, what her middle name is, much less her birthday. Deep down, I know none of it matters. The only thing that matters right now is this moment, and this moment is definitely my sweet for the day.
As soon as the sac is finished with her poem, Lake pulls her hand from mine and wipes tears from her eyes. I put my arm around her and pull her to me. She accepts my embrace and rests her head against my shoulder.
“Well?” I ask. I rest my chin on top of her head and stroke her hair, taking in another wave of vanilla. I’m beginning to love the smell of vanilla almost as much as southern accents.
“That was unbelievable,” she whispers.
Unbelievable. That was the exact word I used to describe it to my father the first time I saw it.
I fight the urge to lift her chin and pull her lips to mine, knowing I should wait until we’re in private. The need is so overwhelming, though; my heart is at war with my conscience. I lean forward and press my lips against her forehead and close my eyes. It’ll have to do for now.
We sit in the same embrace as several more poets perform. She laughs, she cries, she sighs, she aches, and she feels every single piece performed. By the time the final poet for round one comes onto the stage, it’s obvious that it’s too late. I was hoping to put everything out in the open between us before things became more serious. Little did I know it would happen this fast. I’m too far-gone. There’s no way I can stop myself from falling for this girl now.
I keep my attention on the stage, but I can’t help but watch Lake out of the corner of my eye as she watches the performer prepare at the microphone. She’s holding her breath again as he steps up to the microphone.
“This poem is called A Very Long Poem,” the performer says. Lake laughs and leans forward in her seat.
This poem is very long
So long, in fact, that your attention span
May be stretched to its very limits
But that’s okay
It’s what’s so special about poetry
See, poetry takes time
We live in a time
Call it our culture or society
It doesn’t matter to me ’cause neither one rhymes
A time where most people don’t want to listen
Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fire
Waiting until we can speak
No patience to listen
But this poem is long
It’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poem
You could’ve done any number of other wonderful things
You could’ve called your father
Call your father
You could be writing a postcard right now
Write a postcard
When was the last time you wrote a postcard?
You could be outside
You’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunset
Watch the sun rise
Maybe you could’ve written your own poem
A better poem
You could have played a tune or sung a song
You could have met your neighbor
And memorized their name
Memorize the name of your neighbor
You could’ve drawn a picture(or, at least, colored one in)
You could’ve started a book
Or finished a prayer
You could’ve talked to God
Pray
When was the last time you prayed?
Really prayed
This is a long poem
So long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with it
When was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute?
Or told them that you love them?
Tell your friends you love them
 . . . no, I mean it,
tell them
Say, I love you
Say, you make life worth living
Because that is what friends do
Of all of the wonderful things that you could’ve done
During this very, very long poem
You could have connected
Maybe you are connecting
Maybe we’re connecting
See, I believe that the only things that really matter
In the grand scheme of life are
God and people
And if people are made in the image of God
Then when you spend your time with people
It’s never wasted
And in this very long poem
I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does:
Make things simpler
We don’t need poems to make things more complicated
We have each other for that
We need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matter
To take time
A long time
To be alive for the sake of someone else for a single moment
Or for many moments
’Cause we need each other
To hold the hands of a broken person
All you have to do is meet a person
Shake their hand
Look in their eyes
They are you
We are all broken together
But these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a mess
We just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimes
To sit and listen to a very long poem
A story of a life
The joy of a friend and the grief of a friend
To hold and be held
And be quiet
So, pray
Write a postcard
Call your parents and forgive them and then thank them
Turn off the TV
Create art as best as you can
Share as much as possible, especially money
Tell someone about a very long poem you once heard
And how afterward it brought you to them
SHE WIPES ANOTHER tear from her eye when the performer steps away from the microphone. She begins clapping with the rest of the crowd, completely engrossed in the atmosphere. When she finally relaxes against me again, I take her hand in mine. We’ve been here close to two hours now and I’m sure she’s tired, based on the week she’s had. Besides, I never stay for all of the performances, since I have work on Fridays.
I begin to stand up to lead her out of the booth when the emcee makes one last appeal for performers. She turns to me and I can see her thoughts written clearly across her face.
“Will, you can’t bring me here and not perform. Please do one? Please, please, please?”
I had no intention of doing a poem tonight. At all. But oh, my God—that look in her eyes. She’s really going to make me do this, I can already tell. There’s no way I can say no to those eyes. I lean my head against the back of the booth and laugh. “You’re killing me, Lake. Like I said, I don’t really have anything new.”
“Do something old then,” she suggests. “Or do all these people make you nervous?”