by Renee Hart
“Oh, that's great. I mean, not about your Grandma.” His face turned pink and he looked down at his burrito. “That's sad. But I mean, it's great that you can go back.”
“Yeah. And I'm looking forward to not being a waitress anymore. In four more years, anyway.”
“Tell me about it. I was a pizza guy for awhile, before I got the job at the bookstore. I'm hoping I can transfer to the Barnes & Noble on the four-year campus next fall, after I finish here. They give me a tuition discount for working there, which is great.”
“Working at a book store sounds much better than a crappy restaurant. It's cleaner, if nothing else.”
“Yeah.” He smirked at me. “Except every now and then when someone buys half the store and needs help carrying it all.”
I laughed and covered my mouth with my hand. “I'm so sorry about that. I know I'm a pain.”
“Nah, it's okay. Besides, it would be rude of me to make a lady carry all of that stuff by herself.”
I paused with a forkful of salad halfway to my mouth, trying to decide whether that was a compliment, treating me like a proper lady, or an insult, implying that I was an old lady. I opted on the former. “Well, thank you.”
We talked until it was time for me to head to my next class, then Conner walked me to class. Before we parted company he said, “I'll see you on Monday. Oh, and, hey. Don't forget the Lyrical Alliance meets on Thursday. If you're interested.”
I was interested, even though I worried I'd be the weird old lady that didn't fit in. Even if twenty-seven wasn't that old. “What time does it meet?”
“6:00.”
I frowned, thinking about what time I would get off work that day, and whether I'd have time to pick Ari up and get to the campus on time. And I knew she wouldn't be the least bit interested in poetry, so I'd probably have to drop her off at my dad's house before I went. “Depends on my schedule,” I said. “But I'd like to. We'll see.”
“All right. Hope you can make it.”
He gave me a wave and headed off to his own class. I walked in and found a seat for my Comp 101 class. I was the first one there, again. I couldn't decide if that made me a dork, or the loser who didn't have any friends on campus.
Well, I figured I had one friend. Sort of. That was something, at least.
Chapter 7
As it turned out, I never made it to the poetry reading that Thursday. I ended up with several homework assignments on my first day of class, which seemed really unfair. I had to read several chapters in three different books, and I had to write a short practice paper for my Comp class over the weekend.
Between work, keeping up with chores around the house, and running Ari back and forth to her art classes after school, I barely had time to get it all done. When I saw him the next Monday, Conner seemed disappointed, but understanding.
That was how it went through most of the rest of my first semester. I was doing pretty well in my classes, but I had almost no free time left. I came to look forward to my short break between History class and Comp class, since that hour and a half was one of the only times I had to myself. Conner and I frequently had lunch on those days, and I started looking forward to the time with him as well.
Near the end of the semester, I finally got some relief when there was a school holiday. As a result of the day off, when Thursday rolled around, I had nothing to do except drop Ari off at her art class, then I had a few hours of free time. I decided it was finally time to stop by and see what the Lyrical Alliance was all about.
When I walked into the rec center, there were a couple dozen students there. A couple of them were setting up a microphone at one end of the room, while the others mingled. I looked around, but didn't see anyone I recognized, until Conner crossed the room, waving to me.
“Hey! You made it. I've been hoping you would.”
I gave him a hug. “Yeah, well, I've been wanting to check it out for awhile now. I just never have any time.”
“Well, I'm glad you're here. Do you have any poetry to read?”
I waved my hands in denial. “Oh, no, no, no. I'm not a poet. I'm just here to listen.”
“Well, that's fine, too. Find a seat, we're about to start.”
I found a seat near the front and listened as one student after another stepped up to the mic to share their poetry. There was a variety of styles, and it seemed like the group was open to just about anything. One girl delivered a hip, dramatic poem about her relationship with her father. Another girl read a light, flowery poem about the first time she kissed a girl and discovered a new side to her sexuality. And one man read a dark, eerie poem that made me wonder whether he was potentially suicidal.
Finally, Conner stepped up to the microphone. He cleared his throat, holding up a piece of paper to read from. “This is something I've been working on for awhile now. It's still sort of a work in progress. But it's...” He hesitated, lowering his eyes. “It's from a personal place.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he started to read.
“You told me you wanted a man who could be sensitive. A man who knew his own heart. And I thought you'd be careful with that heart.”
He closed his eyes again, trembling slightly. “But then there was the day I showed you my heart, showed you my tears. And found out what you really wanted with my heart. You wanted a man who would love you, care for you, and show you his affection. You wanted a man who would give you his heart. But you didn't want me to know my own heart. You desired my love, but rejected my tears. You desired my affection, but rejected my pain. You desired my support, but wouldn't support me in return.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and I wondered if he was holding back tears.
“And now I know why you wanted my heart. Not for me to know myself, but for what my heart could give to you. And I gave you all that my heart could give. But I kept my tears for myself.”
He lowered the sheet of paper, and the audience clapped. I clapped along with them, feeling a tightness in my chest. I wondered who he could have been talking about. In the time we had known each other, he had never mentioned a girlfriend. I could only imagine what she'd done to him, how much she'd hurt his heart.
I tried to imagine my ex, Ari's father, showing me his tears. In the time we'd been together, I had never seen him cry. I couldn't imagine rejecting him for his tears. I couldn't understand how anyone could do that to someone they cared about.
He came over and sat down next to me while the next poet stepped up to the mic. I wanted to say something to him, but I didn't know what to say. He didn't look at me. His eyes were unfocused and he stared into his lap.
I reached over and put a hand on his knee. He glanced at me, forcing a small smile. I smiled back, wishing I knew some way to comfort him. I decided all I could do was sit there with him, offering him my silent presence.
I think it meant something to him. He put his hand over mine, and we sat there through the rest of the poetry readings, silently taking comfort in each other's company.
Chapter 8
I managed to make it to a few more of the poetry sessions throughout the rest of the semester. Sometimes Conner read a poem, sometimes he just sat with me in the audience and listened.
I got to know a few of the other poets, and they all encouraged me to start working on some poetry of my own. I didn't think I was any good, and there was no way that I was going to stand up in front of the crowd and read something aloud, but I started finding that it was a good outlet for my feelings.
I kept a little notebook in my backpack and scrawled poems in it when I had breaks between classes, or when I was bored in History class and not paying attention.
I was relieved when winter break started. I was doing well enough in my classes, but it was nice to have a few weeks off. Ari and I ended up having one of the best Christmases we'd had in awhile. With all the money I was saving on food by getting so much from school, I was able to put a little away each week throughout the semester.
I was able to spoil my kid for the first time ever, both on her birthday in early December and on Christmas. And in a very big surprise, a package arrived for Ari from my brother Jimmy, with a collection of new games for her XBox. I guessed that now that he had his share of the money, he'd decided he could spoil her a bit, even though he hadn't sent her anything for the past few Christmases.
Though I did notice that the handwriting on the card wasn't his. His wife must have been the one who convinced him to send something.
I sent them a card in return, though I felt a bit like an ass for not sending one until after their gift arrived, and knowing it wouldn't get to them until after Christmas. I left a postscript at the bottom of the card asking Casey to keep me up to date on when her baby was due, which I knew was any time now.
A few weeks after the new year, I got a letter from her with pictures of the new baby, who they had named Jayna. And at the end of the letter she even said she hoped we could get together soon so I could meet my niece, though she did add “I'll just have to check Jimmy's schedule and find out when it will be good for him.”
I read over the letter again, trying to read between the lines. I was pretty sure “I'll just have to check Jimmy's schedule” was code for “I'll have to see if Jimmy wants to see you.”
I wrote her back, telling her how beautiful her daughter was and how excited I was for her and for Jimmy. And I told her I was looking forward to seeing them all, and how glad I was for the chance to get to know her. I was sure that she was reaching out to me of her own accord, trying to bridge the gap that Jimmy and I had never been able to repair on our own. It gave me hope for the future. I just hoped I wouldn't end up missing out on my niece's life because of the bad history between my brother and me.
***
I went into the spring semester with a newly encouraged attitude and the feeling that I was finally making progress in my life.
Ari managed to convince me that ten years old was old enough that she could be home by herself after school, and while I was nervous about the idea, I realized that it would free up my schedule even more since I wouldn't have to worry about driving down to the daycare to pick her up after school.
I was paranoid the first few times that she took the bus straight home after school, and I made her call me to let me know that she'd gotten home safely, and I reminded her to make sure she'd locked the door. After the third day she refused to call me and just texted instead. By the second week I was calm enough that I didn't even freak out when she forgot to text.
A couple of weeks into the new semester, however, I started having some trouble with my classes. Mostly with my chemistry class, which I'd chosen for my one science elective because I thought it would be interesting. By the time I realized how much math was involved in chemistry, it was too late to change classes and find something easier.
I brought up my concerns to Conner when midterms were approaching. We didn't have any classes together this semester, but we still saw each other at the Lyrical Alliance gatherings, whenever I could make it.
“I don't know how I'm going to handle this test,” I said. We were chatting over tea while we waited for the poetry readings to start one Thursday.
“I'm seriously not understanding this stuff. I don't know what I'm going to do.” I was really worried about failing the class, not because of the effect it would have on my GPA, but because of how it might delay my graduation.
I'd planned out how to manage my class schedule, including summer courses, to make sure I'd have enough credits to graduate on time. But having to repeat a class would either mean taking more than three classes in one of my future semesters, which I didn't think I'd be able to keep up with, or else taking an extra semester at the end. I might be able to handle one extra semester, but I couldn't afford a whole extra year of classes without risking the possibility of pushing Grandma's deadline to its limit.
Maybe I was being too paranoid. After all, it was just one class. But I was still in my freshman year. What if I failed another class next year? Or the year after that? I could be screwed out of my entire inheritance just because I wasn't good enough at math to keep up with things.
“Do you need some help studying?” Conner asked.
“Are you good at chemistry?”
“Heck yeah.” He grinned at me. “I'm actually thinking about taking a science major when I finish at the community college and transfer to a four-year school. Maybe astronomy. I don't know. But I can definitely help you with the math.”
“That would be great.” I reached out and squeezed his arm. “You have no idea how much I'd appreciate that.”
“When do you want to get together?”
“Hmm.” I thought about my schedule, but it wasn't as open as last semester's had been. I was in classes Tuesday and Thursday this semester, but my Tuesday chemistry class was a double-length session because of lab time, and it kept me stuck here a bit late in the afternoon. Which had been a deciding factor in letting Ari go home by herself after school.
“Tuesday night after class might be my best day,” I said. “I could stay a little more than an hour after class before I have to get home and make dinner for Ari.”
By “make dinner” I really meant “bring her takeout from the school cafeteria,” but I sounded like a better mom when I pretended that I actually cooked.
“Tuesday works great for me,” Conner said. “We can meet in one of the student lounges.”
“Really?” I gave him a hopeful smile. He might just be saving my ass. “That's awesome.”
We figured out the details, then sat down to listen to the poets read their work. I still hadn't even admitted to Conner that I was starting to write my own poetry. I was determined that my poems would remain hidden until the day I died, then I would specify in my will that they must all be burned and the ashes spread in the gardens of better writers than me.
***
When Tuesday rolled around, my brain was almost completely fried by the end of my chemistry lab. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but the information just wasn't clicking in my brain. I did fine when it came to writing or history. I was even enjoying my psychology class (not to mention figuring out a lot of what was wrong with my family thanks to the chapters on family psychology). But chemistry and I just did not get along.
I headed to the student lounge to meet Conner, but when I got there the place was crowded and noisy. I met Conner near the door and asked, “Any ideas on someplace quieter?”
“The library has private study rooms,” he said. “You can book one for like an hour at a time and have the space all to yourself.”
“Sounds good.”
We walked over to the library and got the key to one of the little study rooms. It was pleasantly quiet inside, which was nice, since I had enough to deal with without having any noisy distractions. Conner did his best to teach me the formulas I needed, though it seemed way easier for him than it was for me. I started getting a headache about halfway through our study session.
“Ugh. I need a break.” I buried my face in my hands, feeling like I might cry if I had to read anything else about electrons and atomic bonds.
“Hey, don't worry so much.” He scooted his chair closer to mine and put an arm around my shoulders. “Just try to relax.”
I wanted to relax, but his sudden proximity made that impossible. I felt warm, and his arm felt really nice holding me like that. I hadn't dated in a long time. A long time. In fact, the last time I'd done more than go on one or two dates with a guy had been with Ariella's father. None of the rare, few men I'd dated in the years since had been that interesting to me, and having a kid was usually a pretty big turnoff for prospective dates.
I lowered my hands to the table, glancing at Conner out of the corner of my eye. I tried to figure out what he was thinking and feeling just then, whether he was just being friendly or if there was something more. I wasn't foolish enough to think that a young man would spend so much time with a girl wi
thout having at least some interest in her. They'd said it right in When Harry Met Sally: men and women can't be friends. The warmth I felt radiating through my body right then was proof of that.
But I couldn't think of Conner like that. He was seven years younger than me. He wasn't even old enough to buy alcohol yet, though I knew his birthday was coming up in a month.
My twenty-eighth birthday was also coming up. I did the math—I'd read online somewhere that the minimum age for dating someone was half your age, plus seven. By that standard, Conner was just barely within the limit. And we did have a lot in common.
I knew I was rationalizing. Trying to convince myself that it was okay to do what I already wanted to do. Which was to grab him and kiss him right there. He was sitting so close that I could feel his warmth. He had to be thinking the same thing I was. Guys didn't sit that close when they only thought of you as just a friend.
He started to move away, probably taking my silence as a rejection. I grabbed his hand to stop him from moving. We both sat very still, his arm around me, his other hand holding mine. I tilted my face just a bit towards his. I didn't know whether I should make a move or not. I was sure he'd respond if I did. Just as I was sure he wouldn't be bold enough to make a move without a really clear signal. He'd been hurt too much in the past, by whoever it was that had rejected his tears, for him to be likely to make a move.
The heck with it, I thought. He's cute, and I haven't had a man in years.
I turned towards him, slipped a hand behind his head, and pulled him into a kiss. He responded eagerly, pressing his lips against mine.
I had a brief thought that I was glad we were in a private room, before all thoughts vanished and all I could focus on was the kiss.
I pulled back for a moment and leaned to the side, looking out the window between the study room and the main library. There were plenty of people out among the stacks, though none were close enough to pay attention to what we were doing.