“You don’t know that for sure,” said Rachel. “He’s never said he was. You know it’s wrong to go labeling people just because they don’t fit perfectly into your preconceived idea of how a man should act.”
“He doesn’t act gay,” added Stina. “Um baby, he’s so cute.”
“Oh, but let’s look at the facts. He’s a musical theater major,” said Olivia as she started counting facts off her fingers.
“That’s not a guarantee. There are musical theater actors who aren’t gay,” responded Rachel. “Okay, I can’t think of one off the top of my head. But I know there are.”
“Okay, you may be on to something Olivia. It’s true I’ve never seen him date anyone, although I doubt any girl would ever turn him down if he asked,” added Stina without her usual bubble. “And he turned you down. No straight guy has ever turned Olivia down,” Stina turned to tell me.
Well, that was that. My fairytale was just that. I thought I was going to cry. I had built this up so in my imagination. There I was feeling as if my heart had been ripped out for a guy whose name I had just learned and I had never met in my current time sequence. My friends were giving me that look—some sympathy, but more confusion. I had said I’d seen him around campus a few times, yet I reacted as if he had just broken off our engagement. I was pathetic. I could see it in their eyes that they thought I was either a drama queen or some horribly psycho love junkie latching on to any guy who halfway paid me any attention. This conversation wasn’t going to happen.
And suddenly it didn’t.
“You look a little stressed tonight,” Rachel said after my fifteenth sigh while reading Jane Eyre. It was 11:30 again and I still had two chapters more to read and a paragraph for Old Testament to write.
“I think we could all use a cookie dough break,” Olivia declared.
Mr. Rochester had his secrets and so did I. Al Dansby went in the lost cause file and the topic was closed before it was ever opened.
-14-
Coffee, Tea, or... Never Mind?
I left the room ahead of schedule for class that Monday morning. That was a rarity. It was a beautiful autumn day, not much wind. That also is a rarity in Oklahoma, not the beautiful day, but the absence of wind. I decided on the spur of the moment to make a quick trip through the student center for a cup of coffee. Not that I really liked coffee. I preferred Diet Dr. Pepper. But coffee looks sophisticated. At twenty I wanted to look adult. Mature.
It was my lucky day. No line. Actually quite empty as it was early and most intelligent people were still asleep, either in their dorm rooms or in classes, but snoozing nonetheless.
“I’d like a skinny cinnamon dolce latte,” I requested of the poor work-study employee stuck with the early morning shift. I really had no idea what that was, but it sounded urbane. He seemed less than impressed.
“I’ll have the same,” came the most glorious, cultured, sexy voice from behind me.
“Sure, Al,” the barrister replied, much more enthusiastic about his job than before. This gay thing was so unfair. I wanted a chance with the Al of my dreams, but no luck. In my mom’s day the dilemma was always all the good ones were taken. In my day they all are gay. How could I ever compete with that? I thought I was going to cry right then and there. I was so deep in thought that it took Al repeating good morning, I don’t know how many times before it sunk through into my gloom.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Not in that obligatory way that people ask when they don’t really want a truthful answer and hope to not have to deal with an awkward situation. No, he asked as if he really cared. I must have looked like a mental case, tears starting in my eyes and my face getting all red and splotchy.
Up close he was even more magnificent than my memories, my dreams, my fantasies had remembered. I had to get away, fast. Even if he wasn’t a possibility for me, I still couldn’t stand the idea of making a fool of myself in his. . . oh so green eyes that were looking into mine. Breathe. Yes, that was what I needed to do, breathe. I had to grab that eraser and get out of that God forsaken student center before I threw myself on him babbling platitudes of how if he just gave me a chance I could make him straight.
I left the room ahead of schedule for class that Monday morning. That was a rarity. It was a beautiful autumn day, not much wind. Now that also is a rarity in Oklahoma. Yet, I wasn’t enjoying it. Should I have stayed in the student center? Should I have taken the chance to have a conversation with Al Dansby? No, no point in attempting a relationship that just couldn’t happen. No coffee for Lottie Lambert, and no Al Dansby either. Some things couldn’t change no matter how many special erasers I had nor how many times I did the moment over. Some days life just hurt.
-15-
Things That Cry In The Night
A party in the hallway at four in the morning, even on a Friday night—actually Saturday morning—is inconsiderate. Especially since I obviously hadn’t been invited and it had disturbed the most beautiful dream. Mr. Knightly, Mr. Darcy and Al Dansby kept morphing from one to the other, all desperately in love with me. Ah. Then somewhere in the background of absolute bliss came the shouts of a wild, debaucherous festival. We were suddenly at a nineteenth century ball. Mr. Darcy was asking me to dance. I should have been thrilled, yet I knew there was someone I wanted more. I looked over just in time to see Al Dansby making a move on Mr. Knightly. That was what had shattered my bliss.
I awoke upset. Couldn’t he even be straight in my dreams, if not in reality? The fog slowly cleared in my brain enough to focus in on the actual noise in the corridor. It wasn’t the sound of a happy party after all. I heard sobs, then Rachel’s voice. I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. It sounded like a loving mother trying to comfort a distraught child. I heard Stina trying to lighten the mood with, “You’re better off without him.”
“But, I thought he was the one. He promised,” sobbed one of the K’s.
I didn’t have to listen any longer. We’d all been there and done that in differing degrees. He promised. “Trust me,” he said. “You’re the only one for me.” “It’s okay if we really love each other.” Then out of the blue, the old heave-ho.
There was more murmuring. It seemed more K’s had arrived. I heard Stina slip quietly into our room, trying not to wake me.
“I’m already awake. Which K was it?”
“Keesha.”
“The soccer player?”
“Seems he was putting in some extra practice elsewhere.”
“How bad is she?”
“Pretty bad. She’s been sleeping with the guy for a month and now she finds out she’s not the only one. He’s been dropping Keesha off at night and then going out with that Taylor, theater witch, the rest of the night.”
“Hope she was using some kind of protection?”
“Said she was. Nothing is fool-proof though.”
Symbolic choice of words I thought.
I contemplated Keesha’s situation and felt her heartache. “Sadly, there’s no protection for a heart. It breaks every time.”
-16-
Finally/Unfinally
Life went on. The ever-present Oklahoma wind grew colder. More assignments came due as the semester began to wind down. It wasn’t my first time to finish a semester, yet every new beginning I vowed not to wait until the last moment to write all my papers. Every term I waited until the end. So I trudged across the campus, that cold November evening, with my head down walking at an almost forty-five degree angle to the ground, fighting my way against the wind, on a quest to make some library time before Thanksgiving break. Most everything I needed for my research paper was available online. However, Dr. Jekyll was a Luddite and required us to use at least three books, real books, in our work.
Didn’t she know that no one used real books anymore? Yes, she knew. That would be what separated the educated from the masses, she had said when making the assignment. True Academic Research. At that point she got a maniacal gleam in her eye and I was afraid to press the
subject further.
So I trudged uphill (okay it wasn’t really a hill, just a little incline), in the rain (so it wasn’t raining, but it could have at any moment) against the wind (it really was unbelievably windy) to the library. Suddenly I did it again—I ran smack into the most fabulous non-straight guy on the planet.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I seem to always be plowing you down.”
He looked at me with the most confused expression. “Have we met before?”
I had to think quickly. What had and had not been done and undone where he was concerned? It was so hard to keep all my different realities straight. Yes, I had spilled spaghetti on him and knocked into him and even talked to him, but only in my reality. In his time/space continuum none of those meetings had ever happened.
“Oh, no I guess we haven’t,” I stuttered.
“Well, then it is time we did. I’m Al, Al Dansby.”
All I could do was gawk. “And this is the part where you tell me your name,” he said with the most magnificent smile. It was the perfect smile of a confident man, yet there was a twinge of a mischievous little boy just at the corner. The kind of smile that made grown, independent, liberated women go weak at the knees. Absolutely lethal to me.
“Lottie. Lottie Lambert. Well, really Charlotte Lambert. But, my parents had some weird idea of using an old nickname for Charlotte and calling me Lottie. I never understood why they didn’t just name me Lottie if that was what they wanted to call me in the first place.” Why wouldn’t my mouth shut! I just kept rambling. I was making an absolute fool of myself like some silly, pathetic, lovesick schoolgirl. This just couldn’t happen. My hand was reaching in my bag for my handy dandy eraser when I realized he was still smiling.
“Well, Charlotte Lambert, commonly known as Lottie, as it’s rather freezing out here, could we continue this conversation over in the library?”
The library was one of the oldest buildings on campus. It gave the true ivy-covered redbrick college feel to the campus. I usually felt a sense of awe and reverence when walking through the door, knowing that on the shelves were books by centuries of famous authors. Yes, real books. Perhaps, although I didn’t want to admit it, I did agree with Dr. Jekyll, just not on cold windy nights.
That evening the place could have been full of live pigs and molasses and I wouldn’t have noticed. I knew it was futile to attempt a relationship with Al Dansby, but we could be friends, maybe even good friends. That would at least give me the chance to spend time with him. My inner voice kept warning me to walk away, walk away quickly. I was going to get my heart pulverized and I wasn’t going to feel the least bit sorry for myself if I did. (Rachel’s Psych class would have a field day with my schitzo brain.) Nevertheless, my illogical persona was winning. I would pursue a futile relationship and deal with the disappointment later.
“So Lottie, what brings you out on such a blustery evening?” he asked as we entered the reading room with its old burgundy leather couches and mismatched chairs. His voice sounded so cultured—slightly British. Not all snooty and fake like Geoffrey Hale, but like smooth, dreamy melting in my mouth butter. The real stuff, not margarine. He definitely wasn’t from around these here parts.
My brain knew that this was where I was supposed to respond. My tongue hadn’t gotten the memo. My eyes just stared. I could have sworn my traitorous eyelashes fluttered. I was going to have to have an inner body conference soon about working on getting my different parts to be team players. Finally I came up with a witty response.
“Research.” Yep, that’s me Charlotte “Lottie” Lambert. One minute I can’t stop my mouth and the next it’s on strike.
“Oh, well this is a good place for it,” Al Dansby replied. “I guess I should let you get with it,” he said. Did I detect a slight longing for a reason to prolong our conversation or was I projecting my own desires on his simple statement? I needed something profound to extend the moment.
“Okay,” was what my stupid mouth came up with. OKAY!? What was I thinking? I needed to ask him for help or suggest coffee. Instead I had just mumbled okay. There I was with my inner being wanting beyond words to connect with Al Dansby, but no words would come. Instead my inner turmoil and outward awkwardness made me come across as cold and unfriendly. I was practically dissing him. Then again it was probably for the best to not start a no-win relationship no matter how badly I wanted to try.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sure I will see you around,” he said as he turned to go.
I had blown my perfect opportunity. I grabbed my purse and started digging for my eraser, my lifeline to hoping I could change the last two-minute conversation and say something that would make him stay. But, I couldn’t find it. I remembered with frustration that it was in my other purse from the afternoon. No chance to change the past. I was stuck like every other mortal, with only one timeline and no alternate responses. It didn’t feel fair. I wanted my do-over. I had come to expect this ability and felt cheated when I couldn’t. Was I really about to through a temper tantrum like a two-year-old simply because I had to live a segment of my life in the original time sequence like the rest of the world?
Lurking in the back of my mind was a slow revelation that I had become spoiled. Maybe I was relying too much on magic and not enough on my own abilities. I didn’t like contemplating the fact. So I didn’t.
For the moment I would have to rely on my own witty resourcefulness, which were hovering on empty. I was a goner. The moment had passed and he was walking away. And still I stood there my jaw hanging open like a mouth breathing dweeb and nothing witty or smart or even audible came forth.
I started to make a frantic run to get the eraser in hopes there would be adequate time to redo the whole meeting.
I stopped short of the sprint when miraculously he turned back and gave me an unsure smile. “I know you’re really busy and I have to get to a meeting myself, but maybe later, if you get your research done and you don’t have to do anything else majorly pressing,” and then he gave a self-conscience laugh, “What I’m trying to say, but not doing a very efficient job at, is would you like to, maybe, if you can find the time, go get some coffee—with me that is—later this evening?”
Stop, Lottie, I told myself. Think. Don’t blow it. Just say yes. Keep it simple. Play it cool. “Sure, I’d love to. I only have a few hours of work. I’ll be through by 8:30.” Yep, I was so cool.
“Usually I’m not done in the theater until twelve or one when we are in production. But tonight is just a theater club meeting. We should be finished about 8:30.”
I gave a smiling nod. I sure hoped I wasn’t drooling on myself. Then ol’ Mister Reality checked in. Why was I so elated? Nothing had changed. Sure now I would get to know Al Dansby, but that would only make things worse. He was still unobtainable and I was still ridiculously infatuated.
-17-
Nobody Ever Said That Life Was Fair
Waiting is one of those tiresome activities that takes no effort, yet still leaves you exhausted. So there I waited in the reading room of the library, for a coffee date with a guy that I sadly knew I had no future with. Yet, I anxiously waited still.
No research had been done after leaving him earlier at the library. Rather I had rushed back to the dorm for a quick wardrobe update, mouthwash, make-up touch-up and more deodorant for good measure.
“I thought you went to the library?” Stina said when she saw me back in the room. She and Rachel had just returned from a nutrition run to the grocery store, more cookie dough and Diet D.P.
“I’m going out for coffee with a guy.”
“Well, finally. You’ve been here for four months and no dates. Not that they haven’t been interested. So who is the lucky dude you finally consented to spend some time with?” asked Stina moving a pile of clothes off of her bed to sit down. It had taken a few dry runs to find the right outfit for coffee. One that said this is no big deal while at the same time making a statement that would last for a
lifetime.
“I hadn’t realized I was putting guys off. No one has asked.” Okay actually a few had, but with a time manipulation I had rewritten those moments so that I wouldn’t have to turn them down. But Stina didn’t know that.
“Oh, some have been interested. But there just seemed to be a glass wall there. I’ve had the distinct feeling that there was a broken heart in your recent past,” came the clairvoyant Rachel. “I’m glad you’re willing to start disassembling that wall.”
“Disassembling—who says disassembling?” Stina laughed. “Rachel sometimes I think you’re morphing into a psych textbook.”
“Well OMG, let me use some hip talk. Boom, boom chica boom,” beat boxing Rachel began to do the worst imitation of a rap singer on the planet. “It’s time for some major destruction to that invisible obstruction.”
“Oh pleaaaase, no more,” I moaned.
“I’ll only stop if you tell me who the fortuitous young man is,” said Rachel, as Stina mouthed the word fortuitous and rolled her eyes.
What would they say? The gay conversation had never happened. I had erased that. Now they would tell me again. How un-fortuitous. But I was not in the mood to listen to reason. I was going out with Al Dansby, gay or straight. Let them say what they wanted.
“Al Dansby,” I finally choked out. I saw the quick look they exchanged. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t known what was coming.
Strange how when you know what is coming, it often doesn’t.
“Oh he’s gorgeous,” Rachel said.
“And a fantastic actor. I saw him last year in Les Mis. He was Marius. He was so awesome,” chimed in Stina. “And a really nice guy. We’ve had a few classes together and he is always such a gentleman.”
“I’m surprised he asked you out,” said Rachel. Oh no, there it was. She was trying to think of a nice way to let me down easy. I gave her a questioning look. I didn’t trust my voice to talk. “He never dates. I think it’s because he’s so shy,” she continued. “That’s a weird thing about him.”
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