Archives:
November 18-November 24, 2007

November 18, 2007

Emma chews on the end of a pen, causing it to bob up and down, hanging from her lips. At last, she lets it drop onto to the wooden table. “Well, I'm sure glad we decided to meet tonight,” she says.

I nod, leaning back in my chair. We sit in an open area of the library, set up for group meetings. When we first got together at 9:30 , the place was swarming with people, a lot of them working on their own group projects, some just talking. Emma and I were content to sit and talk for the first half hour or so, as we waited for Claire and Nick to show up. Claire called to say she couldn't make it at 10:15 . As it creeps up on 11, we still haven't heard from Nick, and the library is about to close. The meeting room has cleared out, and we sit here, staring off in different directions.

“Want to get out of here?” I ask.

Emma nods.

I walk Emma toward her apartment. It's cold outside, really windy. It's a bit strange walking beside her. I remember holding her hand when we would walk like this two years ago, just getting together. There's a certain, distinct rhythm to her walking, and I fall in line with it the way I always did. I suppose it can be easy to fall into old habits.

Emma shifts her back pack, so it hangs from just one shoulder, and reaches into its front pouch, emerging with a cigarette and Bic lighter.

“You smoke?” I ask.

She plants the cigarette between her lips and lights up, taking her first puff before she replies, dropping the lighter back in her bag. “Guess so.”

“Isn't that a bad idea for a singer?”

She shrugs. “A lot of singers smoke. It just gives your voice a different sound.”

Looking at her, red hair and burning tip of a cigarette, I can't help thinking about how different she seems. I wonder if I look different to her, from the way I did when we were together. I wonder if she'd notice either way.

Emma glances over at me. “What?”

I look way from her, looking down at the sidewalk. “Nothing.”

November 19, 2007

Looking to my side, I can see that Nick and I are about to cross paths as we head to our class with Jones. I imagine the sensation I feel is something like getting having your car spin out of control on an icy highway. You know you'll probably collide with something, and you know it's out of your hands. You just hope it isn't a fatal hit.

I turn my head in hopes he won't notice me.

“ Preston ,” Nick calls out, “what's up, buddy?”

“Nothing much,” I say, my breath visible in the November chill. “It was nice to see you at our meeting last night.”

“Well Teri told you I couldn't come, right?”

“Teri didn't say anything,” I say, picking up my pace a step.

“She must have forgotten—I told her that morning, when we were in the office, I was going to be swamped with SA stuff at night,” he says. “Anyway, sorry I couldn't be there. I miss anything big?”

“Not really. Just Emma and I sitting around waiting for company that never came.”

“Claire didn't show?”

“Na. But she did call.”

“Well you give Teri an earful, Presto,” Nick says, hopping ahead of me as we get to the building, pulling the door open and holding it for me. “Because she definitely said she would pass the message along that I couldn't come.”

I don't bother thanking him as I step through the open door, walking straight down the hallway. As annoying as Nick, something about him just saying Teri's name makes me hate him that much more.

November 20, 2007

“Oh yeah,” Teri says, folding a hoodie, and putting it down into her suitcase. “I'm sorry. It totally slipped my mind, but yeah, Nick wanted me to tell you he couldn't make that meeting.”

I'm a little upset that Teri forgot to pass along the message—a message that could have spared Emma and I couple hours of waiting for him to show up to meet with us on Sunday. Beneath my skin, though, I can feel myself growing hotter about something else. I think of her and Nick hanging out in the SA office. I think of Teri taking a message from Nick about our class project, and how little sense it makes—that she has nothing to do with the class. She has a personal connection to me, and a professional connection to Nick, neither of which should have any connection to our academics.

I can't articulate any of this clearly enough. I can see the argument coming before I even open my mouth.

“So I'm not supposed to take messages from Nick?”

“It's no excuse for him skipping a meeting,” I say, “especially when you don't tell me what he said.”

“And you've never forgotten anything?”

“I'm just saying that you shouldn't have been in the position—” I trail off, running a hand through my hair. Teri rolls a pair of socks between her hands, tightening the little ball of wool. She's packing to get ready to head home tomorrow, and I'm supposed to be going with her, to spend Thanksgiving with her family. I think about spending the whole week like this, arguing over Nick of all things.

“Look,” I go on, “let's just not fight. We're getting to the end of the semester, we're both stressed out—let's just drop it.”

Teri rolls her tongue around her mouth, her lips closed tight. She pushes the socks down into a corner of her suitcase, then looks up and nods. “You're right. It's not worth it.” She picks up another two pairs of socks, each with cartoonish animals on them. “What do you think, moose or rabbits?”

November 21, 2007

I push down the lever to send my windshield wipers sliding up and down the glass once. There have been some light flurries of snow coming down along this drive, but nothing too serious, very little that actually sticks. The snow's actually kind of pretty at this point, the flakes making the sky look one big kaleidoscope, the pattern shifting with every gust of wind.

The flashing of red lights adds to the pattern every now and again, as Teri taps the brakes, slowing down with the flow of traffic. I sort of like having her in front of me all the way like that. I feel as though I can keep an eye on her the whole way, and like we're together, even as I drive alone in my car.

I'm planning to swing back by Shermantown after the holiday, to have a dinner or two with Dad, and hang out with the guys a little bit. It probably would have made more sense for Teri and I to have traveled together, then traveled back at the same time, but there's just something that got to me about the idea of not seeing my family at all for Thanksgiving. I've always spent the holiday with my mother, or my father, or both. Heading home with Teri feels like some sort of betrayal of my own family.

There's some buzz to a trip like this too, though. I'm kind of excited to meet her folks—maybe become a part of her family, so to speak. I'm a little nervous about it, but more excited than anything, at the chance to make a good impression.

My mixed CD ends, and automatically starts to repeat, cycling through from the start of the disc. I push a button to switch over to the radio for a while. All I get is static to start. The first local station I hit is already playing Christmas music, crystallizing the fact that the holiday season is here. I hum along, following Teri down the road.

November 22, 2007

The old woman to my left mumbles something.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“The yams!” she says much more clearly, just short of yelling this time.

I reach in front of me, to grab the bowl of yams and pass it to her, just as an elderly gentleman, oblivious to what going on the opposite side of the table, snatches them away.

I glance over to Teri, who flashes me a grin from across the way. Her father assigned the seating for this afternoon's dinner, and for whatever reason, kept the two of us at a bit of a distance.

I hear the clatter of steel against steel, turning to see Teri's little brother and sister dueling with their spoons at one end of the table. The boy smiles widely, more aggressive as he lunges toward the little girl.

“Kids,” Teri's father breaks in. The two of them stop, turning their heads. “You're at the dinner table, not the playground. Now sit down and eat.”

The kids are already seated, but they do look down at their food, the boy swirling his spoon through his mashed potatoes, the girl setting hers down in favor of a fork, to stab at pieces of turkey.

“The yams,” the old woman repeats, back to a mumble, but this time I know what she's looking for. As the old man sets them down, I get a hand on them, bringing them to her. I forgot who this woman is—I think a great aunt, but there's some sort of complication—a great aunt through marriage, or who was since divorced out of the family, or something.

The great aunt doesn't say thank you, snatching the bowl from my fingers, sending a little piece of the yams flying, to where it lands in the stuffing. Scanning the table, no one seems to notice. There are 12 people sitting around the table here, and I can see where Teri probably figured it couldn't hurt to have one more. Nonetheless, as we gobble away, I can't help feeling out of place. I barely met most of these people, as they flowed into the house in the hours before the meal. The men crowded the living room for the football game. Each of the women migrated to the kitchen to lend a hand, or get in the way. I tried to stay with Teri, but the divide was clear soon enough, and after a look from her father, I knew I was best off sitting down for the game.

There's a crash to my side. “You dropped it!” the old woman yells, looking at my elbow. I look down to see the yams on the ground, the ceramic bowl cracked. I look back up, to where Teri hides her laughter behind her napkin, her father shakes his head, and her mother gets up, napkin in hand, to clean up the mess.

November 23, 2007

I let out a little groan, as the doorknob drives into the skin of my back. Teri pulls back, looking at me, eyebrows up. I scoot to the side, so my back is flat against the door, then let her get back to what she was doing.

Teri kisses me as hard as I can ever remember her kissing me. I think the spur of how much time we've spent in such close proximity without being able to do this is taking hold. We've slept in separate rooms, constantly sat with someone else between us—I'm not sure we've had more than a minute alone since we got to the house Wednesday night.

We're alone now, in her room. I push my body against hers, moving her into the room, sitting her down on her bed, where I sit next to her, never parting our lips. Teri presses her hands to my shoulders, pushing me down on the bed. I scoot upwards, so I've got most of my body lying down. Teri climbs on top of me, straddling me, looking down.

Behind her, my eyes zero in on that same doorknob that was jamming into my back moments before. Ever so slowly, I see the brass knob turn.

I put my hands on Teri's hips to push her off of me, but she was already bending to kiss me, and it's hard to move her. I'm probably too late to act anyway, as Teri's still have on top of me when her father stands over us, and clears his throat.

November 24, 2007

“Hello?” I say rubbing my eyes as I sit up in bed.

“Presto,” Matt's voice comes from the other side of the phone. “Don't tell me I'm waking you up.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well shit, dude. Time to get a move on if you're going to get back to Shermantown.”

“Relax,” I say, half a word, half a yawn as I stretch an arm up in the air. “I am in Shermantown. Teri's dad walked in on her and I in a compromising position yesterday evening, and suggested it might be better if I get an early start on my trip home.”

“How compromising are we talking?”

“Could have been a lot worse. But it still wasn't good.”

“You all right, man?”

I run a hand through my hair and look at the clock. I'm surprised to see it's already 10. Of course, I didn't get in until 2 in the morning. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just kind of a crappy way to end the visit, you know?”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

I lie back down stretching my legs out to the far corners of the bed. “So you get to hang out with Julie like you were talking about?”

Matt chuckles. “Did I ever. I can tell you more about that later. Since you're already in town, what do you say we get over to the mall, check out those early bird sales. Say I'll pick you up in 15 minutes?”

“Sounds good,” I say, pushing the covers off, and rolling to set foot on the cold floor of my room.