He smiles at me and it’s like getting a drink of cool water on a hot day. How was I not supposed to fall in love with him?
We break apart, reluctantly, and I’m hopeful at least. I’m still hopeful as I drive him back to his aunt’s where he says she’s making dinner and having some friends over. Before he gets out of the truck, I take his hand once more.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
He holds my gaze for a moment and nods, almost shyly.
“I can pick you up. If you’re working, or from here?”
“I’ll be working.”
“All right. I’ll see you.”
He smiles, then he gets out and goes inside.
It’s closing time when I get there.
Paul wipes the counter and sweeps the floors as I sit on one of the stools. He gives me a nod in greeting. I nod back and light a smoke.
I watch him for a minute, moving around from one task to the next, efficiently, easily. He’s doing everything with a focused seriousness. It doesn’t matter that it’s for a soda joint. It doesn’t matter that the world won’t end or begin with an ice cream-stained rag. He’s not going to treat it lightly.
It’s an expression that isn’t entirely unfamiliar. It’s an expression that bears a resemblance to the one he’d have when we were together; as if having me inside him was the most serious and solemn thing he’d ever experienced. My body reacts to the thought of that with a flush and an erection. In the next breath, I feel a twinge of anxiety at never being with him like that again.
“I’ll just be a few more minutes,” he says, startling me.
He’s leaning over the white countertop, all shiny now from the rag slung over his shoulder. I look into his eyes. They remind me of green summer meadows dappled in sunlight. The kind you lie in, on your back, and name shapes in the clouds with your best pal. In his eyes, there’s a whole other path I could have taken. It’s lined with secret moments and peaceful days. It doesn’t really end. It just fades, and fades, and we fade along with it, into each other, and even that isn’t really an ending.
I notice my cigarette has burned all the way to the filter. I put it out and light another. “Take your time,” I reply; my voice sounds too loud.
He goes into the back for something. I go over to the jukebox and half-heartedly browse the songs. The titles swim in front of my face as I flip through. It’s hard to focus, and I can’t think of the last time I browsed a jukebox. It must be a nice thing: to come here with your sweetheart, share a soda, and dance the night away. It doesn’t have to be private. Anyone and everyone can know.
A few minutes pass, and I hear Paul with jangling keys by the front door. I shift through the selections again and find The Five Satins. I smile to myself. Was it really just a lazy weekend this past July? I was already in love with him, but I didn’t want him to know me. I didn’t want to do things the right way. I just wanted them to be done.
I put some coins in the jukebox and the record begins to play. It’s sweet and slow and this time, I’m not afraid of anything. This time I want to do things the right way. Paul comes back around to the counter and stops short when he hears the melody. He turns to look at me, eyes wide, face flushed.
I reach out a hand for him. “Come here.”
His face flushes deeper. “What?”
The beats of the song sway and skim through the air. I sway a little with it. “Come over here.”
He hesitates, glancing behind him.
“Come on.”
“What if somebody sees?”
“They won’t. We’re alone.”
His eyes shift toward the windows, and I take his hand and pull him behind a rack of magazines, away from anyone’s sight. I put my hands around his waist. He doesn’t move for a minute.
I pull him closer to me. “Why does it feel like a lifetime?” I’m mostly speaking to myself. And I’m mostly speaking about him and me. Everything between us. Everything outside of us.
He hesitates. “I don’t know.”
And does he really need to think about it? Does he really need to think aboutthis? For a handful of selfish seconds, I don’t want to let him think about anything. I want him to just be with me, trust me, blindly, no matter what has happened. I want to reassure him that I’m here to stay and if he’d just see, if he’d just know…
But it can’t happen that way, can it? It’s not just about what I want. It’s what he wants, too. And here I am, convincing him to sway to the beats of the music with me, turning us in a small circle behind the magazines, not taking my eyes from his, silently willing him to never let me go.
