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SECOND MOVEMENT:
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
4.When I Met You
MATT
It was a Saturday when we met at Senior House. She was reading a magazine in the lounge while I struggled down the hall with my nineteen-year-old wooden desk. It was the one piece of home my mother had shipped from California, other than a single box, my camera equipment, and a duffel bag of clothes.
When she glanced in my direction, I froze awkwardly, hoping she’d look past me as I balanced the desk with little finesse.
No such luck.
Instead, she stared right into my eyes, cocked her head to the side, and squinted. She looked as if she were trying to recall my name. We had never met, I was sure of that. No one could forget a face like hers.
I remained still, transfixed, as I took her in. She had big, incandescent green eyes, alit with energy that demanded attention. Her mouth was moving and I was staring right ather, but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying; all I could think about was how uniquely beautiful she was. The eyebrows that framed her big, almond-shaped eyes were darker than her almost white-blonde hair, and her skin looked like it would taste sweet on the tongue.
Oh my god, I’m thinking about what this girl’s skin tastes like?
“Bueller?”
“Huh?” I blinked.
“I asked if I could give you a hand?” She smiled, piteously, and then pointed to the desk I had balanced on my knee.
“Sure, yeah. Thanks.”
Without hesitation, she tossed aside her magazine, grabbed one end of the desk, and began walking backward as I struggled to keep up.
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, out of breath. The name suited her.
“Do you have a name?”
“One more,” I said, gesturing with a nod.
“Your name is One More? That’s kind of unfortunate, but it does make me wonder how your parents came up with it.” She grinned.
I let out a nervous laugh. She was stunningly beautiful but she was also kind of goofy. “I meant, we’re one room away.”
“I know, silly. I’m still waiting on that name.”
“Matt.”
“So Matty One More,” she said after she stopped in front of my room. “What’s your major?”
“Photography.”
“Ah, so I must recognize you from Tisch?”
“Nope. This is my first year.”
She looked puzzled. I reminded her of someone. I was hoping it was someone she liked. After we set the desk down, I moved past her to unlock the door. With my head lowered, I spoke to my Vans. “Yeah, I transferred from USC.”
“Really? I’ve never been to California. I can’t believe you left USC to come and slum it at Geezer House.”
