Authors: Clare James
Soon,
everything clicks and I’m tethered in a web of music and movement.
I feel tall and lithe.
I love the beauty of it. The slow, graceful pace. It takes so much concentration, I think of nothing else. I’m in a trance. All dance can feel that way at times, but with ballet it’s even stronger. Maybe because each movement is slow and deliberate—each movement is really its own work of art.
I extend my right leg to the front four times, to the side, to the back, and side again, before switching to the left leg. After a good thirty minutes of fancy footwork, adding in frappes and ronde jambes, my legs burn.
I’m in heaven.
TWENTY
After my l
ittle workout, I feel so good I tackle Mom’s emails. I whip through them, keeping the most recent message open on my computer. I hit reply and write:
Hey
Mom,
Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get back to you. I’m just
trying to get used to the university, the people, and the coursework here. Starting over is harder than I thought it’d be.
Heard we’re all spending Thanksgiving together
. Sounds good. I haven’t seen you for so long I’m starting to forget what you look like.
Say hi to Michael for me. And Stephen too.
Love,
T
Two could play at her game. She wants to judge and push and make me feel like shit with her snappy emails; I’ll dish mine up with a nice big dose of guilt.
Touché!
It doesn’t make me feel better though
; that’s the trouble. I’ve played the martyr too long. I hate to even go there, but maybe Dr. Payne has a point when she says I need to stop being a victim. A very small point. Not wanting to think about that or Mom any longer, I go outside to take a walk.
The temperature falls steadily as the sun begins to drop. It
makes my nose run. I grab both the Kleenex and earbuds out of my pocket and make a left toward the park. My gloveless hands find warmth in the sleeves of my jacket.
Pumpkins and cornstalks decorate the porches and front stoops of the homes
on my block. There’s a group of boys playing football in one of the front yards.
This is what normal looks like.
O
nce I get to the park, I grab a swing, close my eyes, and pump my legs. I move through the air in my own little world until someone grabs my feet.
I pull away and yank out my earbuds
just in time to hear a familiar laugh.
“Want some candy
, little girl?” Noah says between chuckles.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. He is literally breathtaking with his flushed skin and bright eyes.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strange boys in the park,” I tell him, grinning like an idiot. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be praying or fasting or something?”
“How did you know about that?”
He sits on the swing next to me and rocks. His legs drag on the ground while mine dangle in the air.
“
Professor Sands told me you were out of school for Sukkot,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Were you missing me at class
today, Tabby?”
Yes!
I can feel the heat reach my cheeks but hope it passes for cold rather than embarrassment.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I laugh
. “We started our projects today and Sands said we could have some extra time before our presentations because you’d be out for the Jewish holidays.” I raise an eyebrow. “Which is odd because I seem to remember somebody wearing a cross.”
“Guilty,” he says. “I have Buddhist beads too. I guess you could say I have a fascination with religion.
I’m half Jewish, but I like to dabble in other faiths as well.”
“What? Like the boy in
Life of Pi
?”
“Kind of.” He bumps his swing into mine.
“Anyway, Sukkot is legit. I have the crazy family at my parents’ house to prove it. I just snuck out to grab a few things at my apartment and to get some fresh air. It’s been a long day.”
“I get that.”
Boy, do I ever.
I try to keep my eyes on his instead of staring at the way his sweatshirt hugs his chest.
“Ya know, I wanted to call you today to tell you I would be out and we’d have to resched
ule our study session, but I didn’t have your number.”
He reaches in his pocket, pulls out his cell phon
e, and raises his eyebrows in question.
I bite my tongue and try to act like it’s completely normal for a guy to
ask me for my phone number. It is a little easier knowing it’s only for homework purposes.
He
punches in the numbers I give him and my heart beats faster with each one.
“Well, I better move. If I’m not back fo
r our family dinner—” He shakes his head. “It will be ugly.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders and rubs my arms. “You need to dress better for th
e weather, Tabby. Get home before you get sick out here.”
Little does
he know that my chattering teeth have nothing to do with the temperature outside.
My eyes follow him all the way out of the park. When he makes it onto t
he street, a red car stops and the guys inside try to get his attention. He ignores them and keeps walking. They yell something, but I can’t make out what they say.
Noah turns around with heat I’ve never seen in his face. I can hear his voice over the wind and the car’s engine. It’s clear as a bell. “No,” he shoots back, his hands bound in fists by his side. “I’m done with that shit. I’m done.”
TWENTY
The weekend goes by
, uneventful. I spend most of it brushing up on dance technique, reading, and hanging out with Jules. I try to help take her mind off Foster. She’s told me a little bit about their “friends with benefits” situation. And how once she stopped the benefits, Foster’s become a total manwhore. It’s not good.
During
my remaining hours of the weekend, I dream about Noah. At his rate, there is absolutely no reason for a sex life. My dreams are keeping me perfectly satisfied.
Well, almost.
On Monday, I wake up feeling lighter. Free. Not happy, no, I won’t kid myself. But I would get by; maybe even become a contributing member of society.
Or maybe not.
In the commons, I see two figures in the distance and quickly feel a shot of pain right to the heart. If it didn’t hurt so bad, I would be embarrassed. I
should
be embarrassed. It doesn’t make any sense. Noah is talking to Jenna, his hands in his pockets as he stands close.
Too close.
I can’t look at her without feeling a deep rage. It isn’t rational. I’ve known plenty of girls who have it all—the looks, the life, the guy. It never bothered me before, even in my darkest days in Illinois.
The difference? I know deep down it’s Noah. I also know I’m being ridiculous. I have no claim on him—whether he told the truth about being single or not—but I want to claim him. I want to brand him with a big T.K. across his back. I want to yell, “He’s mine, back off, bitches.”
As I approach, I keep my eyes on the ground.
“Hey, Tabby,” Noah says when I walk by.
I wave and then I reach in my bag. As much as I hate to part with it, I pull his jacket out and hand it to him.
“Thanks,” he says. “See you in class.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, pretending Jenna isn’t standing next to him glaring at me. I know she’s checking me out—my pathetic clothes and ponytail—and wondering why the hell Noah is even giving me the time of day.
I wonder the same thing.
Still,
I can’t stop thinking about him. I guess I’m bound to have feelings for him. He is the first person, other than family, who seems interested in
me
. Not because of dance. Not because of my cute girlfriends. Not because I have the
right
hair and the
right
clothes—because let’s face facts, I am far from rockin’ it these days. The way I feel about him is like that hero worship phenomena, or transference, when patients end up falling in love with their doctor or therapist. We studied it in my psych class last year. I think I’ve got it. My head says, “Perfectly natural, Tab, but definitely not real.” My heart argues, “It’s totally legit, Tabitha. For the first time, someone appreciates the real you.”
The last class of the day arrives and Professor Sands puts us to work immediately. I turn around and Noah has the same paperback on his desk that I have in my hands, except his is tattered around the edges and has a million dog-eared pages. I hold up my newer version of
That Was Then, This Is Now.
We laugh. Noah’s is a deep, inviting chuckle. The kind that makes you feel at home.
“Great
minds, aye?” his voice thick with his Minnesota accent. “I’m so glad you’ve read this one. It might be my favorite.”
“Yeah, it’s a good one
,” I say. “I think it was the title that lured me in, though.”
He bites his lower lip, and studies me.
I pick up his copy and examine the highlights and dog ears. “How old is this book?”
He closes his eyes and crinkles up his face and I want hug him and smack a huge kiss on the tip of his nose. He is adorable. I think maybe if I get close to him, some of that goodness will wear off on me.
“It’s only a year old, but I’ve put it to good use.”
“
Have you finished all the chapter worksheets yet?” I ask.
“I have a few chapters left,
” he says.
“Me too.”
“Do you want to finish those now and then we can start the project at my place after class?”
“Okay,” I say witho
ut thinking it through. Alone with Noah, I don’t stand a chance. I am weak and lonely. It’s a dangerous combination.
“Great.” He seems
excited. Almost as much as I am.
I sit sideways in my seat, not willing to turn around,
and read. Or, pretend to read, but all I can think about is spending the afternoon with Noah.
When class l
ets out, I choose to let myself have this day. No guilt. No past. No psycho behavior. For the next two hours, I’d just let myself be with this guy. This perfect, sweet, and ridiculously sexy guy.
We walk down Noah’s street. He keeps step with me and stays close.
“That’s it,” he says and laces his hand in mine, ushering me inside. My breath catches when I feel our skin touch. His hands are big and a little rough, but warm and strong. It feels so good; I don’t think anything has ever felt better. I curl my fingers and tighten my grip, not wanting to ever let go.
Inside, Noah takes my backpack and sets it next to his on a bench. His place is so him: warm, cozy, and interesting.
We have the place to ourselves.
“Don’t you have roommates?”
Noah shakes his head. “I did, but he moved out. Come on,” he says pulling me into his room. “It’s more comfortable here.”
His room is
nothing like I pictured in my little imaginative scenario with Noah and Jenna. The walls are pale blue and covered in paintings and framed tapestries and strange paper scrolls. There are religious artifacts everywhere: a golden Buddha, miles of prayer beads, the Star of David, a frame with words to the Serenity Prayer, even a crucifix. The room has a soothing feel to it, but it’s weird.
There’s no futon
as I imagined, just a nice big comfy bed with loads of pillows and a navy comforter. There’s a desk in one corner, piled with books, papers, and no Jenna photos as far as I can see. And, surprise, surprise, in the other corner sits a keyboard and two guitars. I knew I picked up the musician vibe.
Noah messes around with his
iPod before placing it in a docking station. He kicks back on the bed and pats the edge for me to join him. “What do you think?” he says.
“I had you for the music for sure, but I’m not sure what to make of the whole
rabbi-Dalai Lama-priest-monk thing you have going on here.”
“Does it creep you out?” H
is eyes search mine.
“No, why? Should it?”
“No. God, I hope not.”
“So what gives? Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Here and there,” he says. “There’s a Tibetan shop in Linden Hills and a bunch of random stores in Uptown. Plus, my parents travel for work. They brought me back a few things from China and India.”
“Why the interest in global religions?
“You know how we talked about going through rough times?”
I nod.
“Learning about different religions and getting into some of this stuff helped pull me out of mine. Now I find it more fascinating than anything else.”
“Very productive. You know
, a lot of people take a different route when they hit a rough patch. Drugs, sex, isolation. I’m impressed you went the other way.”