Do-Overs (7 page)

-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.”

“You’re right,” Stina confirmed. “He can get up in front of hundreds of people and be magnificent, but one on one he really isn’t very confident. He must really have the hots for you if he dredged up the nerve to ask you for coffee.”

Where was the gay thing? I had avoided this guy for over a month because it wasn’t possible and now all they say is he’s shy?

“What time are you meeting him?” Stina asked.

A look at my cell for the time and I knew I’d better book it or be late. “Gotta go.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll wait up,” laughed Stina.

“Waiting for all the juicy details,” added Rachel. “Just one thing Lottie. Don’t say anything just yet to Olivia.”

“Yeah, she has a few issues, as Rachel would say, with Al,” said Stina.

Here it comes. The bad news. I looked to Rachel for affirmation.

“Yup, he’s the only guy who ever blew her off.” They both exchanged a knowing smile and I left on that note. Off to find out if maybe there could be a potential where none had been before.

Rounding the corner from the dorm I suddenly remembered I had forgotten my special eraser. I sure didn’t want to go to such an important rendezvous without it. Hurrying back to the room, I was stopped by the conversation I heard through the door.

“Should we have told her?” It was Stina’s voice.

“I just couldn’t. She seemed so happy,” replied Rachel. “Let’s see how things go. Maybe she won’t even like him.”

“Sure, one cup of coffee and she might figure it out for herself,” replied Stina, not bubbling for once.

I slowly withdrew my hand from the doorknob. So they did think he was gay after all. Half of me was angry that they hadn’t been honest with me. The other half was grateful that at least I would have a chance to find out for myself. But as good or as bad as the evening would go, it wouldn’t be done over. I wasn’t about to go back in that room right then and know that they knew that I knew what they had been talking about.

So there I sat impatiently waiting in the library reading room. Trying to look nonchalant. Okay, he was five minutes late. That was fine. I hope I didn’t look too eager. I checked my cell phone for important texts. There were none. I fiddled with it looking like I had important texts anyway.

Ten minutes late. How long did I wait? People kept passing by. I knew that they didn’t know that I was waiting for a “date” that didn’t seem to be coming. So why did they keep looking at me like I was pathetic? I had read all my emails, even the spam folder. Still no “date.” Fifteen minutes. I should have scraped together whatever self-esteem I had left and slunk out of the stood-up date level of
The Inferno
. But then again maybe his meeting had run long and if I left he’d think I didn’t like him and ruin everything. There was a war going on in my head and it was taking no prisoners. Then she
came in—all long legs and flowing black hair. I tried to look very busy.

“So I told Al,” she said loudly to her friend obviously forgetting she was in a library. However, I wasn’t going to file a complaint as she had my undivided attention the minute she said Al. “I couldn’t go with him and Butch tonight. I guess they went on without me.”

Butch? Tonight?

“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you over there in the corner,” said Ms. Long Legs. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

I couldn’t respond.

“Oh, cat got your tongue. Well, I’m Taylor and this is my BFF Taylor. Isn’t that funny.”

“We’re both named Taylor,” said Taylor number two, with shorter legs and definitely a nicer aura. “Isn’t that ironic that we are best friends with the same name. We met the first day of school and it was like well, so easy to remember her name, cause, well it was my name.” Taylor two laughed. Number one didn’t. I had the feeling she had heard the story before. “In fact at last count I found fourteen people named Taylor here on campus. Girl Taylors and boy Taylors. And that’s not counting the ones with Taylor as a last name.”

Thing One cut her off, “So, now you know our names, and probably more than you wanted to know about our history. What is yours? And please don’t say Taylor.”

“Lottie, uh my name is Lottie,” I finally stammered out. “Nice to meet you.” My mother would be proud that all those manners she drilled into me as a child weren’t wasted.

Thing Two was ready for a pleasant chat. Thing One simply gave a smug smile and started to walk on.

“Well Lottie, I guess we’re going. Hope to see you around. Don’t forget, my name is Taylor. Easy to remember,” Thing Two added as she hurried to catch up with the alpha queen canine.

I guess eighteen minutes is how long I should have waited. I was replaced by a guy named Butch. It was time to quit waiting. Not just for the evening, but for good. The whole “romance” with Al Dansby was just a figment of my imagination and was not ever going to happen no matter how many different time space realities I could create.

I was back to my dorm by nine and luckily the entire suite was empty. I grabbed my trusty eraser. It was time to undo this sad evening. “Do your stuff, my little friend.” I instantly found myself standing outside my door, holding the doorknob, eavesdropping on a conversation between Rachel and Stina.

“Should we have told her?” It was Stina’s voice.

“I just couldn’t. She seemed so happy,” replied Rachel. “Let’s see how things go. Maybe she won’t even like him.”

“Sure, one cup of coffee and she might figure it out for herself,” replied Stina, not bubbling for once.

My trusty friend had failed me. I couldn’t go back far enough and undo the fact that I had told them about my not-to-be-date. Now I had an hour to kill. The library was definitely off the list. I went out the back door of the dorm thinking I’d go for a walk. It was too cold and windy. I went back in the dorm. Couldn’t do laundry, as I would have had to go back into my room to get it first. Maybe one of the study rooms would be vacant—someplace to sit and be alone and feel sorry for myself. I was in the mood to throw myself the biggest pity party ever. It would make Mardi Gras look like a one-year-old’s birthday party.

The basement study room was full of the K’s cramming for a test. Gratefully they didn’t see me looking in the door. I went up to the first floor. Busy also. No studying going on, just some couple making out. I guess when someone told them to get a room, they didn’t clarify that it shouldn’t be a study room. Seeing another happy couple was just great for my self-esteem bucket that already had a big hole in it and was leaking everywhere. Off to the second floor. Busy also. Since when did so many people in college start studying so much? Third floor. Finally a dark and deserted room.

I entered the room. No need to turn on the lights. Depression prefers the dark. It was the perfect place to let go and have a good cry. Wow, I must have been really upset. I was crying in stereo. No, someone else was crying too.

I asked the dumbest question on earth, “Are you okay?” Obviously if someone is crying they are not okay.

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” answered Olivia’s voice from the corner. “Just don’t turn on the lights right now.”

We both sat and sniffled for a moment. I could smell the distinct aroma of alcohol in the tiny room. We all knew that Olivia was a social drinker. She wasn’t unlike so many other college students I had met over the years. But tipsy on a Tuesday night at nine sitting alone in a study room, that is starting to sound more like a problem than a party. Finally I broke the ice. “Which of us is going to tell our tale of woe first?”

“You first,” Olivia whispered.

“It’s silly really. Here’s the condensed version. I met a guy this evening that I’ve been trying to get to notice me for months. He suggested we meet later and go get coffee. Then he didn’t show up, and the over-sensitive, pathetic loser that I am overreacted. So he changed his mind. Should have been no big deal. It was just coffee.

“Wow, saying it out loud really does show how pathetic I am. It was just coffee with a stranger,” I concluded.

Olivia’s response wasn’t what I expected. “Yes, but he still hurt your feelings.” Olivia paused for a moment and then continued. “Our feelings aren’t always logical. Rachel’s been helping me for the last two years come to grips with that. You’re a romantic, Lottie. I could see that in you the first week we met. You love your literature with dashing men and happy endings. You’ve lived your life in a family of happy endings. And I’m sure some day you’ll get your happily-ever-after. You’re kind and caring and you deserve it.”

“Don’t we all deserve a happily-ever-after?”

We sat in the silence a while longer until Olivia spoke. “A fairytale. That’s it. We all grow-up thinking life is a fairytale. That is until someone ruins it for us. If you haven’t noticed, I drink too much.” She gave a sad snort of a laugh. “Rachel’s been telling me that for a year now. But it helps. Not her telling me that. That doesn’t do anything but make me feel worse about myself. The drinking helps, some.”

“How?”

“Dulls the pain. If I drink enough it goes completely away. But just for a while. Then it comes back. Sometimes worse, cause I do stupid things when I’m drunk. I tend to hook up with any guy who comes along. Only the gay ones turn me down.” She paused and then whispered, “Or the really nice ones.”

The quietness returned. My gut reaction was to tell her everything would be fine. But for once in my life I kept my mouth shut. How did I know that everything would work out? I didn’t even know what was wrong. I had a friend in high school whose sister died. He said the hardest thing was living on without her. The second hardest thing was putting up with all the concerned looks and unsolicited platitudes of how it was
God’s will
and
it was all for some divine purpose
. He taught me that sometimes the most comforting words are the ones not spoken.

“It always comes back.” Olivia was talking again. I’m not sure if she was actually talking to me or herself. “Maybe in a nightmare. Or just a sound. Smells also. There are just some smells that bring it back instantly.”