Lovely (12 page)

Well, here goes nothing … literally
. I pull the piece of paper with my eleven-word poem out of my backpack and take a seat in the center of the room. You’d think I wouldn’t need a piece of paper for eleven words, but yeah, I do. That’s how nervous I am. Before I begin, I happen to look over at Cara. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are focused on the board, so I guess I won’t be receiving any encouragement from her. I feel my heart rate accelerate so I take a deep breath.

“Pizza

Gooey pizza

Crispy crust

Pepperoni melting in my mouth

Scrumptious”

I fly out of the chair and hear Professor Travinski’s voice. He rubs his rounded belly. “Thank you, now we have a good picture of that pizza in our heads and we’re all hungry.”

The class laughs and I somehow feel like I’m the butt of a joke. Casually, I glance over my right shoulder at Cara. There’s no acknowledgement in her eyes because she’s not looking at me, only to the door for a way out.

After class is over, I wait for her outside the double doors to the library. She seems a bit surprised to see me. “Ash, what are you doing here?”

“I just thought we could talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” She keeps her eyes downcast for a moment, before lifting them to mine, her voice softer. “What do you want from me?”

I dig my hands deep in the pockets of my jeans. That’s a question I’m not even sure I know the answer to. “I just want to get to know you. Is that so bad?”

Her glare suddenly burns through me and I wonder what happened to that girl who wouldn’t look at me. “Well … I don’t want to know
you
.” She storms away, leaving a trail of anger in her wake.

I don’t know why the hell that hurt so much.

My weekend sucked shit. It’s been four days since I’ve seen or spoken to Cara. It’s killing me. I fucking miss her. I miss Cara. I miss the way she twirls the ends of her hair, I miss the gold flecks in her eyes, and I miss the ease that washes over me when I’m with her, the simple nearness of her. I can’t grasp this yearning because it’s so foreign to me. But it’s there and I can’t deny it.

I hardly know her, but I know how I feel when I’m with her. It’s like she scatters all the dark clouds and brings nothing but blinding sunshine. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve wanted to be with a girl for more than a few minutes unless it meant I was getting laid. I actually want to have a conversation with her, hear the smooth tone of her voice, know her thoughts, feel the sound of her laugh resonate through me.

I don’t know why the hell I can’t let this go
. This is the question I’m pondering as I’m driving my ass over to Cara’s house at the end of the day. I know this is probably the wrong thing to do but I just don’t care. For whatever reason, I need this piece of my life to be okay. I need
us
to be okay.

I pull into her driveway with a new resolve, stride up to her door, and ring the bell. The anger in her eyes and the fact that she sucks in and exhales a long breath when she opens the door tells me she isn’t exactly happy to see me. Well, no surprise there.

“Hey, I’m sorry to come by like this but I can’t leave things the way they are,” I expel the words, ridding them from my body as quickly as possible.

She doesn’t invite me in. Her hands go to her hips and she pierces me with her stare. “Ash … I can’t give you what you want, so I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with me.”

My nostrils flare, my neck cords tight with anger. “What the hell does that mean? I told you I just want to get to know you … that’s it.”
Fuck!
I’m sure I sound real convincing. I know she’s seen how I “get to know” girls, but what she doesn’t realize is that she’s different.

She leans her hand on the doorframe to steady herself. “Maybe I don’t want you to know me, Ash. Did that ever occur to you?”

I pace the front porch, trying to gather some coherent thoughts together before I explode. “Listen, Cara. I don’t even know how to explain this without sounding like a complete stalker lunatic, but … I feel drawn to you … and … I-I honestly can’t explain it. I miss your friendship … I just … need to know you.”

She pulls her hand off the door and steps back, her eyes like shards of ice. A chill runs through me. “What do you want to know? Huh? Do you want to know about my ugly childhood? My drunk mother? The desperate things I did to get attention? Do you want me naked and in your bed? What’s it gonna be? What can I do so that you’ll leave me alone?!”

She’s about to slam the door but I grab her by the wrist. “Wait, Cara.” I’m spinning out of control. Desperation fuels me. “Don’t you feel it, Cara? Don’t you feel the pull between us?”

Her eyes grow dark, a storm of tears threatening to fall. “I don’t feel anything, Ash. Now let go of me.”

And so I do.

When the door closes, I sink down to the ground, squeeze my eyes shut and bang my head against the door. Then I hear something. Cara’s on the other side of the door, and she’s crying.

The next day I wake up feeling like shit. My head hurts and a bout of nausea is churning in the pit of my stomach. I made Cara cry yesterday. What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m becoming a stalker and for me, this is a bit extreme. I try to sit up but lay back down quickly. It feels like I’m running down a dark hallway with no escape. I can’t find the light but need it so desperately.

I hang my legs over the edge of the bed and rub the sleep out of my eyes. Once I can focus, I spot the Robert Frost book on my desk … and groan.

Even taking a shower this morning seems like a huge effort. I soap myself up haphazardly and step out, wrap a towel around my waist and stand in front of the mirror. Dark circles line my eyes. What am I doing? Since when have I ever chased after a friendship … and with a girl no less?
Because she understands
. I grunt and walk back out into the bedroom, towel-dry my hair and toss some gel in it, throw on my sneakers, black t-shirt and faded blues and stumble downstairs. The kitchen is dark and the digital clock on the microwave reads 7:30. I didn’t realize I was that early, or that anxious.

When I reach the campus parking lot, it’s pretty quiet, the silence broken only by the circular whizzing motion of sprinklers and the lawn mower driven by one of the maintenance employees. On the green, the flowers that sit among the four benches outside of the campus bookstore are being weeded. It’s actually very peaceful this time of day.

I navigate through the campus green and over to the library, push the doors open and scan the room for any sign of Cara. Luckily it’s early and she hasn’t arrived yet. I take the Robert Frost book out of my backpack and place it on the counter with a note that says, “
I’m sorry. Ash
”

I’m almost to my car at the end of the day when I hear a melodic voice behind me. I recognize immediately who it belongs to and my feet come to a screeching halt.

“Hey,” Cara says, her eyes dim as she holds the Robert Frost book tight to her chest. Her dress is wrinkled and her hair’s a careless mess of curls.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so disheveled and it makes me want to take care of her.

“Hi,” I reply, pushing a hand into my back pocket, grateful that she’s approached me on her own.

She twists a lock of hair around her finger. “Thank you for the book … and … I want to apologize for yesterday. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Well, you should be,” I respond with playful sarcasm, a lame attempt at lifting her spirits.

She purses her lips, trying hard not to smile, but I just don’t think she has it in her to stay mad.

I take a step forward and she takes one back. I offer my hand. “So, can we be friends again?”

A smile cracks the corner of her lips. She reaches out and shakes my hand. “Okay … friends.”

The feel of her hand in mine causes every muscle in my body to relax, like I’m finally seeing my first sunrise after several days of darkness.

She spins around to leave. “I’ll see you around, friend.”

“Cara … wait!” The feeling quickly dissipates when she pulls her hand away, leaving me feeling depleted once again.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I wanted to find out if you wanted to … go … get some gooey pizza with me?”

A broad grin pops out of her shapely mouth.

“Hey, now there’s that smile I’ve been missing.”

It disappears as fast as it arrived. “I don’t know, Ash; I should get home.”

“Oh, come on, you said yourself the pizza sounded delicious.” I hone in on her with persuasive hazel eyes and say a few silent prayers.

“Um, okay. I guess I’m kind of hungry.”

Prayers answered. “Great.”

“This is a nice car,” she remarks as I walk around to open the door for her and my intentions are immediately cut off. She waves her hand in the direction of the driver’s side. “I’ve got the door, Ash.”

I shake my head, exasperated, before I continue to her side. “I’m opening the damn door for you, Cara. Deal with it.”

That shuts her stubborn ass up for a second.

“Anything you want to hear on the radio? What kind of music do you like?”

“I like a lot of alternative rock.” She crosses her legs while her fingers play with her loose curls.

I breathe a quiet sigh. I really did miss that. Inhaling deeply, I catch her scent in the air and let it whisk through me. It’s not the overpowering smell that I’m used to, like heavy perfume, but a fresh one, like strawberry body wash misted with spring rain. It’s starting to smell like heaven in here. A burst of sun from the roof casts a beautiful light on her face and hair. “You know, your hair is a really pretty color.”

She giggles softly. “Thanks. It’s funny, though, because when I was young I always wished I had blonde hair. My friend, Crystal, did and I always loved the way it looked when the sunlight hit it. I actually dyed it once, but it looked pretty awful.”

I cringe. “Blonde? God, no. Your hair is perfect.”

Her cheeks pink.

I’m starting to notice how much she blushes and it’s pretty darn sweet.

When we get to Divenza’s Pizza, I walk over and open the door for her. I’m a gentleman, after all.

“You know,” she muses, “you really don’t have to do that. I can open my own door.”

I take her hand to help her out. “God, woman … you’re stubborn. I know you can, but I just want to.
Okay
?”

“
Okay
,” she says with a grin.

We find a booth in the corner and I usher her in. She slides across the worn leather of the seat and I move in beside her. “So, what kind of pizza do you like?”

“Gooey, scrumptious pizza.” She laughs as the words leave her mouth.

“I’m glad you’re having a good chuckle at my expense, because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who told me it was a good poem.”

“Well, it was a good poem,” she jokes. “It was short and sweet.”

“I’m not sure Professor Travinski thought so, but I’m glad it’s over.” I wipe my hand across my brow. “I was sweating bullets having to read that thing.”

She bites back a snort and smiles. “Ash, it was like seven words.”