I spend a lot of time alone. Let me rephrase that. I spend a lot of the time that I have to myself alone. Between school and working to pay for school, I don’t have a lot of time to invest in friendships. Relationships are purely out of the picture. I’ve tried, believe me. I’ve handed out my phone number, only to discover that every time the wonderful sweet boyish voice would resound in the receiver of my phone, asking me out that Saturday, that on that specific Saturday I would be working. He’d call again and again, and the same scenario would be repeated, until finally I would schedule one weekend completely clear of anything at all, expecting a call, expecting to finally go on that date I’ve wanted to go on so badly but couldn’t. What usually happens at this point is that I don’t receive a call. See, there’s only so many times in your life you can say “Sorry, I’m busy” before your pursuer ceases to pursue you any longer. It’s rather depressing, but it’s life, and I live.
So, I spend a lot of time alone. I go to book stores and move from section to section, taking in the smells of the books and the feeling I have knowing that I’m in a place where there are a thousand truths at my disposal. I go to coffee shops and listen to the whir of the espresso machine, and the low chatter of the customers.
I go to parks and soak up the sunshine and markets where there are colors, and sounds, and every taste you could ever want to cross your lips.
I go to resale shops, or antique shops. I find strands of pearls and imagine who wore them long ago. Whoever it is, she’s probably dead, or very old, but once she was young. I imagine her out on the town on the arm of a sailor, dancing the night away. I imagine that once the pearls may have been the only thing left that she wore as her and her sailor made love deep into the night before he shipped off to war.
I let the hundreds of stories and scenarios sink into my mind.
See, I live in this secret world of colors and thoughts and sights and sounds. My world is sensory, and imaginative, and nothing and no one can disturb that or take it away from me. Unlike anything else in the world, my thoughts are my very own, and no one except God Himself can hear them. So I dance my way through the rain, in a rain coat and galoshes, with a big black umbrella as I run to class. I imagine running full force into a man in a black trench coat, and piercing eyes. I feel my cheeks flash scarlet as I think of it. I think of how he picks up my bags for me, and holds open the door. I thank him, and run up the stairs so I’m not late for class. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, if I’m running away from my one true love, or if fate would have it, we may meet again in some unexpected way. See, there’s just something so romantic about the rain.
So call me crazy, but my world consists of dreams and stories and plots all circulating and needing to be created. So I create them. Alone, in the book store, in the coffee shops, in the antique stores, or in my own room, I make them mine.
I formulate them, and dream of the day when I can share my secret world with someone else, someone tall and dark in a black trench coat, piercing into me with his brilliant eyes, and his knowing grin.
I’m not telling you this absolutely mortifying confession for nothing though. I’m telling you so that you’ll better understand the way my heart stopped when he walked into my life.
The thing that was so funny was that my day started out completely ordinary. I had not even an inkling of a notion of the uncanny and life defining event that was about to crash through the walls of my heart. I woke up with my alarm, looked at the time, and tried to remember what day it was. It was Thursday. I had a class. I rolled out of bed, and hopped in the shower, just like I do every single Thursday when I have class. I dressed and dried my hair, packed my books, and took a cup of coffee to go. Nat “King” Cole was wailing out Paper Moon on the Jazz radio station that my little college ran. I barely noticed, and I pushed my petal to the gas and sped off to school. I walked up the same 22 steps, and turned down the same corner with kids waiting in the halls for professors to unlock the doors to their classrooms. I hurried my steps so I wouldn’t be late.
I turned into the harshly lit and particularly cold classroom and plopped down in the 2nd row from the wall, 4th chair from the front row.
I reached down to pull out my book. A foot dressed in a black shoe stepped next to my book bag. I paused, and looked up.
It was like a scene from an old movie. I had to blink a few times to focus. His hair was dark and looked as though it would be soft to the touch. It invited my fingers to run themselves through it, to feel its texture and its warmth. His eyes glowed with a piercing darkness. They glimmered as they moved down to glance at me. A smug smirk spread across his beautiful face. He sat at the desk in front of me, wearing jeans and dark blue collared shirt. He smelled of fresh soap and warm sheets. The kind you hurry to climb into after you throw them in the dryer. He turned around, and in a low but soothing voice asked, “Did the professor assign a reading this week?” I blinked twice and shook my head. I knew the minute I did it that this was the wrong answer. I stopped, trying to figure out what to say. The expression on my face must have been priceless, because the smug smirk snuck its way onto his face again. “Wait. Yes. He assigned Hemmingway…do you know Hemmingway?” It was the worst question I could’ve asked, but I did it anyway. He raised a brow “Yes…I know Hemmingway…do you?”
Did I know Hemmingway? Did I know Hemmingway? Was he even aware of whom he was speaking with? I nodded “Yes. I know Hemmingway. I’m…I’m majoring in English!” I blurted out, trying to prove my knowledge of Earnest Hemmingway. He chuckled. “Well, Miss English Major, it’s nice to meet you. Do you have a name?” I swallowed hard. “Sophia Descartes”. Again, the soft chuckle, “Nice to meet you Sophia, I’m Jack” I felt warmth spread generously across my face. It was the tell all blush that no one could stop. I tried to save myself with a smile. “Hi Jack, it’s nice to meet you, too”.
And that was that. From that day forward, I was intoxicated with Jack Branston.
For the next two weeks, I sat in class and stared at the back of his head. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he’d walk into class; turn and smile at me, then sit down in the seat directly in front of me. He never changed or faltered. His movements were always fluid. He seemed swift, and gentle. His presence filled the entire classroom. I felt crowded in his scent, but I loved every second of it, and longed unendingly for the 8am Literature course I had once deemed juvenile and longed for deeper material. Sometimes, Jack would turn around and ask me a question having to do with class. “Do you have an extra pencil?” he asked me once. His dark brown eyes were dancing in the synthetic lighting of the chilly classroom. I’d nodded enthusiastically, and then dove into my bag for that day saving extra pencil.
I nearly came out of my seat in the mornings where he’d pass the attendance sheet back to me, and smile crookedly out of his beautiful flesh colored mouth.
I’d feel the blood rush to my face as his eyes pierced deeply into mine, reading my every thought, knowing my entire world. I was transfixed, and sometimes would have to sit for a few seconds before being able to steady my hand enough to sign next to my name signifying that I was in attendance. The irony of my almost perfect attendance was that to this day, I cannot recall any of the material, but can tell you the exact color of Jack’s hair, and the way the muscles in the back of his neck looked. If our tests included what color sweater was Jack wearing on October 21st, or what hand he wrote with (it was his left), then I would surely have done much better in that introduction to literature class than I had.
See, if I were to tell you that every Tuesday and Thursday was the highlight of my week, then I would not be lying, but it was on one specific Thursday that my whole world ceased to move in one forward direction, and suddenly became an explosion of particles all floating amongst each other in the big beautiful earth. The day was revolutionary, it was tear jerking, and it set my life on fire.
That particular Thursday was one that I had missed my alarm. I woke up 30 minutes later than usual, and almost died of a panic attack while trying to get ready for class. The battle within me was raging. First I would think I’d just throw on an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. No need to worry about make-up. I hardly wore any in the first place. Then I’d stop dead in my tracks in the realization that I would see Jack, and if Jack saw me in a pair of old smelly jeans, he’d never in a million year, in all of his perfection and fluidity start to see me as his equal…or equal enough to be more than just the girl who sits behind him in his Intro to Lit class, anyway. I’d start to rifle through my closet, and then realize I’d be late if I really took the time to prim and pick at my appearance. In the end, I threw on a pair of not-too-old blue jeans, and a long sleeved t-shirt. It was good enough.
I rushed out the door, the bitter cold biting at my cheeks. I found myself desperately wishing I would’ve woken up in time to start my car before getting into it. I clutched the steering wheel, only to find that the leather on it was just as cold as the air outside, possibly even colder. I pulled a pair of gloves out of my bag.
I’m surprised I managed to get all the way to school without being stopped by the police, because I’m positive the slowest I went was at least 15 over the legal posted speed limit. I pulled into the parking lot, swung into the closest spot I could find, and flew out of my car. I flung open the double doors, and ran up the 22 steps. The snow had just started to fall, and little pieces of snowflakes were clinging to my hair. I turned the corner sharply, and hit something…or someone. I sucked in a heavy breath of air as I looked up to find that the something or someone I had just ran full-force, head on into, was indeed the man of my every dream – Jack.
Now I know it was predictable. You saw it coming. You knew the entire time I’d run into Jack at some point. Still, you must understand, it was unlike Jack to do anything that differed from what an old black and white movie would’ve have looked like. He was dressed demurely, again with the piercing dark eyes. He steadied my shoulders as I uneasily backed away from him. “I’m so sorry!” I began to scramble for words to express how absolutely mortified I was. He chuckled under his beautiful sweet smelling breath. “Sophia” he said my name…he knew my name. It sounded wonderful coming from him. How could it not? “Stop. It’s ok. I was actually looking for you. You aren’t usually late for class” I looked up at the time. 30 minutes late. In an hour long class, it was almost not worth going. Apparently, I looked nervous. Again, that oh so convincing chuckle broke from his smirking face. “Let’s ditch”
Ditch? With Jack? Jack wants me to ditch with him? No. It couldn’t be. What he meant was, we can both ditch, and you can go your way, and I’ll go mine and I’ll see you again on Tuesday. “D…ditch?” I said, probably sounding very much like an idiot.
His eyes shone brilliantly. “Yeah, you and me. We’ll ditch and get a cup of coffee or something”
My mind was running at a million miles a minute. Oh, if only I had time to do my hair. It was wind-whipped and curling in every direction. Coffee with Jack on a day when I had to throw on a semi-old pair of jeans was not my ideal picture of what my first out of class experience would’ve been. I could take it or leave it, though, and I would’ve been crazy to leave it.
I looked once over my shoulder, spotting the dim light flowing from the class room we should’ve been sitting in, him in front of me, me behind him soaking in his awe-provoking beauty. I realized then that his hands were still resting on my shoulders, where he had placed them to steady me after our collision. I blushed bright red. I knew in that moment he knew everything. I had to say yes. There was no chance at cat and mouse, now. There was no hard to get, no come hither expression, while walking the other way. It was impossible. I was no Grace Kelly, and definitely no Audrey Hepburn. “Sure. Why not?” I said, amazed at the nonchellance. His smile brimmed. He knew in an instant what had happened in my heart. He threw out the bait with accuracy and ease, and me, being innocent and willing, took the bite. He felt the pull, and reeled in. He reeled me all the way to the campus coffee shop, and watched as his prize came gently to the surface as we sat by the fire, which was just a little too hot and sipped at our coffees, staring into each other’s eyes.
Jack was exactly as I thought he’d be. He was debonair, and never flawed in his speech. Someone should have warned him though, because once you open the latch, you can’t close it again, and I just rambled on and on. He sat across from me, and smiled gently to himself. I’d stop every now and then and apologize. “I’m sorry Jack, this all probably bores you to death” his face would curl into a lovely grin and shake his head “Not at all. I love hearing you speak.”
I felt my face light up as he said those words, and kept on.
It’s magical, that first moment where two people find out more about each other than their names. When the “Nice to meet you” comes to life, and you realize how truly nice, or even beyond just simply “nice” it was to meet the other person, because that other person is beginning to define your entire existence.
Your purpose behind waking each morning centers on the fact that your life, for the first time ever, is in fact better than your dreams.
So as we two people, Sophia Descartes and Jack Branston sat across from each other on that tell-tale morning that we should’ve have been sitting in class, all the wonderful notions and thoughts that come after “Nice to meet you” stopped being thoughts, and started being real.
Just like in the classroom, Jack filled the entire coffee shop with his smile, and his wonderful way about charming everything that falls in line with his stride.
My whole life I’ve been afraid of the moment I’d meet the man who’d finally match up with my dreams. I’ve been afraid of the day we’d stop being acquaintances and start to move up a rung on the ladder of life and relationships. More so than all these things, I was petrified of the day when I’d find out exactly how this man felt about me.
See, as much as dreams are lofty and wonderful, and always seem to pan out perfectly, real life doesn’t always work that way. I’m sure many a girl has met many a Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, and has been rejected, or walked right past them.
Sitting there, in that coffee shop with Jack may have been enough evidence of his approval for most other girls, but I guess I’d call myself a bit of a skeptic, and I, as the great philosophers have once said, will doubt until I can doubt no more.
The thing was though, that with Jack, there wasn’t much doubting to be done.
After about an hour of my chatting constantly, trying to fill every second with liveliness (Somehow, this makes me feel better), I had finally hit a wall. My voice was growing hoarse, and the somewhat safe topics I had brought up were beginning to exhaust themselves. I looked down into my coffee, and glanced up. I found Jack starring at me, deeply and intensely. I blushed again, the inevitable, and looked down in the swirling light brown of my regular coffee with cream and sugar I bought every day in this very coffee shop. I peeped up again to find him still looking at me. I held his gaze. I couldn’t really help myself. His eyes invited mine to drown themselves in his, to allow myself to be consumed in their deep sense of knowing. Looking into Jacks eyes was like looking into an ocean of mysticism, and Jack was the vessel waiting to carry me off into the sunset. Jack was everything. I felt myself begin to melt against his gaze. Finally, he spoke.
“Sophia, I really like you”
What? He what? He what’s me? Did he say…no…I can’t say it…I might jinx it…
“And I don’t want to rush things, but I’d really love to get to know you”
Know? Who? Me? I looked around, trying to see if there was another Sophia in the room. He stared straight at me, barring into me with his gaze.
I locked my jaw to keep it from falling open. I said nothing, afraid of the whimpers that would escape if I did. If uneasiness was an emotion possible for Jack’s face to express, that would’ve been the expression he wore at this moment.
“So…I wanted to know if you’d go to dinner with me on Saturday.”
It took me a few seconds. I had to recover from the rush of impossibility that had just been directed at me. I thought about pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but concluded that if I was dreaming, then this would be a dream I would not want to wake up from. His brow furrowed at my silence. Finally, I broke.
“Yes! I’d love to! I mean. That would be nice. Yes. Very nice”
His expression of trouble quickly disappeared. “Good. Then I’ll come and get you at 7?”
I swallowed hard. This was not a dream. This was real. “Yes. 7”
I spent all day on Saturday checking the clock. I woke up at 9AM, which was a tad earlier than I had hoped I would wake up, and checked the clock every three minutes after that. It was the longest day in the history of all days.
Five o clock started to creep up on me, finally after hours of agony, and I figured I should shower and start to get ready for the event in which I was sure would change my whole world. I took extra care, and washed every crevice of my body. I washed my hair twice, using the nice conditioner so that the aroma would lift off my particles of hair and send him into a tizzy of ecstasy the way the scent of a woman’s hair often does to men. I stepped lightly out of the shower, and I examined myself.
I was not too skinny. I was also not skinny enough. I was in between. There were parts about me that I loved. I loved my legs. I loved my hair. I loved my eyes. The rest, it was all under speculation still and I needed some time to get used to them.
Satisfied that I was thoroughly clean, I began to pull out the outfit that I had spent all day trying to decide upon. Even after spending a good 8 hours of that day, and a good chunk of the rest of my Thursday and Friday thinking about it, I still made a few minor changes.
Make up, hair, it all came on until I was absolutely satisfied that I could look no better.
I put on a dainty gold chained necklace, with a soft pink fresh water pearl dangling at the end. It held the sheer expression of femininity, and was exactly what I needed to complete my outfit. After fussing over myself for what seemed like actually an extremely short time, I looked at the clock and found that it was already quarter till six.
I situated myself comfortably – yet uneasily on the sofa in our front room, and picked up my favorite copy of the Great Gatsby. It was worn, with pages torn here and there, and scribbling all over the side. I am the type of person who can never get rid of a book. Each holds sentimental value, and I cannot bring myself to discard them in any way, shape, or form. All this being said, the Great Gatsby held specific importance to me, and I always kept it handy and accessible.
I heard gravel crunch outside, and looked. A black Toyota Camry was parked in the drive, still running, and a tall man with dark hair was climbing out, looking as if he just stepped straight out of a romance novel. I gasped. It was Jack. “Ok.” I told myself “Don’t rush. Wait for him to ring the bell”
Jack waltzed up the front walk way, and pivoted onto the porch. He rung the bell, and I waited a few seconds before opening the door. I grabbed a jacket, and greeted him.
“Hi Jack. How are you?”
He smiled, cunningly. “I’m well, how are you”
Well. He’s well. Oh Jack, could I be anymore in love with you; you and your impeccable grammar? You are heaven, and must be preserved in your own right. Well. You are well. Well is incomparable to good. So well, that is you, you are well.
I chuckled a little at my thoughts. “Well, I’m well, also!”
I said enthusiastically. What I wanted to say was, “Me? How am I? I am fantastic! I am great! In fact, this is the best day of my entire existence, and the reasoning behind this is you! So how am I? I’M FABULOUS!”
I thought that would be a bit too forward, so I settled with well.
He offered his elbow – his elbow, as if he were Mr. Darcy or something. I took it, obligingly, and we gracefully floated to his car, where he opened the passenger side door for me to get in. Soon, he was sitting beside me, looking perfect as heck. I wondered to myself if he always looked that way, or if his perfection was something he worked hard to attain? It looked so natural – I couldn’t decide.
Jack Branston took my hand that night and led me into a starry abyss. He brought me into the clouds and coming back out wasn’t really an option.
As we sat in a dark theater, holding hands, not paying any attention to the movie but rather would move the other would make, it seemed like the whole world was turned upside down and shaken around. I couldn’t see a thing, but I didn’t care. I was in a blizzard, but it was such a lovely one that seeing past the blizzard was something I dreaded.
I stared into the moving picture, and felt a tickle at my ear.
“You’re beautiful” Jack whispered to me. There it was again. The tell tale blush crept onto my cheeks. I peeked slyly at him out of the corner of my eyes and looked down at our hands. His flesh touching mine sent shivers down my spine when our physical beings first encountered each other, and it didn’t stop. His fingers were laced between mine, and it was so flawless that I couldn’t even tell anymore which fingers were mine and which were his. I had lost all feeling except for the feeling of absolute reverie.
The next thing I knew, he was walking me to my door. I looked down at my feet as we walked. The purple shoes I had dawned were brand new and shining with the unspoken fervor of life – new life. They pinched at my toes, and I could feel the blisters that had formed hours ago on my heels and toes. I knew very well what my feet would look like when I took them off, but for now they were pretty – they were beyond pretty, they were gorgeous. They were so beautiful they could be compared to Cinderella’s glass slipper.
Jack’s hand touched my arm. Our bodies were closer now. “Sophia, I had a wonderful time with you tonight” I smiled, as cunning and sweet as I could muster “I did too, Jack. Thank you for a wonderful evening”
The beautiful half smile brimmed on his face, as if he were saying to the world that he, Jack Branston, was so inexplicably wonderful and whole that putting effort into a full blown smile was too beyond him. I looked into his beautiful dark and shining eyes. I felt myself begin to melt. I knew the second that his eyes met mine, that my heart would be fixed upon those eyes for the rest of my life. It was clear that those beautiful eyes would forever be watching me. I looked down to recover from the intense wave of emotion that had splashed over me, but with the gentlest curve of his pointer finger, he lifted my chin up, level with his, and starred down deeply into my eyes. I could feel the notions of my heart pour out into his hands, and every inkling of a dream I ever had became his and only his. I was transfixed, intoxicated in his gaze, his simple gaze, and if that weren’t enough, his face began to draw mine nearer to his. His eyes searched mine with intensity I’d never know, and just as the perfection of the moment had peaked, he kissed me.
And my whole world tumbled around me.
Everything I was once was, everything I could ever be was suddenly nothing, and the one thing I became was Jack’s lips, and Jack’s eyes, and Jack’s arms wrapping around my malleable body. I didn’t even want anything else. Then, Jack let go. Our lips parted, and he stared, once again, deeply into my eyes. He knew. Jack knew it all. His mouth molded into that cunning little half smile he donned so often, and which I was becoming so fond of, kissed my forehead, and whispered in my ear, “Goodnight, Sophia”
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