Beware of Love in Technicolor Read online

  I was in a good mood. I was going shopping. I was skinny. And I’d soon be getting out of this god-forsaken town for two whole days.

  “Where on earth did you get The Phoenix?” A voice suddenly broke my train of thought, and I noticed John had taken a seat next to me on the bench.

  He was wearing another concert t-shirt, David Bowie this time, and the same black jeans and Docs. No jewelry, though. For the first time, I noticed his eyes were a slate blue, and his hair was ashy blond. It hung in his face in loose curls, though it was shorter and straighter in the back. His features were large: large nose, full lips, and strong jaw. He was very tall. He looked like a Greek statue. Not cute, but there was something pleasing in his appearance.

  “You can have it,” I said, handing him the folded newspaper. “I’m done with it.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked me.

  “The mall.”

  “Me too.”

  I nodded and checked my watch.

  “So, did Alex get drunk that night?” I asked, though I really didn’t care if Alex had found Jesus that first night more than two weeks ago. It was something to say.

  “Nah, I dunno. Ben and his vapid chippies all ditched me after the show.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he smiled. “But I should ask where you disappeared to that night.”

  “I ditched those vapid chippies after the show,” I smiled. It was nice to talk with someone, anyone, even a near stranger at the bus stop.

  “How is that roommate of yours?”

  “You mean Mollyanna Cowgirl?” I asked. It was the nickname I had come up with while attempting to describe my new roommate to Penny during my five minutes of hall phone time.

  He laughed and started to say something, but stopped as the bus pulled into the stop.

  “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked as we made our way down the center aisle.

  “Sure,” I replied, not wanting to seem anti-social. Truth was, I would have preferred to stare out the window. I had a feeling he was developing a crush on me, and I had decided upon first laying eyes on him that he was not at all my type.

  There is a very good chance that my horrible track record with boys up until that point in my life was also partially due to my incredibly picky standards and impossible to meet list of criteria. I once broke a date with a guy because I learned he bought a pair of shoes at Kmart.

  You see what I mean.

  John had good shoes. In those days, you couldn’t do better by me than a pair of black Doc Marten boots. He seemed clever, had good hair, a nice smile, and a solid knowledge of alternative music. He was just so damned big. He towered over me. He could have snapped me like a twig.

  I no longer hold that quality against men.

  I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make at least one friend here while I applied as a transfer student to colleges in Boston and New York City. It beat hanging out with Molly. So I relaxed a bit and actually enjoyed our twenty-minute conversation on the bus ride to the mall two towns over.

  Once there, we went our separate ways. In the forty-five minutes between the bus dropping us off, and the bus picking us up, I spent about $350 of my parent’s money on new jeans, new Docs, and for some reason I did not quite understand, lots of satiny new bikinis to replace my old cottons. The time at the mall left me feeling refreshed, like I had spent time with a long-lost friend.

  Back on the bus, John and I once again sat near enough to chat on the otherwise empty vehicle. He inquired as to my purchases, and nodded in approval at each of my selections. I kept the Victoria’s Secret bag to myself.

  When I turned the tables, he presented as couple of new CD’s and a small bag of black votive candles.

  “Satanic ritual coming up?” I asked with a grin.

  “You could say that,” he laughed. “Girlfriend visiting this weekend.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “You look surprised,” he taunted.

  “No, I just...,”

  “You thought I liked you, didn’t you?” He was grinning like the devil incarnate, and I thought back to Danny Keller. My face flushed as my hand itched to make a fist, but I relied on my sharp tongue rather than my right hook.

  “Please,” I told him,” you look smart enough not to waste your time.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  He let out a large appreciative laugh, which only served to make him more likable.

  “Is she still in high school?” I inquired, suddenly interested in him and this girlfriend of his.

  “Who?” he asked, momentarily distracted. He had gotten a glimpse of the pink and black Vickie’s bag at my feet.

  “Your girlfriend.”

  He brought himself back to the moment, and smiled.

  “More like an ex-girlfriend, really. No, she just started at UMass.”

  “If she is an ex, why is she visiting this weekend?”

  “It seems she can’t live without me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  And so we bantered back and forth, until we reached our stop on the edge of campus. It was just shy of six o’clock, and the sky was a blaze of orange and pink as the sun set behind the west end of town. Students were milling about in the usual manner. There was a line spilling out the door of the dining hall that served this particular area of dorms.

  We walked on past the health center, to where both our dorms were located. He lived in Holt, an ugly, eight story brick and cement structure that reached skyward in the shape of a “T.” The two short arms were an experiment in gender equality and early nineties political correctness; they were co-ed floors. The long stem of the “T” was more traditional; every floor served to house one particular gender of student. John was room 201, on “Second Long.”

  “You want to grab some dinner?” he asked me as we reached the point where he would turn right to Holt, and I would continue straight up the hill to Wyndham Hall.

  Finally, a dinner companion other than Molly. But my arms were full of bags, which I had to drop in my room first.

  “I’ll walk you up there, and we can drop off your stuff,” he offered, as if reading my mind. I agreed, and we kept walking.

  I remember the red and gold fallen leaves that lined the drive leading up the hill. I remember the long, low whistle of a passing train on the outskirts of town, and the clock tower chiming six. I remember the flicker of the streetlamps as they struggled to reach their full glow in the early autumn twilight, and the sweet, acrid smell from the university incinerator about a quarter mile away. But I don’t remember what we talked about.

  ***

  Unfortunately, in my need to drop my load of shopping bags in my room, Molly seized upon John and me, and we found ourselves a threesome at dinner.

  It was fish and chips night. I filled a bowl with Cap’n Crunch and found a table beside a window. We talked about music. Molly informed us that we just had to listen to Jimmy Buffet. We also talked about movies. There was some movie or another I was dying to see.

  Molly had gotten up for seconds on dinner. For a little girl, she sure could pack it away. Anyway, she was away from the table.

  “Why don’t we go see that movie on Thursday?” John suggested to me. “There’s a theater at the mall. We can take the bus.”

  I thought about it for a moment.

  “C’mon, it’s my birthday,” he prodded.

  “Your birthday is Thursday?” I asked.

  “Friday, really, but you’ll be away.”

  I agreed to go, and when Molly sat down at the table, I invited her to come along. I remember the looks on both their faces at that moment. Molly nearly hugged me. It was the first time she was asked to be included in something since the night we saw Pippin.

  John was not so thrilled. He shot me a look of surprise and disappointment. I had no idea why.

  “What?” I asked, not understanding.

  “I asked you on a date, and yo
u invited your roommate along!”

  “A date?” I asked incredulously. “Your girlfriend is coming here on Friday to spend the weekend with you.”

  “Ex-girlfriend,” he stated. “And so what? Why does that matter?”

  “It’s tacky.”

  “So, I’ll tell her not to come,” he offered.

  I paused, and thought for a moment. I figured he was bluffing, and I still was not sure how I felt about him. I didn’t want to look like an idiot if he was just kidding around. Besides, I did not intend to be there past Christmas, so I figured it was pointless to get a crush on someone now.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with mock authority. “The three of us will go to the movie like normal people. And Friday, you can disrespect your girlfriend any way you wish, as I will be blissfully gone from this one horse town.” I stood up with my tray, and both he and Molly followed suit.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” John stated again.

  As she was getting up, Molly asked John, “You have a girlfriend?”

  ***

  Despite the impression I may have given of myself thus far, I am actually a nice person. I’m just a little slow to warm up. So when Thursday rolled around, I told John to come to my room to pick us up before the movie.

  I knew he was approaching by the thud of his boots thundering down the empty, echoing hallway. I had left the door just barely open, so all he had to do was push on it to enter.

  “Happy birthday!” Molly and I called out in unison.

  I had gone to the local grocery store after my afternoon French class and bought a small birthday cake from the bakery. At Memories, I had picked out a funny, but not too personal, birthday card. Molly and I both signed it.

  “Wow!” John stated in amazement. He was genuinely surprised by the expression.

  We each had a piece of the chocolate cake, and then rushed to the bus stop to make the movie. On the way there, John turned to me, and quietly said, “Thanks.”

  “For what” I asked.

  “I know she had nothing to do with that, so thanks.”

  We went to the movie. We had fun. I don’t remember much, except that suddenly, Friday afternoon, and my mother’s Honda, seemed to come a lot faster than I expected.

  ***

  Friday night was spent having dinner with my family. My brother, Cooper, was a sophomore at a Catholic, all-boys high school.

  I’m pretty sure my mom made chicken pot pie and French fries. We all stayed up late at the kitchen table talking about anything from current events to latest books we were reading. I told them stories about the girls on my floor, including plenty where I imitated Molly’s accent and said things like “I’m gonna go git me a shower,” and “There’s pine straw all over these dang windowsills!”

  We probably all watched The Tonight Show together, my parents excusing themselves to bed after the monologue. And then my brother and I most likely found some crappy eighties movie like Meatballs or Midnight Madness on late night TV, and giggled together at the familiar, corny jokes into the am.

  People never really believe me when I tell them that our family was pretty free of excessive drama. It was a good way to grow up. I’d recommend it to anyone.

  ***

  Penny and I made the best of our day in Boston. At the Boutique Unique, on Newbury Street, I picked up a black, vintage men’s blazer, which was actually small enough to fit me without alterations. At Saks, I splurged on a pair of black leather cowboy boots.

  Maybe Molly and her Texas talk was rubbing off on me, but I think it was more about the way the pitch of the heels made me stand. My butt looked really good in my faded Levi’s. I’ve never been able to wear flat shoes since those boots.

  Penny and I may not have had much firsthand experience with boys, but both of us had been blessed with good genes, looks-wise, and were both late-bloomers. Together, we often passed as sisters, but only by people who were not looking closely enough. Both of us had each struggled with our weight, and now that we were both thin, we abandoned all baggy clothes so popular at the time, for the more form-fitting kind. But we were never trashy. We each had too much snob for that.

  Later that evening, sitting behind home plate at Fenway Park, Penny asked me if I really was planning on transferring schools. She wanted me closer to Boston so we could take the train to see each other on weekends. I guess she sensed what I did not. Our lives were moving quickly now, and if we lived them apart, things would change. Penny hated change. College was turning out to be no more fun for than for me.

  But I had a sense that, despite the applications to various big-city colleges sitting in my desk drawer back in The Pit, I needed to finish what I had started. And that meant sticking it out for at least a little while longer in that one horse town that was feeling more and more like home.

  ***

  I arrived back at Wyndham Hall that Sunday afternoon, around five-thirty. The floor was quiet. Most of the girls were at dinner, or at the library. Our door was wide open. Molly was sitting at her computer, writing a letter to her best friend back in Texas.

  It was a time before Facebook and Instagram and texting. I imagine it must be easier now, for college students. Home must not feel so far away anymore. But how do you cut the apron strings if the strings are virtual?

  I was antsy. I had spent an hour in the car, and wanted to go for a walk in my new boots. Molly wanted to finish her letter. I threw on a sweater, and left by myself. I climbed the steps to the second floor and into the chilly evening on the campus side of Wyndham.

  I walked without a destination. The darkness grew thicker. The paved cul-de-sac connecting the dorms of Area 1 was brightly lit by dozens of street lamps. The concept of date-rape was just starting to get attention and the university was installing street lamps in abundance in order to stay ahead of the headlines.

  “Hey, there’s a Winona for you!” I heard a loud female voice say as I approached the front of Holt Hall.

  “That’s the girl who gave me the Jetson’s pencil at orientation,” another voice said.

  When I heard this, I knew they were talking about me. In those days, I loved when people told me I reminded them of Winona Ryder. I don’t get that too much anymore.

  I didn’t know the girl, but I recognized the guy right away. His name was Christopher and we had met during the two days of orientation back in June. He was a fellow journalism major, and had sat next to me during some necessary form-filling session or another. His pencil tip had broken and he didn’t have a backup. When he asked if he could borrow one from me, all I had to offer was a pencil with a big, plastic, Elroy Jetson on the top. I could tell from the look of him that he wouldn’t mind.

  He was a skinny guy, with dark hair and the most amazing black eyelashes I’ve ever seen wasted on a boy. He was wearing a Smiths t-shirt and plaid shorts. It was impossible not to like him. He had a warmth that is hard to find, and reminded me of Duckie, from Pretty in Pink. I liked him right away.

  “Hi,” I said as I approached them. They were standing under the light of one of the lamps, awash in a fluorescent glow. “Chris, right?”

  “He wants you to call him Topher” now!” the girl said with obvious delight in making him squirm.

  Whatever his name now, he shot the girl, her name was Christina, a look and she shut up. I never saw them together again. But that night, I stood there with them making small talk about how things were going and which classes I was taking, and how bad the dining hall food was. When the momentum of the conversation began to dwindle, I started to prepare my exit strategy.

  That was when I noticed John’s silhouette, backlit by the excessive security lamps, approaching from across the street. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew from his height and the way his boots hit the ground that it was him.

  I pretended not to see him, but lingered in conversation for just a few moments longer, waiting for the right time to make myself noticeable. Turned out I didn’t have to wait.

  “John!”
Christina called out. He saw us and joined our group.

  “Did Abby leave already?” Christina asked him. I guessed that was his girlfriend’s name.

  “Just put her on the bus,” he answered.

  “She was cool,” Christina continued. “It’s too bad she doesn’t go here too, huh?”

  “Not really,” he answered flatly. He turned to me. “How was Boston?”

  “Great,” I answered. I stuck my right foot out to show off my new boots.

  “Nice boots.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled at him and noted the intense way he watched me move. Like he was studying me.

  Topher and Christina, sensing they had been shut out of the conversation, excused themselves, leaving John and me standing alone in the fluorescent bath. He was wearing his standard concert t-shirt, black jeans, and Docs. That night he also wore a beat up, black leather jacket.

  “Have you had dinner yet?” he asked me. He looked tired.

  I shook my head. “No. I just got back about twenty minutes ago.”

  “C’mon,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll buy you dinner in town.”

  ***

  He bought me a chicken sandwich at a little sandwich shop on Main Street. He had a steak and cheese, with onions. We shared the fries. We lingered at a booth near the window for nearly an hour and a half. When I asked him about Abby, he shook his head, and smiled a weary smile.

  “The weekend went well until about an hour before she had to leave,” he told me.