Innocence

by Lucy St. John

Chapter 12

  His name was Alec Keegan. His family hailed from Boston, originally. Some of his ancestors were on the Boston police force, way back when. His father moved into corporate security and worked for the Pittsburgh Steelers. Who knew pro football was so dangerous? But Alec told me about going with his dad to the secret security booth high up in the stadium. There, high-powered cameras could focus on anyone in the crowd. And Alec would watch them, all the fans. Getting drunk. Stuffing their faces. Cheering on multi-million-dollar athletes who sold their services to the highest bidder and had very little loyalty to any one team, much less the fans in any given city.

  Yet, all those Pittsburghers would pony up thousands of dollars for season tickets simply to cheer on their colored uniforms against the uniforms of other teams. Because that was the only thing that remained consistent. The players, the coaches – they were all interchangeable. Only the uniforms stayed the same. So people were rooting for laundry, but they invested so much of their little lives in it. A Steelers loss could ruin a guy’s whole week. And for what? For what?

  “There was a ‘Seinfeld’ episode about it,” Alec said, as we walked the quiet campus after having left the party that night. How could we stay? We couldn’t. Not after Alec, in all his wisdom, had exposed it for what it was – a sad parody and naive approximation of a party.

  “Didn’t see it,” I said. “I like the way you talk about it better, anyway. I like the way you talk about everything.”

  “You’re a looker, too,” he said, as we walked in the cool late August night that portended the approaching fall.

  The vast campus was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of music that would emanate from some of the dorms as we strolled. Half the student body had yet to arrive. I had no idea what a small city Old State would become once the semester was in full swing. On this night, it seemed like the entire, sprawling campus belonged to us.

  Me and Alec.

  “What are you studying?” I asked him.

  “Liberal Arts,” he answered. “It’s the only thing that’s not like training for some pathetic job that you’ll hate for the next forty years. It’s food for the mind. And the soul. It fosters independent thought and personal exploration. All the other stuff.” He shook his head. “It’s like going to a vo-tech to become an auto mechanic.”

  He turned to me. “What about you?”

  “Undeclared,” I said.

  He laughed, and I felt embarrassed.

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “But it’s so you. And that’s okay. You’re still gathering information. There’s nothing wrong with that. You require more input before reaching a conclusion. I’d rather that method, than jumping to a conclusion with no supporting data.”

  “So I’m not pathetic?” I asked, walking with my head down, fearing his answer. Fearing that he would turn his high-powered facilities for observation upon me – and find me wanting. Even worse, uninteresting.

  He stopped, turned to me, taking me by both arms.

  I faced him, lifting my eyes to his.

  “No way,” he said. “Never.”

  My heart pounded. I felt heat rising into my face. I didn’t want to blush like a little girl right in front of him. I lowered my chin. But he reached up and lifted it, my eyes returning to his.

  “I noticed you tonight,” he said. “Remember that. I noticed you. Not the other way around. I was invisible. You had some secret light shining down on you. I saw you watching when I was watching. I saw you looking, seeking, searching. It pulled me to you. We’re seekers, the both of us. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  And meant it.

  “I told you what I’m seeking,” he said. “But you never answered my question.”

  So much had passed between us in such a short and intense period of time, I had forgotten his original question. How stupid was I?

  I hoped my inner turmoil didn’t show on my face. I did not want to disappoint this man.

  The night breeze blew and a wisp of my hair feathered across my face. Alec reached up and used his gentle fingers to brush the hair from my eyes. We stared at each other a long moment. I felt a physical attraction to him. And I’m not just talking about his looks, either. It was like a magnetic force between us. It pulled me right in.

  Before I knew it, I was leaning my face toward his. My mouth, toward his. My parted lips, toward his.

  But just as we were about to kiss, Alec stopped me, holding me firmly around each bicep.

  “I find you interesting,” he said. “I’m flattered that you find me interesting. But if we were to kiss now, well…”

  His voice trailed off.

  “Well, what?” I said, annoyance and perhaps a little hurt creeping into my tone. My face felt hot. My insides were a knot of emotion. I knew my skin was blooming crimson, betraying my embarrassment at having attempted to kiss him.

  “It’s just that it would be us acting out a moment that nearly two decades of conventional cultural wisdom has drilled into us should happen,” he said, consternation twisting his features as he tried to explain as delicately as he could.

  “I mean, it would almost be a cliché,” he uttered.

  My eyes fell to the ground.

  “Great,” I grunted. “I’m a cliché.”

  “No,” he said. “See, no.”

  For the first time, the oh-so-smart and analytical Alec Keegan was tongue-tied. It was a small victory, but I would take it.

  “Then what?” I demanded, glancing up, my features sharp and agitated.

  Alec smiled defenselessly, then threw up his hands in surrender.

  “You know what? I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know. Isn’t that great?”

  His voice rang with astonishment, and I couldn’t help but feed from his enthusiasm.

  “Don’t you see?” he said.

  I shook my head, my once-kissable lips in a pout.

  “By resisting that moment, now we have a chance at something truly original,” he said, his hands squeezing my arms to underscore the import of our breakthrough. “That’s why I don’t know. It’s why you don’t know. No one does. It’s unwritten. Yet to be invented. And it is wholly uninfluenced and uncontaminated by our predictable popular culture.”

  “It is?” I asked in a small voice, lifting my questioning eyes to his enlivened ones.

  “Yes,” he said. “It most assuredly is.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “Why don’t we just walk and take in the night,” he answered, releasing my arms, but taking my hand in his.

  “A night like no other,” he said, striking out into our uncharted future, and dragging me along with him.

  But he didn’t have to. There was nowhere I’d rather go.

  Alec Keegan made each moment exciting, like never before.