by Kevin Lucia
I still have no idea what prompted me to ditch my best friends in the middle of a conversation to approach the most striking girl I'd ever seen. A stranger, to boot. Call it a rare moment of teenage bravery. Or, perhaps I sensed how different Michelle was; somehow knowing an honest and unpretentious approach wouldn't be rewarded with rejection.
Hell, call it Fate.
Maybe we were meant to encounter each other and both of us knew it. Whatever you want to call it, or however you want to label it, the normally shy basketball player who did all his talking on the court closed the distance between him and a striking girl in less than thirty steps.
Sensing my presence, she immediately shifted her gaze to meet mine and smiled softly. With little to-do, I stuck my hand out and said, “Hey. Kevin Ellison. Don't think I've seen you here before. You go to school around here, anywhere?”
I have no idea what prompted me to speak so boldly. It may seem strange, but though I taught high school English for ten years, I've never liked to talk much in social situations, especially to strangers. In the classroom I assumed a certain persona. I was “Mr. Ellison.” After ten years of teaching that persona carried weight, making it easy to play a role.
But in civilian life I have been and always will be merely “Kevin,” who is still that teenager scared to death of acting like an idiot. A guy who, deep down, remembers a stuttering problem that plagued him in first and second grade. A guy who is always afraid that, despite years of speech therapy, his stuttering will return at a moment's notice (You tell anyone about that, Cassie, and you’re fired).
Anyway, how did I speak to Michelle Titchner so easily? I think a lot of it had to do with the natural calm radiating from her. Something about the set of her shoulders. The relaxed way she held her beer. Her entire posture spoke of a laid back, easy-going individual.
I sensed she was merely passing time. Someone was speaking near her, but not to her. She seemed to be listening because she had nothing else better to do at the moment. In fact, to this day, I think that was the deciding factor. If at the last moment someone had asked her a direct question and she had responded with interest, I'm sure I would've veered off for the coolers to get another beer I didn't really want.
However, no one spoke directly to her. She appeared politely detached, merely observing the conversation rather than taking part in it, which made me feel much more relaxed.
She accepted my handshake with no pretense, her smile widening. Her smooth, soft skin held the faintest warmth. An icy thrill ran through me. I'm still surprised I didn't jump at her touch.
“Michelle Titchner. And no, I don't attend school around here. Not anymore, anyway. Just visiting for the summer.”
I raised my eyebrows. “College, then. Webb Community or Utica. Syracuse, Le Moyne?”
She offered me a cross between a wince and a smile. “Mmm, no. College wasn't for me. Sorta just hanging out right now.”
“I get it. Cool.” Which sounded like the lamest thing ever. Somehow I avoided wilting in terminal embarrassment and plunged ahead. “So. How'd you hear about Old Webb?”
She smiled, like she was enjoying a joke both of us were in on. “Well, c'mon. Everyone knows Old Webb. Common knowledge. I've been here before, just haven't been in a while.” Her smile faded, expression growing somber. “Besides. I heard the news. About what's happening in the fall.”
It was an unconscious thing, but somewhere in the middle of our blossoming conversation she'd left the group around the barrel fire and had meandered away aimlessly, me following. It suddenly occurred to me, here I was: Mr. Shy wandering off with perhaps the prettiest girl I'd ever known, and I wasn't terrified.
I grunted. “Yeah. County has finally decided to do her in. Knocking her down, bulldozing her under. I'm glad I'll be away at college. Kinda sucks. Would hate to be around when it happens.”
Away from the barrel fire, her face fell into shadow. Another good thing about meeting in the gymnasium - —at the back of the building - —we could bring in plenty of Coleman lanterns and no one would see us from the road. Still, there was no way to light up the whole gym, so pockets of shadows lingered here and there. We were wandering through one of those when the shadows brought out something I hadn't noticed before: her vibrant green eyes, which glowed with gentle warmth.
She gave me an amused smile, bright eyes wide. “That's interesting. You calling Old Webb ‘'her.’' Is it a she, you think? Why ‘'her’'?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. It's like a calling a ship or a plane or a car ‘'her,’' I guess. A gesture of...respect, maybe?” Again another lame answer, but all I could do was smile, slightly abashed, and shake my head. “I have no idea.”
She smiled back, offering a wink. “It's okay. I think you're right. Old Webb is a ‘'she.’' And yeah, I haven't been out here for a while but when I heard about how they were planning on tearing her down,” she glanced at me in emphasis, smiling wider, “I had to come. Figured I'd spend the summer here, seeing as it’'s...it’'s gonna be the last, I guess.”
“Ah. I see. So you're not here for the fine dining, beverages, and illuminating conversation? That, and of course,” I gestured at everyone either lounging in chairs and on wrestling mats, or clustered around lanterns and barrel fires, “all the excitement.”
There were many things she could've said to this, but she simply offered a small, pleased smile, one I'd get used to and cherish soon enough. “Oh, I don't know. Conversation's been illuminating so far.”
I managed to chuckle without gagging, glad we were wandering in the shadows, so she couldn't see the red I felt burning on my cheeks.
She took a sip of beer and, as if sensing my embarrassment, launched right back into our conversation, perhaps hoping to stave off an awkward silence. She tilted her head toward the front hall. “So. You ever explore the deep, dark recesses of Old Webb at night?”
I pantomimed a shudder not entirely feigned. “No thanks. I'd like to think I'm not a coward, but even with a flashlight or lantern, it's pitch black out there in those halls. Especially downstairs.”
She grinned. “C'mon. You mean to tell me a good-looking guy like you has never gone ‘'exploring’' Old Webb with...someone like me? A girl to impress, maybe?”
Amazingly enough the insinuation didn't embarrass me nearly as much as it normally would've. The idea actually made me laugh. “Nooo. No thanks. See, my friends and I used to wander the halls out there in the day - —it's dark enough in some places even then - —and though I'm pretty sure Old Webb's structurally sound, there's desks and chairs and all sorts of crap all over the place. Old wires hanging down from the ceiling and all. Groping with someone out in those halls at night? Not exactly my idea of romantic.”
She nodded; giving me a look of grudging respect. “All right. Fair enough. And you do seem the romantic type. Holding the door open, buying flowers and candy and Hallmark cards on three month anniversaries, laying jackets over puddles, the whole bit.”
I looked down, mostly to cover the red I felt must be painted all over my face, also feeling insanely pleased inside. “C'mon. How can you tell all that? You just met me. Known me a whole five minutes.”
By then we'd traveled across the entire gym to the doorway leading out into Old Webb's dark halls. She turned and leaned back against the wall, giving me the up and down, appraising me. “Five minutes is all I need. All anyone needs.”
“Really.”
“Sure. I've got this theory. If you're observant, pay attention and are a good listener, five minutes is all you need to figure someone out, enough time to tell whether someone's worth your effort. That's why everyone always says first impressions are so important, right?”
“Five minutes. Really. You size someone up and judge them in only five minutes.”
She held up a finger, oddly like a lecturing teacher. “Not judge. Evaluate is a better word. You pay attention to body language, mannerisms, speech, a person's aura...”
Here I smiled a little bit, trying
to be polite and not laugh. “Their aura.”
“Yep. How they carry themselves, right? If they're overly aggressive, too passive, stubborn, or kind.” She tilted her head and locked gazes with me, brilliant green eyes shining. “If you pay attention you can figure everything out in about five minutes.”
“Yeah, but why do people always say first impressions can be misleading?”
She arched her eyebrows. “People who say that don't pay good enough attention. For example, let's pay attention to you.”
I blinked, embarrassed but still, crazily enough, pleased. “Me?”
She nodded, smiling her smile again. “Sure. I had you pegged in five minutes. First of all, you're not as shy as you obviously think you are.”
I opened my mouth - —a bit like a fish freshly hauled ashore, I'm afraid - —coughed slightly, then managed, “How...how do you know I'm...”
She grinned, her green eyes dancing. “Because. It's in your eyes. This whole time, you've had this slightly glazed ‘'holy shit I'm talking to this girl’' look in your eyes, and yet...check it out.” She waved at me. “Here you are chatting me up, chilling out, not trying any corny come-on lines, totally relaxed. I think you perceive yourself as being shy and withdrawn, which is why you don't talk to girls much. But here you are. Talking to a girl. Interested enough to ditch your friends, whom I'm guessing are your best friends, too.”
My scalp tingled slightly. This was amazing, bordering on spooky. “How do you know they're my best friends?”
She shrugged. “You looked relaxed when you were hanging with them. Could tell by your body language. Completely at ease, no pretension. You feel accepted by them, and you don't feel like you've got anything to prove. Plus, they let you alone when you came over to me. Only real friends would do that. Bunch of macho assholes would've been cat-calling you by now, giving you a hard time. But they're best friends, so they're letting you be. For now. Tomorrow they'll rag your ass. Because best friends save that stuff for private.”
I crossed my arms, more intrigued than embarrassed. “Wow. All in five minutes, huh? And...you were watching me? The whole time before I came over?”
She smiled gently, sipped from her beer, swallowed, and said, “Maybe.”
I opened my mouth - —doing the fish-thing again - —but she quickly added, “Also, you pay attention to people. You're interested in what they have to say. Even though you came over to chat up a girl you found attractive...”
I snorted, amused (and amazed) at her boldness. “Right. Because you're so hot and all.”
She shrugged again. “It is what it is. Anyway...”
I couldn't help but laugh at her bald-faced confidence. Thankfully, she responded with a chuckle of her own as she continued. “Anyway. This whole time you've looked me straight in the eyes while we talked.” She tapped two fingers under her eyes. “Your focus has been right here. Says a lot about a person.”
“Not really. I mean...you've got really pretty eyes.”
Holy shit.
Did I really just say that?
But it must've been the right thing to say, because she acted a bit taken aback by it. “You think so?”
“Well, yeah. Your eyes are this really bright...green I've never seen before. I mean, maybe I'm not such a great guy all focused on people and what they have to say. Maybe I just think your eyes are really pretty.”
Again: Holy. Shit.
Seriously?
She smiled, holding up her finger like a teacher gently catching a student at an important point. “But see, of everything you could've been staring at, of all the things you could've found attractive...”
“Because there's so much,” I offered, amazed now at my daring, which was growing in leaps and bounds by the minute, “because you're so hot and all.”
She smiled and tilted her head, as if reluctantly conceding the point of her hotness. “Anyway, you're attracted by my eyes. Not my body, like a macho asshole would've been. You were drawn to my eyes.”
A sensation I'd never before known took hold of me. I sipped my beer, took a step closer - —noting she didn't cringe away, just looked up at me, chin tilted upward slightly - —and I managed to say without the slightest hitch, “They say eyes are the windows to the soul. Maybe you've got a really pretty soul.”
A slow grin spread. “Now that, my friend, is a line. But it's a damn good one.”
In an instant my panache dissolved. “Good thing, because I've used up my repertoire for talking to pretty girls. Got nothing left, I'm afraid.”
She did something, then, which sent a jolt through me more powerful than anything I'd ever felt before. She smiled and lightly placed her hand on my chest. “And see, you're honest. You're completely willing to admit my hotness has got you tongue-tied...”
I laughed again.
“...and instead of covering with macho bullshit, you admit it. That's honest, and refreshing.”
I smirked a little. “Too bad I'm not as modest as you.”
She laughed, eyes glinting as she removed her hand from my chest and ran it through long, black hair I desperately wanted to touch. “And you can poke fun without being a dick. A precious commodity, trust me.” She shrugged. “See? Five minutes.”
“No way. I haven't been timing it or anything, but that had to have taken at least seven minutes. Maybe eight.”
She shrugged again. “Give or take. But who's counting?”
I sipped from my beer and swallowed. “Not me. I'm a book guy. And writing. I avoid numbers and counting whenever possible.”
“And see? You're funny, too.”
“Only by accident, trust me.”
She offered me possibly the sweetest, purest white-toothed smile I'd ever seen, before or since. “But that's when a person is funniest.”
After several more minutes of banter, it couldn't be avoided any longer: the awkward lull in the conversation when both people have run out of things to say. I found myself leaning toward her, staring into her bright green eyes, also noticing her bright red lips, which, though still smiling, were also damp and glistening, and parted slightly.
All the signs screamed kiss her.
But I didn't.
After all these years, I remain convinced not kissing her was the best choice I could've made. It was a test, I believe, though I have no way of knowing for sure, nor exactly what it was a test of.
I stumbled back from that particular precipice the first night I met Michelle Titchner. I coughed slightly, stepped away and sipped from my beer before saying, “So. I've already used up all my wittiest quips. What do you like to do? I mean, I already sorta told you what I'm into, the reading and writing. What about you?”
She paused, thinking, and then said, “I like to talk. With people. No one really talks to each other, anymore. They talk at each other...but not with each other.”
I shrugged. Suddenly, all the tension and awkwardness drained away. “So let's talk. Don't know if I'll have much to say, but I promise to nod in all the right places.”
She gave me a smile which would've driven me insane with jealousy should she have offered it to anyone else. “Throw in an occasional ‘'Really? That's interesting!’' and you've got a deal.”
That's what we did for the rest of the night.
* * *
“So what's her name?”
In a pleasant fog, I turned from the dark nightscape slipping past Gary McNamara's truck windows. “Hmm?”
Gary smiled mischievously, one step away from a good-natured leer. “Her name, dork. The girl you spotted halfway through the night., Tthe one you ditched us for?”
I smiled (probably like a love-struck idiot) and shook my head. “Sorry. My mind's a little...” I wagged my hand away from my head, pantomiming a bird flying off.
“Yeah, I figured. As did everyone else, trust me. She must be something, pal-o mine, cause you got it bad. Which,” he returned his gaze to the road, “is about time. Your commitment to basketball has been impressive and all, but yo
u've needed a girlfriend stat for about two years, now.”
I shook my head and gazed back out the window. “She's hardly my girlfriend. We just met. Plus...I think she's older than me. Said she doesn't go to school anymore and she's not in college, so she's probably way too old for me anyway.”
“And...does she have a name?”
“Michelle Titchner,” I murmured, recalling in my mind's eye her long, thick black hair and sparking green eyes.
“Michelle Titchner.”
A pause, and then: “Huh.”
I glanced at Gary, who was still concentrating on the road. “What do you mean, 'huh?' “
He glanced at me, brow slightly furrowed, but he grinned and waved, “Nothing, man. Wow. You've really been bitten, haven't you?” Turning his attention back to the road, he continued. “I didn't mean anything. It just...feels like I've heard her name before. Michelle Titchner.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, so had I. In fact, in retrospect, I think some voice had been whispering how familiar her name was in the back of my head from the moment she'd mentioned it. I’d pushed it aside because I wasn't sure if I really recognized her name, or if I wanted to recognize her name. Having someone else voice the same thing, however, strengthened the impression of having heard her name somewhere before.
“Huh. You're right. It does sound familiar. Don't know from where.”
Gary's shrug was evident in his voice. “Maybe sports? She's kinda tall and lanky. Probably played basketball or volleyball or ran Track.”
