From the Blue

by Mark Stephens

  “I’ll give him this. He’s punctual.” She muttered to herself as she watched Dylan pause before the door and sweep her hands over her blouse and skirt, wiping away the imaginary dust, dirt and wrinkles there. When her hand finally closed on the door knob and opened it, Dylan held her breath, hoping it wasn’t a Jehovah’s witness or lost pizza boy.

  The heavy wooden door swung open and Jaron stood on the other side of the battered screen door. He was dressed in a pair of dark, tailored trousers with a navy blue buttoned shirt tucked into them. A light gray tie hung from his neck and accentuated the gray flecks in his bluer than blue eyes. His hair was slicked back and he held a single lilac in one hand. Dylan stared for a second as their eyes met. All of her doubts that had cropped up in the last two days were forgotten as she dived into the deep pools of his gaze. How easily she had transitioned into a googly-eyed teenage girl.

  “Dylan.” Paula’s voice disturbed the moment, somehow conveying a hint of propriety in it. “It’s impolite to leave your guest waiting on the porch like he’s a stranger.”

  Startled out of their hypnosis, Jaron smiled broadly and Dylan pushed the rickety screen open to allow him entry into her home. He strode in through the doorway past her and waited patiently until she closed the screen. He bowed slightly and presented her with the single lilac. She accepted it, touching the fragile petals, and she leaned up to kiss him on his cheek.

  “Thank you. I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “How could I forget such a delicate and beautiful flower for such a delicate and beautiful girl?” Their eyes met again briefly before he turned his attention to the woman standing a few feet behind them. As soon as Paula noticed the attention had swung her way, she tried to disguise the fact that she had been rolling her eyes at such an outdated and corny statement. She had to admit that even though the boy was a total throwback, he possessed more than his share of charm to pull it off.

  “And you must be Paula, Dylan’s aunt.” He said it royally as if she were a visiting dignitary in his homeland. Dylan had told her the name of the place, but she had never heard of it before. “I see that beauty runs in your family.”

  He swept in gracefully like he was floating on air and offered his hand to her in the genteel manner she only saw in old movies. Bewildered, but impressed by the formality, she took it gingerly, feeling the smooth and gentle grip that seemed to belie a hidden strength as well. She was even more taken aback and charmed when he bent slightly again and brought the back of her hand to his lips. When he finished, he stood back up and let go of her hand.

  “My, you are a charmer, aren’t you?” She was pleasantly surprised by this young man who seemed to buck the trend of normal teenage boys. If she’d been younger, she would have been quite smitten with him as well.

  “These are but the customs of my country. I realize they may seem a bit antiquated by today’s American standards, but some cordial mannerisms should never be abandoned.”

  Dylan could see that her aunt immediately liked Jaron, was even impressed by him, but she also knew she was only a moment away from beginning the inquisition that normally preceded her dates. That was an embarrassment that she wished to avoid. So she stepped up and grabbed Jaron by the crook of his elbow.

  “Sorry, Aunt Paula, we’ve got to get going. Dinner reservations and whatnot.”

  It was a small white lie. She hadn’t made reservations anywhere, not knowing where they would go, but the words eased from her mind and out her lips before she could take them back.

  “I thought I was going to have time to get to know Jaron. He seems like a pleasant young man.”

  “No time. I’ll be back by 11.”

  She pushed Jaron towards the door, leaving her aunt with her many unasked questions written on her face. Dylan knew she’d have to face them sooner or later, but right now she opted for later. She sent a quick wave behind her to her aunt, placed the daisy on the low table by the door and led Jaron by the hand outside. The screen door clattered loudly and the couple walked quickly down the front walk. Inside, Paula watched through the gauzy curtain of the window as they disappeared down the walk and began to close the front door.

  “That was either a bullshit artist extraordinaire or someone born 60 years ago.” She commented to herself and closed the door on the brutal summer humidity. Seeing the gifted flower laying on the credenza, she picked it up, intent on putting it in water for her smitten niece.

  Outside in the evening humidity, Jaron’s feet clomped heavily behind her as Dylan dragged him along behind her. They strode quickly through the creaky, rusted front gate and down the sidewalk towards downtown Inlet Cove until she finally stopped at the crosswalk, completely out of view from her house.

  “Wha…?” Jaron began to ask before she shushed him back into silence with her forefinger. He watched her quizzically, but remained silent while she peered around him in the direction of her house. Confident that her aunt hadn’t ventured outside to keep an eye on them, she brought her gaze back to his, taking in his lost puppy, confused expression.

  Without a word of explanation or warning, Dylan grabbed the lapels of his blazer and pulled Jaron closer to her with a relieved, but desperate urgency. She met his lips with her own. It was a shocking and unexpected move, both for her and him. But it was one that they both melted into readily.

  She brought her hand up to run through his combed hair and felt as his arms encircled her waist, hands gently touching the small of her back. Their shadows melded together as one, so tightly knit that not even a shred of light interrupted it.

  His mouth still had that salty taste in it and he smelled faintly of musky lavender mixed with the ocean breeze. Her hand wandered down his face, scratching against the stubble on his cheek and feeling the cool texture that made her feel even warmer in contrast.

  They embraced for the better part of a minute as their shadows elongated towards the east from the quickly setting sun. As they parted and their lips fell away from each other, Dylan felt a little ashamed at her forwardness, but didn’t regret it in the least. She grinned weakly, staring up into his eyes and still trapped by his embrace.

  “What was that for?” Jaron asked her in the innocent way that he seemed to have about almost everything.

  “Just wanted to.” Was the only reply that was decent running through her mind. Plus, she really didn’t want to admit that she had doubted his punctuality or missed him as much as she had. “Where are we headed to?”

  “Well, I haven’t been in town for very long, but I noticed a pizza place downtown. We don’t have pizza where I’m from and I’ve developed a liking for it.”

  Dylan knew the place well, Panucci’s, even though she knew the owner wasn’t really Italian, despite the authentic boasts of his advertisements. Still, the food was actually quite good and the ambience fit nicely with a first date.

  “That sounds great.”

  Dylan and Jaron walked hand in hand down the few blocks from her house to downtown Inlet Cove. Neither of them moved with any deliberate speed, just casually strolling along, in no hurry for anything. Jaron peppered her with more questions through the entire walk, asking about the town and her high school and her friends. Dylan obliged him by acting the perfect tour guide.

  Being early evening, traffic on Main Street was heavier than usual, both vehicular and pedestrian, as people came home from work and ran last minute errands. Not that Dylan really noticed much around her besides Jaron. The heady feeling she had first felt with him had returned, but without the sudden force behind it. She acknowledged it, of course, but slipped into it without the uncertainty she’d had before. It wasn’t quite the hurricane gale force storm that it had been. It felt more like a gentle spring shower.

  At the very end of the third block, Dylan led them across the street and down the side block. Ahead of them, halfway down, she saw the familiar red and white checkered awning jutting out over the sidewalk that announced Panucci’s in bold black lettering when they drew closer
. The few tables outside were empty, being too hot to sit outside, but a steady stream of customers were entering and exiting the front door.

  Jaron chivalrously opened the door for her when they arrived and Dylan saw that the dinner rush was in full swing. Garlic and onion and marinara assaulted her nose immediately and made her stomach rumble hungrily.

  The light was low, romantic, accented by the lit candles on every table with melted wax collecting on their stems. All of the tables inside were covered by red and white checkered tablecloths that matched that canopy outside. Booths lined the walls with tables interspersed between them. A wooden partition separated the dining area from the kitchen and servers with long floor length white aprons were constantly popping out from behind it, carrying steaming dishes and trays of drinks. The walls were covered with disparate maps of Italy, some colored, some relief, while others showed off tourist spots like the Coliseum.

  The family in front of them moved away from the dark-haired woman at the podium. She looked at them expectantly. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. We’d like a table for two.”

  Luckily, the host still had a small table for two towards the back available and took them to it, large laminated menus in hand. Gallantly, Jaron pulled out Dylan’s chair for her before taking his seat.

  Once seated, Jaron looked over at Dylan and asked, “Will this be an adequate table for you?”

  After he had interrogated her on the entire walk, she had been determined to pry some of his secrets from him during dinner. She nodded and asked as she unfolded the white napkin and placed it in her lap, “Why do you speak so formally like that? No other teenage boy I know talks like that.”

  Taking the question in stride without a hint of embarrassment or insult, he replied, “That is just how we speak where I’m from.”

  “It sounds very antique and formal.”

  “I guess it can be.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “We have computers and satellite TV and internet access, but we also speak to the man of the household when we wish to court his daughter or take her hand. We are very patriarchal. I guess you could say that my people have one foot planted in the past, while the other is striding towards the future. Many in my homeland would be shocked at some of the American customs that I’ve run across, especially those among your youth.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, sometimes, people here can be so rude to each other, shouting and cursing at each other over such minor discourtesies. We would never wear our pants so low that you could see our undergarments. Parents in my homeland also seem to be more directly involved with their children. We value education and family above all else.” Jaron shook his head in disbelief at his own statements. “As advanced as Americans are in some arenas, I still find them very barbaric in many areas, in particular, the social graces.”

  “I can’t really disagree with you. Sometimes I think I should have grown up in the 1950s. But, if you find so many things about our culture disagreeable, why would you want to go to school here? Why not London where the ‘social graces’ are a bit more adhered to?”

  Although Dylan couldn’t have agreed more heartily with the young man’s assessment, she still found herself becoming defensive. This was her country and she did have a certain amount of healthy patriotism mixed in with her skepticism.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Jaron answered back to her, picking up on her tone. “There are even more grander things about America that I want to explore. Your space program. Your intricate, complex political system is fascinating. And the sheer amount of opportunity given to every member of your society is astounding.”

  Dylan was ready with her rebuttal, but their waitress finally arrived at their table and interrupted both of them before she could reply.

  “Hi, guys. My name is Charlene. Our specials tonight are the Stuffed Manicotti with Shrimp and our Vegetarian Pizza.”

  Charlene droned out her entire spiel with as much enthusiasm as she might if she was getting her teeth pulled. Her bleach blond hair was done up in a loose ponytail with her bangs covering her eyebrows. Her eyes had that faraway glaze like something shiny had caught her attention in the distance. The makeup, especially the fire engine red lipstick, she wore was a bit too thick and whorish for Dylan’s taste, but to each his own, she supposed. Her white apron was spotted with marinara sauce and an overly large button that urged patrons to ‘Join the Frequent Pie-ers Program. Ask me how!’

  After she had finished her monologue, Charlene, with the too short skirt that showed off her tanned legs and ample ass, finally looked down at her customers. She dismissed Dylan arbitrarily and locked eyes on Jaron. Her mouth stopped chewing the gum in her mouth and Dylan didn’t think that she could have been more obvious about her attraction if she had sat down in Jaron’s lap. Her eyes roamed over Jaron’s face and body, not even seeming to care if he noticed or that he was with another girl.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Charlene asked mechanically, although it was clear she wasn’t paying attention.

  “I’ll have a Diet Coke.” Dylan answered abruptly, trying to snap the waitress out of her lust, and picked up her menu. Charlene’s lurid staring was making her uncomfortable and pissed at the same time. Across from her, Jaron said he’d have the same and Charlene sized him up again before she quickly bustled away from them, jotting on her pad and looking back over her shoulder at the pair of them.

  Dylan decided to ignore the arrogant impropriety of their waitress. The boy sitting across from her was hot. She’d probably do the same thing if she was wearing Charlene’s shoes, although she’d have sense enough to be a little more inconspicuous about it.

  She turned back to the menu and her date, pointing something out on the menu. The pair discussed their menu options and decided on sharing a pizza, waiting for Charlene to arrive with their drinks. With the dinner decision out of the way, Dylan took in the extremely cute boy who she was having dinner with. Her, Dylan Roberts. It wasn’t her first date and she had dated some cute boys, but they were so not in Jaron’s league. Not Jordan. Not Derrick. No one even came close and she was going to enjoy every second of this.

  “So, why did you pick me?” She asked her question swiftly with her normal fearless bravado, wanting to ask it before she changed her mind. The insecure girl inside of her balked, afraid of the answer, but the dauntless woman wanted to know.

  “What do you mean?” Jaron replied innocently and Dylan could see that he was genuinely puzzled by the inquiry. She paused and leaned back in her seat before she spoke as Charlene had arrived with their sodas and then rushed off again, oblivious to taking their order.

  “I mean, there were dozens of girls vying for your attention on the beach. You could have had any of them. Why did you ask me out?”

  Jaron seemed to consider the question with arched brow and his hesitancy was driving Dylan nuts, sending her self-esteem into a nosedive. She took a sip of her Diet Coke, trying not to look like she was anxious. Underneath the table, though, her sensible flats were tapping out a nervous version of her own Morse code.

  “It was your eyes.”

  The answer was concise and not exactly revealing. She was about to urge him to elaborate when he did so on his own.

  “In my country, they say the eyes are the only way to see into the goodness or badness of a person. They reveal all that we are and all that we have been, as well as allow us to see who we will be. It is also said that when two people who are fated to know one another look into each other’s eyes, they instantly know each other like they had belonged to the other for centuries. And when I looked into yours, I felt that.”

  As he spoke, he had leaned forward and reached his hand out so that it covered hers. His eyes stared into hers and she saw the reflection of the lit candle dancing on their surface. She would’ve chalked his statement up to just another boy feeding her line to get some play, except she had felt the same thing he had just described. She had told no one what she had felt, not ev
en Alex. There was no way for him to know.

  Damn, am I being totally stupid or just hopelessly romantic?

  Silence settled over them as Dylan struggled to come up with a response without sounding like a love struck fool. Jaron’s thumb was gently rubbing the back of her hand, distracting her further and pushing her logical side down where it couldn’t be heard.

  She had worried whether her feelings would be reciprocated and, obviously, they were. She was still trying to formulate a response in her mind when Charlene reappeared with what Dylan was beginning to think was an orchestrated attempt at bad timing.

  “Have you decided?” Her eyes remained on Jaron’s face, seemingly unaware that Dylan was even at the table. Somewhere, sometime during her absence, the top button of her blouse had popped loose. Her breasts were sticking out, showing an ample amount of cleavage and stretching the thin fabric of her white blouse to the breaking point.

  Jaron looked up at her and ordered for both of them, staring into the waitress’s eyes impassively as he did so. His view never wavered from her face. She nodded at him as she scribbled their order down, reluctant to leave the table. But when Jaron’s eyes left hers and returned to Dylan, she realized that her seduction was being ignored. She left the table in a huff and with a disgusted look on her face.

  “She’s going to spit in our food.” Dylan commented as she watched Charlene slink back behind the wooden barrier between themselves and the kitchen.

  Jaron turned his head to look at the partition and then back again at Dylan. He seemed dismayed and shocked at the statement, but said in all seriousness. “Should we eat elsewhere?”

  Dylan laughed softly at his naïve and literal understanding of her joke. “It’s just an expression. She’s not really going to spit in our food. At least I hope she doesn’t”

  Jaron stared at her skeptically, but dismissed the comment.

  In another abrupt, mercurial change, he beamed at her. “Let’s forget about our waitress and continue our date. I would rather spend this time getting to know you better anyway.”