Do-Overs

by Christine Jarmola

  Did he really not get it? Was I just so unsophisticated that I couldn’t handle watching the guy I liked, really, really liked, make out on stage with another woman? And not just any woman. A drop-dead-gorgeous-cheats-with-other’s-boyfriends woman. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I reached for my purse to find a timely exit.

  Al took my hand from my purse. “Please, don’t leave. We’ve barely started this relationship. But, Lottie, I really want it to work. There’s something here. Something special. When I look at you, talk to you, am near you. I really want this to work. But, you have to tell me what you’re thinking. You have to tell me what is wrong.”

  Relationship. He had said relationship. That sounded permanent, sound, secure. He was right. I needed to quit running from any awkward situation. I needed to quit changing time and follow through on the hard parts. I needed . . . to start talking, because he was looking at me like I was a deaf mute.

  “I’m sorry I left. I didn’t know that you even knew I was there.”

  “The slamming close of the seat and the door, kind of gave you away.” He gave a little smile.

  “Oh.” I thought I had quietly slipped out.

  “So, I’m waiting. Why did you leave?”

  This was hard. I didn’t want to sound all controlling and jealous. But he needed to know.

  “I’ve never dated an actor before.”

  “Okay.” He still looked very confused.

  “Alright. I feel stupid. But you were holding her and kissing her and singing to her.”

  “Yes, that’s how the show goes.” The guy was obtuse. No light bulbs at all were coming on in his brain. I was going to have to just spell it all out.

  “You don’t get it, do you? There you were with your former girlfriend. The look in your eyes was just smoldering. You looked so. . . so . . . Well, I was,” then nothing would come out of my mouth.

  “You were. . .?”

  What was I? I felt angry and hurt and scared and just a little bit out of control. It was a feeling I’d never felt so strongly and confusingly in my life.

  “Jealous,” I whispered. I was glad we were outside with only the street lamps for light as my face was glowing as red as Rudolph’s nose.

  Al was stunned for a moment and then gave me his most glorious smile. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  That so wasn’t the response I was expecting.

  He reached over and gave me the softest kiss on my cheek.

  “Jealous. I don’t think I’ve ever known a girl who cared enough to be jealous.” Al scooted closer and put his arm around my shoulder. It felt good in so many ways. “But, point number one. Taylor is my friend. Never was and never will be my girlfriend.”

  “But I saw you leave and come back together for Christmas break.”

  Al looked a little startled and then gave a mischievous smile. “I didn’t know you were stalking me.”

  “I wasn’t. Just a small campus and I was strategically located,” I countered trying not to blush.

  “Lottie, Taylor and I are both from California. So I just gave her a ride to the plane. That’s all. We’ve known each other for years. She’s a good friend and a good actor. That’s all. I think she’s dating some soccer jock anyway, even though I don’t think he’s even good enough for her. I’m sure she’s going to get hurt, but she won’t listen to me,” he finished sounding more like an older brother rather than a lover.

  “Now I guess is the time for Acting 101 class. The smoldering eyes and the loving looks, that was acting. That’s all. It’s like a choreographed dance. We’ve worked for weeks on blocking all the moves and emotions to make it look real. But it’s not. I promise.”

  “But it looked so real.”

  Al gave an ornery smile. “I’m a good actor.”

  “I feel like such a fool.”

  “No, you’re a wonderful girl, who’s never dated an actor before. Now let me tell you something else important. When I die in the play, I don’t really die either.”

  I reached over to touch his cheek. “I’ll cry anyway.” That got me a chuckle and a kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “Your nose is cold. Let’s go get some coffee. I’m having withdrawals. It’s been almost three hours since I ran out of the magical elixir backstage.”

  Hand in hand we walked the few blocks to the Coffee Corner. Life can be so sweet. Al was humming a tune I didn’t recognize as we walked.

  “What song is that?”

  Al stopped and thought a moment. “I’m not sure.” He hummed a few more bars. “Must just be one of those things in my head that I’m not really sure where it came from. Do you ever get that?”

  “Hmm, I guess.” I had no idea what he meant, but I’d agree to make him happy.

  Al chuckled. “Now you think I’m mental. Sometimes this year I’ve thought I was losing it myself. I’ve had some of the most bizarre, vivid dreams. I’d almost have sworn they happened. But they didn’t.”

  “I’ve done that before. Like dreamed I bought new shoes, and then went to put them on the next day and realized it was only a dream. A wonderful dream.” I giggled. “I like shoes.”

  “My dreams weren’t so normal. I’ve had this dream about someone. Like someone just out of my line of vision. And I simply couldn’t find her.” Al stopped walking and turned to look at me. “Maybe my subconscious knew you were coming.” Then he gave a big laugh. “I also dreamed someone threw spaghetti on me in the cafeteria. Some dreams are just weird.”

  -41-

  Homework Vs. Romance

  Al and I had been an official item for two weeks, three days and two hours and forty-five minutes, not that I was counting, complete with a Facebook status change to in a relationship. It was scary to me how quickly we had fallen into the couple thing. One minute (okay the one minute thing had happened more than once) we met and then we clicked. I’d always dreamed there was such a thing as love at first sight, but I was also mature enough to know that dreams are just that. Dreams.

  Most of our official in a relationship time had been spent with Al in play rehearsal and me up to my ears in a Lit. paper that was rapidly becoming due. Homework stoppeth for no man (nor woman), even those in love. Thus, my Thursday evening would be spent in the library while Al was just a few buildings over in the theater.

  Literature is wonderful when reading much-loved books like Anne of Green Gables or Little Women. Or authors that make you think deep, seldom thought feelings like Dostoevsky or Sinclair. It is drudgery when trudging through Moby Dick. (Be honest. Has anyone ever actually enjoyed Moby Dick?) Even worse when your sadistic teacher wanted an in-depth analysis and comparison of the Dick and the Old Man in the Sea. Nothing in common but water. And by the end of both stories, I couldn’t have cared less if they all drowned.

  I sat in the library contemplating using that as my thesis statement, while checking my email, Facebook, Snapchats, and text messages every couple of minutes. Just in case Al had a break and thought of me. I was pathetic.

  “I only have shore leave for fifteen minutes. So I snuck out the back door,” said Lt. Cable who had stealthily sat down next to me. I love a man in a uniform. “How’s your paper coming?”

  I looked at the blank screen of my laptop. “Okay, I guess,” I fibbed. I didn’t want to confess that my mind had been out to sea, but not with the old man or Moby. Rather on a little island in the Pacific with a certain Lieutenant.

  Al reached up to gently touch my cheek. Things were looking promising. “I wanted to catch you and let you know, we’re going to be extremely late. The first two acts were dead tonight. Completely dragging. So after we finish, we’re starting over.”

  “No Coffee Corner tonight?”

  “Sorry. Can we meet for lunch tomorrow?”

  “I can’t. I have a study group lunch. What about supper?”

  “We’re starting rehearsal early, so we’re having food brought in on the set.”

  “It’s a busy time.”

&nbs
p; “Very busy. But this play will go up in a week. And it only runs for two weekends. Then I’ll be free.”

  With a peck on the cheek he was gone. Back to his Tonkinese fling and I was back to M. Dick. Being an item was great. Being one with time to spend together would have been even better. Well, the least I could do was double the little time that we did have together. Out came my trusty friend and Al was back next to me for an instant replay.

  “I only have shore leave for fifteen minutes. So I snuck out the back door,” said Lt. Cable who had just sat down next to me. “How’s your paper coming?”

  “Fine,” I lied again. Did that make me a pathological liar if I kept repeating the same lie in different realities? “So your rehearsal isn’t going so well?”

  Al gave me a deep look. “Wow, you are perceptive. We have just barely gotten to know each other, yet you seem almost to read my mind already. Scary.” I was going to blow it. Soon he’d think I was some psychic freak and run for the hills. Then he gave me that magical smile and touched my cheek again (the one on my face, in case there was any confusion.) “A very nice scary. Yes, the show is really dragging.”

  I needed to remember to play by the original script.

  All too soon, with a peck on my cheek, he was gone

  -42-

  Holy Smoke

  Halloween is supposed to be the time of terror, with skeletons, witches and vampires (and not the sparkly kind.) Friday the Thirteenth is the day to hide in your room afraid that luck will run out. But no day holds the terrifying suspense, that intense fear of the unknown, that ultimate dread of what might not happen—no day is more horrifying than February the fourteenth—Valentine’s Day. Monsters can only kill you. Valentine’s Day can break your heart.

  For years I had dreaded that day. Back in high school it had been a major status symbol to receive flowers delivered to the school. Woe be it to the pitiful boyfriend who didn’t. Many a budding romance dissolved due to the lack of floral arrangements. By my sophomore year, after picking up a sobbing freshman up the year before, my mother knew to always send me anonymous flowers on that fateful day.

  Finally, the fates had changed my destiny. I had a boyfriend. Valentine’s Day had become a day of anticipation, not dread. So then why was I more terrified than ever before? Why? Because the stakes were suddenly so much higher. Not only did I have the wonderful anticipation of receiving the perfect valentine from the perfect guy, I had to give the perfect valentine to the perfect guy. What a perfect dilemma.

  “Something to do with coffee,” Stina suggested. It was two days before the fateful holiday. Great minds were converging in our dorm room for a strategic planning meeting.

  “He does like his coffee,” Rachel agreed. “But is that romantic? We need something so special, so unique. Something . . .” Rachel was stumped. As were we all. This discussion had been going on for over an hour and lord only knows how many calories worth of cookie dough had been consumed in the name of romance.

  “Guys are impossible to buy for,” repeated Olivia. “We all know the one thing they want.”

  Stina came to Al’s defense. “Not all guys. There are some good ones. Right, Lottie?”

  “Lottie?” asked Rachel.

  “See he’s already been putting the moves on you. Hasn’t he?” Olivia demanded.

  I hadn’t really thought about it until that point. I was so caught up in the magic of first love I hadn’t noticed that for the first time ever I was dating a gentleman. Sure we had had some major snogging in the stacks, but no trying to slip his hands where they didn’t belong. No trying to sneak a grope in the pretense of a hug. No staring at my cleavage instead of my face.

  “Earth to Lottie,” Stina said with a worried giggle.

  “No, no he hasn’t,” I finally said. “Wow, isn’t that amazing. He truly is the perfect guy.” I was gushing all over the place.

  “Or gay,” Olivia snorted.

  “Time to get back on task,” teacher Stina interjected. “Maybe it isn’t a gift, but something thoughtful that will make the day special. What is his schedule like on V. Day?”

  “Class all day and then play practice all night. We are planning to meet for lunch. He has no other free time all day.”

  “If only you could create time,” Stina pondered aloud wistfully. I snorted a quasi-hysterical laugh. If only they knew how close that was to the truth.

  “Girlfriend, sometimes you are so abnormal,” Olivia said once again giving me that wondering look.

  ***

  So the day had arrived and our plan was put into action. I had one addition to the plan that the rest of the crew knew nothing about. I was sticking to that magic eraser like cat hair to black pants. At any slight sense of failure there was a magical redo ready to be done.

  The day started earlier than planned. That’s what fire alarms do.

  “Oh my gravy! What is that?” Stina shouted over the noise. It was three a.m. That would be three in the MORNING. I had a dilemma. Which was better: to get up at that ungodly hour and be safe, or stay in bed and take my chances that it was a false alarm and not a real fire? Stina made the decision for the both of us.

  “Lottie, get up! We have to go out!”

  We scrambled to find sweatpants and shoes to throw on. It was February, cold and dark.

  “This place had better be burning to the ground, or someone is going to regret it big time,” I was griping as we went up the stairs and out.

  Fire trucks had already arrived, complete with hunky firemen. Not that I was looking, of course. The majority of co-eds seemed more stressed by the firemen seeing them without their make-up than the possibility of our temporary homes going up in flames. Suddenly, there was one more red vehicle zipping up to our dorm. A little, red Miata. And a frantic knight in shinning armor came leaping out. My first thought was to hide so he wouldn’t see me with frizzled hair and black mascara rings under my eyes. Instead I started to use my magic eraser. Only one problem, it was in the dorm. I contemplated running back into the possibly burning building to retrieve it. But one look at his face changed that plan. He looked frantic, vulnerable, even scared. I could hear him asking everyone if they knew where I was.

  “Al, I’m okay,” I shouted as I rushed over to him. My reward was a bone-crushing hug. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I could breathe again.

  “I was just leaving the theater, and I heard the sirens. Sorry if I overreacted,” he broke off. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I simply had to know that you were safe.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by the Dorm Director shouting, “It’s all clear. No fire. Just someone, who will be getting a rules violation first thing tomorrow morning, was trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich with her iron and forgot about it. The smoke set off the smoke detectors. You can go back in. Oh, and you guys over there with the cameras—there had better not be any photos of these girls in their PJs on the internet.”

  It wasn’t until she pointed it out that I noticed the contingent of male students with cameras and cell phones playing paparazzi. I was glad I had put on sweats, cause no amount of threats from our Dorm Director would ever keep those photos from the World Wide Web.

  “Do you think anyone got pictures of us?” Al asked. I was wondering if he wanted a souvenir photo of the occasion, but he seemed worried, not nostalgic.

  “I hope not. I’m just glad the light is so bad out here. I hate for you to see me looking like death warmed over.”

  Al smiled and looked deep in my raccoon eyes. “You’re beautiful, Lottie. If you could see yourself like I see you, you’d never question how absolutely beautiful you are.”

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All I could do was look into his wonderful kind eyes and sigh. I loved fire alarms.

  “Are you going in or not?” asked Stina. Where had she come from? It seemed that there had been only two people on the planet, when suddenly we were back on Asbury lawn surrounded by fire trucks, firemen and half dresse
d co-eds at three thirty in the morning. I gaped at her like she had just materialized from another planet.

  “See you in the room,” she said, giggled and left.

  Al and I stood there staring at each other like two demented fools. I spoke first to break the trance. “Why were you at the theater so late?” I asked

  “We were working on sets. See, paint. You caught me red handed.” He held up his hand, which indeed did have red paint on it. Why did something so innocent sound like a lie? “Sometimes I get engrossed and totally lose track of time. I had no idea it was so late until I heard the fire trucks. I guess you want to get back to bed.”

  “I guess you need to head on home yourself.” Neither of us moved.

  Al reached out to smooth my ratty hair. “I should let you go back to bed,” he whispered. “See you for lunch tomorrow.”

  How could something so benign as see you for lunch tomorrow sound so utterly romantic? If we weren’t careful, the firemen were going to have a fire of a totally different kind to put out on the lawn of Asbury Hall.

  “Tomorrow,” I answered as he turned to walk away.

  He stopped and turned back. “By the way, happy Valentine’s Day.”

  ***

  I awoke the next morning to find the truth of Al’s late night theater work. Standing outside my ground level window was a big, red, four-foot tall, plywood heart with the initials A. D. + L.L painted on it with sparkly paint. It was so silly, so middle school, so utterly the best Valentine’s Day gift a girl could ever hope for.

  -43-

  Just You and Me Against The Wind

  “Perhaps a Valentine’s Day picnic wasn’t such a good idea,” Al said as he returned from chasing down a paper bag with half our lunch in it that had blown across the park. “The weather man predicted it would be unseasonably warm today. He said nothing about the wind. Does this ridiculous wind never quit blowing?”

  Our picnic was a perfect example of the it’s the thought that counts concept. Al had picked me up an hour earlier with a blanket, a coffee, a Diet D.P. and a bag of tacos, all ready for a leisurely romantic picnic in the park. Reality had started to set in when we tried to get out of his Miata without the wind blowing the doors off. Maybe the thermometer said it was one of those freak days in February that are close to seventy degrees, but that was without factoring in the wind-chill. It felt like the forties, the very cold windy forties.