Nodding again, I managed a, “Sure.” I smiled, I think. “When were you thinking?” Damn, I sounded downright cool and collected. Hello, Space, can I have my insecure self back?
“I was thinking tomorrow night? Are you free? There’s this amazing Middle Eastern place that I love…do you like that kind of food?” Firstly, the fact that he’d already differentiated himself from every single guy I’d ever dated by not asking if I liked Pizza, made this a no-brainer. Secondly, I loved Middle Eastern. Who didn’t? Mind.Blown.
Oh, and Thirdly…Was I free? Nerd haters everywhere were pointing and laughing at me.
But how could I accept?
How How How How How How How How…
“Ok.” Wait…WHAT?! Benedict Arnold! I was going straight home and washing my obstinate mouth out with soap.
“Great!” Charlie didn’t skip a beat, the darkening of his eyes the only indicator that I’d affected him. And damned if that didn’t please me. I nodded, my mouth having been banished to the 5th circle of hell, and Charlie’s smile widened. Allowing my mouth a quick conjugal, I bowed my lips upward, permitting a glimmer of a smile.
“Sounds awesome. I love Middle Eastern.” Good, Cass. Cool and concise. No excess verbiage to open accidental and horrific floodgates. Yes!
“I’ll text you later?” Wow. This was So Happening.
“Sure,” I replied again, essentially because it was hard to hold a conversation while your body was floating off through cotton candy clouds, tethered to balloons made of bubble gum bubbles. It seemed to work.
“Nice.” Charlie smiled again, his arms unfolding being the only sign of released tension. This guy was good. Then he surprised me.
Leaning forward, I inhaled his amazing scent, oddly familiar, allowing it to cloud my head and prevent me from understanding what was really happening. Charlie was hugging me before I got it. Charlie Was Hugging Me.
And it felt good.
And it felt terrifying.
Somehow I fit against him perfectly, our curves proving complimentary, his strong body enveloping my small and comparatively frail one, his scent confusing my mind, causing false connections and interweavings of emotions.
I couldn’t breathe.
“You’re cold. You should really bring a jacket to class…they keep it frigid in there.” Before I could understand that I had been shaking in his embrace, before I connected his pulling away with his reaching into his backpack, Charlie had produced a Charlie Smelling and Charlie Sized sweatshirt, which he’d already begun pulling over my head.
It was both comforting and unsettling to be tended to like this. The familiarity of the gesture, the lack of self-consciousness, the sheer organic act, hit me like a ton of bricks. Charlie had just done something completely normal, especially on the heels of confirmation that the interest between us went both ways, and I was freaking. I was the not normal one.
Smoothing down the front of the black hoodie and shoving my hands into the pocket, I hoped that I’d played off the fact that I hadn’t actually been cold. At least, not in terms of temperature. Icy to the core, definitely, but not like he’d understandably assumed. Meeting Charlie’s eye because I knew that this was what a normal socializing person would do, another Rachelism, I smiled. I felt like I was drinking out of the fire hydrant; I was fighting the nausea of too much, too fast.
Despite my internal melee, Charlie didn’t appear to notice.
“Keep it,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll get it from you when I see you later.” Charlie was already sweeping his backpack up and onto his shoulder, a sign that I understood. We were done. He’d gotten what he wanted and now was off to his important life. An important life that wanted me in. I willed my mouth closed so as not to gape at this realization.
“Bye, Cassandra. I’ll hit you up later.” Bending quickly, his lips brushed my cheek and he was turning and gone before I could even respond. The iciness of earlier was now turning into fire. No, I wasn’t about to catalogue this as our ‘first kiss,’ or something equally asinine that a 16 year old girl would write in her diary, but this was important. This was all important. On so many levels.
Deciding that I liked the feel of the oversized sweatshirt, I picked up my bag from where it had fallen when I’d been sneak-attacked by Charlie outside the door, and hefted it over my left shoulder. The reality was that I still suffered from aches and pains in my injury sites. The real truth was that my right arm was not an extension of my face. It was scarred and only raised two-thirds of its former range. Sports bras were hard because they were taught material that needed to be manipulated into. Too much twist and pull for a refurbished model. And despite Dr. McElhatton’s success, my face still ached when it was damp, as did my aforementioned ‘bad arm,’ as I realized I thought of it as. I was pretty sure that this was just an idiom, a familiar nomenclature upon which my psyche could rest.
But who knows what Rachel would say…
Walking to my car, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. Instead of driving home, I picked up my phone and made a quick call. Then I set off to a very familiar place.
TWENTY-FIVE
“What’s the game plan?” I almost thought for a second that Rachel knew about the Date and was referencing that. Luckily I’d barely opened my mouth to explain that the lack of said plan was exactly why I was here, voluntarily and off calendar, when she barged ahead.
“Are you here expecting to spearhead? Am I to be the captive audience? Or is this something that I’m going to have work out of you?” Rachel seemed on edge. Maybe I’d sounded worse on the phone than I thought. Maybe she just actually cared. I refused to look at the possibility that I was still so fragile as to terrify Rachel, and cause her to fear making the wrong move.
Nah, that didn’t sound like Rachel.
And since her opening statements hadn’t either, I chose to simply ignore them and say what I’d wanted to say.
“Charlie asked me on a date tomorrow. And I said yes.” I could have sworn that I heard Rachel whisper, “Spearheading, I see…” Maybe it was the air conditioner.
“Ok.” Rachel said that, loud and clear, but her face was trained and unreadable. Sometimes I got the feeling that Rachel liked to try out new techniques on me (possibly ‘techniques’ that she’d picked up from watching way too many Netflix documentaries…). That should make me feel scared, but instead it made me feel safe. It meant that Rachel felt safe, and that made me feel proud. Plus, I totally busted her on it most of the time, much to her pissiness.
“Ok.” I repeated it and it felt truer. “Ok. I am going on a date.” I nodded in affirmation, as if to reinforce the statement’s veracity. This was a fact. Facts were safer than…emotions. I sat in silence for a moment as I mulled over this idea. I wondered if that was true. Perhaps for others, it was the other way around. Interesting.
Rachel, bored with my internal rumination said, “Ok. Got that down. Now, start from the beginning. It will help both of us.” She was right, another reason why she was so good at what she did. I went through leaving class, being honest about my lackadaisical departure. I even remembered to tell her about how I got scared when Charlie had offhandedly commented that I was a runner. Rachel said that was normal, but bordered on paranoia. She reminded me that people tell others about themselves all day long, nonverbally, simply by their appearance, actions, and habits. She assured me that I gave much more away than I realized. I accused her of thinking that was reassuring. Rachel cackled.
So went our session, Rachel clarifying that it was fine and normal to be apprehensive (her word not mine…I’d said, “Scared”). That even perfectly normal untouched by evil people, are nervous before a date…which was true, but still didn’t comfort me. We talked about how it startled me when he put the hoodie on, and I worried that I’d be startled and taken off guard by stuff like this forever.
“Did it bother you to have him touch you? Was that what made you uncomfortable? Was it the physicality of being touched by another, especia
lly a man, unexpectedly?” Well, wouldn’t anyone? But I got her point. And I had to think about it. Rachel wasn’t one of those annoying psychologists who sat back and made you talk to them the whole time. However, she always allowed my silence following her questions. I guess she had given me an advance on trust; Rachel trusted that I wasn’t wasting her time, that I must be staying silent for a reason.
“No. I mean it startled me, but the actual touching didn’t seem to be the catalyst.” Rachel nodded, her curls bouncing right along in agreement.
“Cass, I’m going to float my theory, but like with everything, you have the power to accept my analysis or not.” Her face lit up. “Free Will! Free Will…” Huh? Who the hell was Will? “Free Will. Today’s What he didn’t steal from you.” Even though it was off topic, I appreciated it. I didn’t want to tell her that Diane and I had logged that one a long time ago…after an extensive argument over whether it was too existential, seeing as if he’d stolen that from me, I wouldn’t be able to understand the concept of free will, and thus wouldn’t miss it…and then would it still exist? Diane said to cut the tree falling in a forest crap, and write it down. I did as the boss decreed.
“That’s Great!” I said, starting to write it down again.
“You’ve done that one,” Rachel stated, her tone disappointed and flat with resignation. I guess I hadn’t fooled her. Rachel probably knew me better than I knew myself. Yikes.
“It’s still good…” I trailed off somewhat pathetically. Rachel rolled her eyes, but I knew that she was fighting a smile.
“Anyway…I suspect that the intimacy of the act was what set off alarm bells. It wasn’t being touched by a man, it wasn’t having someone put clothes on you without your expressed consent, although I would like to discuss that aspect a little more.” It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Nor was it the fear of becoming a possession, because that really wasn’t what was going on. It was the intimacy, the touch of a stranger,” Rachel lifted her finger to silence my argument that Charlie wasn’t a stranger and I clamped my mouth shut. “Having another person, a Man with whom you’ve begun to have some semblance of feelings for, did an intimate act, an unasked for act, and he didn’t check with you first.” I nodded. It was true.
“He made the decision for me.” Yes. That was what had sent me on a minecart ride into crazy town.
“From a critical analysis perspective, he took away your choice. What if you didn’t want his hoodie?” Rachel paused, making sure that I was understanding her. I nodded and she continued. “He probably should have said, ‘Would you like my sweatshirt?’” I nodded again, but more out of confusion and a need for her to continue. “He could have given you the choice, to accept his offer or rebuff.” Hmmm…Charlie sounded like a Dick when she put it that way…
“However, this is a situation which occurred innocuously, but with external circumstances that cannot be separated from it. The ‘Hoodie Incident’ did not occur inside of a vacuum.” True. But that could apply to a shit-ton of stuff. Clarify, Rachel! “What I mean is...” Phew. “Charlie put the hoodie on for you After asking you on a date. He expressed his interest in you, and by agreeing to accompany him, you confirmed his hopes of your interest in him. Then he hugged you. We’ll get back to that.” Great. “So taking into consideration that the physical line had already been breached, well, I guess I’m arguing that due to those preliminary circumstances, Cass? Are you listening? Pay attention to my words,” Rachel said, as her kind eyes emphatically drove her point home. “His elimination of your decision about wanting the sweatshirt is less intimidating and inappropriate.” I nodded. This was all true. She met my eyes again, despite my attempt at avoiding her all-knowing ones.
“Cass, I think we can objectively say that the actions that occurred outside of your class were those of well-socialized people, people who are empathetic and adept at social cues. I think that this was an honest to god case of puppy love.” Rachel shrugged apologetically. No worries, I got that part.
But what about the part that was the real reason that it had made me unsettled? The part which was about to be a magnification of all that was wrong with my psyche, all of the damage that had been done psychologically, from such a purely physical act. Now was when we discussed how I’m not normal and well-socialized. How I can’t just accept a normal social interaction without my own baggage ruining everything.
A hoodie! I started to cry and it made the whole thing worse. Why had I even come here? I could have gone home and hidden under my covers, and then not answered my phone until tomorrow was over.
Rachel just let me cry, simply handing me a tissue. Always knowing when I needed to hear her, and when silence was her only gift that she could give me. Because the reality was, as much as I bitched about her, Rachel loved me and only wanted the best for me. Hers was a job that could only be compared to that of Atlas. The burden that she carried for her patients was her real gift. That, and her expertise, of course.
Because I knew that I wasn’t just a patient to Rachel. Rachel and Diane had unofficially joined forces to create my first line of defense. You had to get through them, before you could even consider getting to me. And I loved them just as fiercely. But I also knew that this intimate relationship was just that: something that required trust and give and take. I had to work in order to deserve them. And strangely, I was ok with that.
Finally composed, I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. Exhalation was the key. Looking at Rachel, I said, “Moments ago I wondered why I’d even come here…willingly subjected myself to this…” I did not miss the flash of hurt in Rachel’s eyes, such a rare chink in her armor. I pushed on rapidly. “I mean, you know this is hard for me, Rachel.” I hoped that she understood what I was trying to say, that it wasn’t her that I wished to avoid. And I think that she did, but Rachel was human. “Because I’m not normal. I’m not socialized, I don’t respond correctly to social cues.” Rachel’s eyes clouded as she understood. “I wished I’d just gone straight home and closed out the world. But I didn’t, Rachel. Because I want to be normal…desperately. I want to go on a date with the cutest and most amazing guy, I want him to grab my hand without thinking and I want to let him…without thinking.” I shook my head miserably, trying so hard to express things that I couldn’t even articulate to myself. Because we all pretended I was just that…Normal. Normal, with extenuating circumstances. But I didn’t think that normalcy could have an addendum.
“So I came here, Rach. I came here.” I couldn’t come up with any more words; the preceding diatribe had ripped out my heart to say aloud. One’s deepest fears made real by releasing them into the ether.
And the one thing I dared not speak: The greatest fear of all, that I’d never be normal again.
Rachel got up and sat next to me. She grabbed my left hand, always my left…tentatively but firmly, asking for permission to comfort me. I squeezed her hand as my eyes pressed shut and the tears starting streaming out again. Rachel was hugging me and I was hugging her back; motherly and smelling reassuringly of Rachel. She just held me gently, allowing me to set the pace and the intensity of the embrace. She was good.
I laughed and she released me, smiling tentatively but with a question on her lips. “I just thought to myself, ‘She’s good.’” Rachel laughed, a little embarrassed, and then I joined in. Rachel and I had never had a laugh together, so here was another first. Look at me, just tearing through my bucket list.
Finally calm, I stood up. I knew that my time had come to go home. But I felt good. And that First, I accepted with open arms.
TWENTY-SIX
For the first time, I scooted farther away from Charlie. His cinnamon gum was overwhelming me. My only saving grace was that Harrison had declined Charlie’s offer of a piece; two fire breathing dragons were two more than this Princess could handle.
Trying to brush off this painful reminder, I returned to Rachel’s guidance. Breathe. Focus. Intellectualize. Employ one of human beings' greatest gifts: the ability to ra
tionalize. This allowed me to remember where was I was, in the here and now, and to remind myself that the discrete incident was just that: Separate from Right Now. This sounds much more impressive than it actually was in practice. Mostly, I just didn’t breathe through my nose.
Said mouth-breathing alone, should have been a turn off; my lack of speech and refusal to meet anyone in our group’s eyes beside the safety of Harrison’s (read: Charlie), well I would have pitied myself if I were someone else. So clearly, I was the least prepared for what was about to happen.
Harrison fled class in his usual abrupt manner, as if to inform Anyone still unaware that he had better things to do and wasn’t big on the sanctity of school. Right. Duly noted. Or, completely unnoted, because he did this every time and I no longer noticed. It wasn’t until I’d finished packing up my stuff and had literally just crossed the threshold of the classroom, that I realized Charlie was following me.
Sadly, my first instinct was to chastise myself for being so unaware. Wasn’t that the greatest lesson of all? Be alert, aware of your surroundings, on the defensive. I’d allowed someone, albeit Charlie, to sneak up on me. My second thought was confusion. Why was he following me? Was he simply exiting class behind me, off to continue his day, my presence not even a blip on his radar?
“Hey, Cassandra…wait up.”
Ok, my cheeks burned as I realized the foolishness of my last thought. And then the surprise washed over me again. Get your shit together, Cass! I slowed and turned toward Charlie's magnetic presence. I couldn’t help it. Starting at his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, to the stubble on his chin and his pulse flickering beneath his jaw, I traversed his perfect features with my eyes. His lips which embarrassed me just to look at, his straight masculine nose, those hazel eyes…
TWELVE MINUTES Page 10
