8
As it turned out, I was wrong. Peter did listen to me and over the next few months, a drastic change came over, not only in him but also in our relationship. I suppose there could have been a number of reasons for that apart from that little midnight rendezvous, though I imagine, it must have been the starting point for everything that followed. Or then again, I might be making it out to be more important than it actually was. What I do know, however, is in the days, weeks, months following that night out near the dumpsters, a difference pervaded our day-to-day goings-on as compared to the ones that had come before. It was typified perfectly in the change in attitude and overall demeanor within Peter himself. Where once he had been a dark, grim, sulking figure lurking about the corridors of the Compton, never engaging in a friendly conversation or anything more than a shifty sideways glance from a distance, he was now far more open, and upbeat, and like a normal pleasant guy with better grooming habits and improved health. The monumental shift had come about very slowly, and ordinarily, growing in stature bit-by-bit with time. I mean, if I were to somehow make light of the situation, then I would have been of the opinion he had finally done the right thing, the sensible thing even, and pulled his head out of his ass and started affording more attention to the things that mattered to him as he should have all along.
That being said, the changes in him were so great, and so notable in the upcoming months that it went on to signify a new, more exciting phase in our relationship, and in many ways, it paved the way for my circle of trust to slowly expand its reaches. From just including Liz and Harry for a while, it had suddenly thrown Peter into the mix as well. And if you're wondering why, the reason behind that was solely down to the fact that we were both spending more and more time in each other's presence, and even now, I find myself constantly thinking back to those moments with such lucidity that they might as well have happened yesterday.
For example, there was that time we were seated in the corner of my apartment, watching a buddy cop movie from the early 90s while digging into a bland cup of instant noodles while his sleeping head would be resting on my shoulders. Or those times when I'd blast through his door uninvited, bitching and moaning and whining about my bad day at rehearsal practice or something someone said that I didn't agree with, and he'd just take it all in, like some kind of emotional sponge. There were also those times when we would be on the terrace, trying to rebuild an old radio unit for no apparent reason than to while away some idle downtime, and during our breaks, we'd bite into Umberto's zucchini topped pizzas on the side of the building with our legs dangling off into empty space, while being mildly engaged in a debate on whose playlist was the better of the two of us, and then one thing leading to another, the conversation would tail off into the territory of our families and friends and our plans for the future. This may have been meandering talk in a sense, but it was my first real glimpse, and a fresh perspective at who Peter was, and what made him tick.
But almost in an attempt to balance my growing familiarity around him, from time to time, he'd also surprise me by butting in with a funny or witty remark, which would spark a laugh at my expense, and I'd be ruffled by the fact that he'd managed to disarm me so completely so as to leave me flushed with embarrassment. And I'd start wondering immediately afterward if there was something remotely romantic about our newfound attachment, or was it just my mind playing tricks on me now that I held second-hand knowledge from his aunt that he may like me. Though, given how free and nonchalant he was whenever I was around, I was starting to doubt the veracity of those claims as well. I did, however, begrudgingly admit to him one day while lying upside down on his bed listening to some tunes, while he worked on some odd contraption on the floor, that I liked this new version of him much better, jokingly adding that he'd hidden his charm well for many years, and he just replied – "Don't get too comfortable Miss Watson. I've got a few secrets yet" - while soldering two bits of wires together. It took me years to figure out we were already flirting.
Perhaps, the only person who was unhappy with these new changes in my life was Harry. I remember the three of us going out to Gramercy's Tavern on an autumn night, and having him skulk and scowl the whole way there because I'd invited Peter to come along. To be fair to him, it was just supposed to be me and Harry - it was one of our planned weekly dates – but given how much of a bore he was getting to be on my nerves lately with the incessant complaining about his father's unfair treatment of him and the internal family politics of the Osborn Enterprise which I had no interest in being dragged into, coupled with the fact that I got a fresh kick out of spending time with Peter now, meant that I'd asked him to tag along, more as a relief from Harry's mentally draining lectures than anything else. The goal was accomplished with flying colors, however, and I decided then and there to bring him along to any date I had with Harry in the future, if only for the express purpose of making my evenings with him less taxing. Funnily enough, though, it wasn't long before even he started to enjoy Peter's company on those dates.
Maybe he had the realization, like me, that Peter's ability to absorb other people's problems and then make light of those concerns with a one-liner, or a joke, was invaluable compared to the months he would spend giving him the cold shoulder and treating him with hostility and jealousy. Or maybe he thought why make an unnecessary fuss or show of petulance in our midst when if anything, he could rekindle his old high school friendship with the guy and use him instead as an outlet for his never-ending stories about his daddy issues. Because he would find out much later, that Peter was more than willing to listen to anything related to Norman Osborn, almost to the point of absurdity; he need only ask and an ear would be provided.
The inadvertent aftermath of this period – which involved past differences being reconciled and new bridges being built in their place - was that the three of us suddenly found ourselves inseparable in everything we did. And with the streets of Manhattan ripe for exploring, and nothing to really hold us back now that we were adults in our own right, we proceeded to hike through all the famous restaurants and bars on the island every night. Well, almost every night because we all had our priorities to get through first. But, whenever the opportunity arose for us to get together, we'd seize it with both hands no questions asked, only to find out that with us being so inexperienced in navigating the night scene around the city, that most often than not, the result was an anticlimactic one. The nights out, though promising at the start, almost always seemed to end with the three of us getting drunk and me, smashed beyond belief, sometimes hiding at the back of a karaoke bar, or chatting up confused strangers on the dance floor, with Peter or Harry having to pull me away by my elbow and lead me through the bouncing crowd of people towards the dark red glow of the exit door.
One time it got so bad, I was puking my guts out in the shadowy corner of an underground car park, with Peter having to hold my hair in a bundle behind my head while I vomited all over his shoes, and then letting him know that the drink he'd passed me earlier that night had something rotten in it, to which he replied – "Not my fault if you're gonna stick so close to me. It's only natural my Parker luck is rubbing off on you" – and once again, I was found blushing while being led home on my haunches.
Winter that year was the most memorable time of all. Simply down to the fact that while it was a cold, frigid period, and it snowed like it had never snowed in New York for a very long time, there was a feeling of warmth coursing through my veins, like the lightest tingling in the otherwise chilly Manhattan breeze. And without getting too mushy or touchy about the whole topic, part of me knows now that the warmth was simply the realization that maybe for the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people around me who I could count on with my life. And that feeling was only superseded, perhaps by the sight of the Central Park treetops dotted with dazzling white snow like fine powder as the three of us wandered through its entire length taking in the scenery, which to be fair wasn't much considering it was reduced to a snowy haven with a frozen lake at the center. I kept curling my toes and fingertips under all the thermal gear I was wearing because it was cold enough that our breaths would fog up in front of our faces, almost turning into a solid block of air that I was sure not even a bullet could penetrate but warm enough that neither of us would mind going to such extremities for a leisurely walk. It felt very much like the festive period before Christmas arrives every year - where in the middle of the wintry darkness, there is always the hope and expectation of good things to come like eggnog, and turkey, and gifts waiting under a tree in the morning to warm you up.
Which I suppose is a good reminder of the present Peter got me that year. A copy of "An Actor Prepares" by Konstantin Stanislavski, one of the most serious manuals on acting for young and aspiring actors, which I was at the time. And I remember being genuinely stunned by the incredible gesture and the length he had gone to acquire this book because it certainly wasn't cheap, and at the same time being a bit mortified because my matryoshka doll, which I'd gift wrapped myself and left along with the cheap handwritten note under his doorstep the night before, was considerably a few cuts below what he'd just gone and bought for me. I didn't know how but yet again, he'd managed to leave me red-faced and speechless, though this time, in the confines of my room and not in the infuriating delight of his lopsided grin.
I was so embarrassed by the whole thing that I never even got the chance - and nor did I want to - to tell him that the book turned out to be the best present I'd ever received during Christmas and that was unequivocally with a period.