Chapter Eleven
Background Theme: So Long As You Realize
Waking with a start, I lifted my head from the desk, wiping
away the slightly sticky drool that dampened the outside corner of my
mouth. Fortunately, I had not been
asleep for too long as I didn't have to clean any off the desktop. Leaning back in my chair, stretching to
loosen stiff muscles, I yawned and rubbed my eyes in an attempt to further
force myself awake.
Looking back to the cubicle, I noticed
several sheets of paper, pushed aside when I laid my head down on the desk to
rest my eyes for a moment. Pulling out
my watch – Yeah, Mario…GO AWAY – I
checked the time.
"Five-forty."
I leaned over to look out the tinted
windows. I could still make out the dim
disk of the sun as it slowly slipped past the tall, slightly pointed roof of a
pavilion near a local nightclub just down from the University. The thatched roof, reminiscent of the one I
had seen on the beach near Nerima,
faded slowly to black as it became silhouetted against what remained of
the sun's brilliance.
Straightening in my seat, I scooted the
chair back and stood, slowly, my body protesting the prolonged posture I had
assumed during my brief nap. Yawning
again, I reached down to pick up the sheets of paper I had written upon and
glanced over what I had written. I had
laid the groundwork for the assignment by giving a little background on how
Alisha (I found out her last name was Riordan, and that she was one grade
behind me) and I had met, and what our early friendship had been like. I didn't go into a lot of extreme detail,
but what I did write sparked a flood
a flood of memories, the brief pages I had written priming the pumps of my
memory.
About
two weeks after joining the class, Ms. Steuermann moved me to front-most corner
seat, near the classroom window and right next to Alisha. Despite the fact that we argued and fought
like cats and dogs, I began to like her even more. Perhaps it was her feisty spirit that appealed to me. It
still does, I thought with a smile.
I
recalled the first time I had ever called her.
Searching through the phone book, I had been willing to call every
Riordan on the page until I found the right one. There were about ten or so listed, but I lucked out and got her
on the third or fourth try. Needless to
say, she was surprised but perhaps a little flattered as well when I explained
to her how I got her number.
About
a month or two before school ended, I wrote her a note telling her of my interest in her,
accompanying it with a white (or was it pink?) carnation being sold at the
school that day. That same afternoon,
following a pep rally, I almost ran into her rounding a corner outside the
gymnasium. She seemed rather nonchalant
about the encounter and I worried about what she might have been thinking. In truth, I think she hardly gave it a
second thought at the time. She did
tell me much later that she had appreciated the gift but wasn't certain how to
take the note.
Summer
arrived, and we lost touch, but I still thought of her from time to time. My Junior year of high school arrived and I
enrolled in Air Force Junior ROTC. One
day in late November I was pulling Desk Duty (sort of like an office assistant,
greeting and assisting visitors to the school) when a very polite middle-aged
woman entered the lobby, explaining she was picking up her daughter for an
appointment. After directing her to the
appropriate office, I went back to my desk and resumed back to my studies. To my surprise, the lady returned with
Alisha in tow. We exchanged greetings
and she introduced the visitor as her mother before the two of them left. I pondered meeting her again but didn't
pursue the thought too deeply as I was dating someone else at the time.
That
particular relationship, actually my first real dating experience, ended the
first weekend in December. I spent most
of my time in the wake of the break-up trying to mend my young broken
heart. I was now also trying to find a
date for the upcoming Military Ball in March.
I was a cadet officer, and my parents felt it just wouldn't do for me to
go stag.
One
day, as I sat out among the other students at the "Triangle" during lunch, I
noticed Alisha sitting on a nearby bench.
After a little light conversation passed between us, she shocked me by
asking me why I no longer called her.
Not really having an answer for her, I promised her that I would remedy
that situation immediately. In fact, I
started calling her again that day. My
brain must have been sent into overload because I didn't even think to ask her
to the Military Ball. I had mentioned
both the Ball and Alisha in the same conversation to my aunt one day in late
January, and it was she who made the suggestion that should have been obvious
to me by that time. All I could do was
slap my forehead and start reaching for the phone.
The
rails along the way of the path my train of thought was taking began to
destabilize, threatening to derail my deep musings as my subconscious tried to
get my attention. Apparently polite
knocking had failed and my Id, Ego, and Super Ego joined forces to nag
incessantly at the back of my mind. I
stopped momentarily and thought. What was it?
I mentally snapped my fingers. The
Dream. The one I had started while
dozing under The Tree had continued, picking up perhaps a day or two later from
where it left off. I didn't recall any
events in between, but apparently I had gone from being a lone stranger (an
incredibly well-heeled one at that) to being a foreign exchange teacher. How convenient as well that I was a Theatre
instructor. I had only attained my
Associate of Fine Arts the year before and was at least two years away from being able to do what I was doing in
the dream. I chuckled to myself. I guess that's why they call them dreams.
Looking back at my homework assignment, I
sighed as I carefully placed them in my Literature folder and slowly gathered
my things. It was getting late and the
night students would begin arriving shortly.
If I was lucky, I'd also be
catching the back half of Rush Hour traffic back to my apartment. The assignment wasn't due until next week,
as today was Wednesday, and the Friday class was canceled. Dr. Jensen would be back for the Monday
session. That gave me plenty of time to
finish it. I figured I'd work on it a
bit when I got home, filling the time while I awaited Alisha's call.
Alisha. I furrowed my
brows in consternation as I contemplated her brief but emotional response to
the phone call she received. Alisha was
a very modest person, especially when it came to her emotions. Had it been anyone else around at the time,
I'm certain she would have erected a façade of steel, keeping it in place until
she was in the relative safety of privacy.
I was probably the only person outside of her family she would drop her
guard with and allow them to show through.
I found it ironic that, as she had admitted to me once, she could never
seem to allow herself to become vulnerable in that way to anyone she dated. I wondered if that had anything to do with
why she wouldn't respond to the attentions I gave her.
I stood once more, stretched again,
picked up my stuff and left the room.
The library was fairly deserted on the second floor; a few students
milled around in the lobby and Periodical section of the first floor. Stepping out into the early evening air, I
noticed it was beginning to take on a less damp yet crisper feel as the leading
edge of a cold front began to move in.
It was probably the culprit behind the intense rain earlier this
afternoon. Continuing down the ramped
walkway, I turned right at a four-way junction between the library and the
Business building and headed toward the Fine Arts building.
I had an odd ritual I'd perform at the
beginning and end of each day at school.
I'd stop in and peek into the auditorium where the University's stage
was just to see what, if anything, was going on. Usually the auditorium was pitch black with only Exit signs illuminating the darkness
when there was no one around. Sometimes
I'd wander backstage to the dressing rooms, sometimes to the rehearsal rooms
off and behind Stage Right. Most of the
time, though, I'd stand at Front Center Stage, looking out across the empty
seats of the auditorium; I'd stand there, relaxed, meditating and thinking;
sometimes I would remember classes I attended, performances I had participated
in, and friends I had made there on that stage. For some reason, it always left me feeling with a bittersweet
feeling that I couldn't explain.
Tonight, the University Orchestra was
rehearsing for a performance on Friday afternoon. Rusty was engrossed in conversation with one of the musicians,
but waved briefly when he noticed me poke my head in through one of the sets of
double doors. I waved back and,
deciding not to bother him, retraced my steps back to the lobby. I glanced briefly at the large Student Art
exhibit that was on display, then continued through the lobby to the main
hallway and across it to the
exit. I turned toward the north end of
the building, walking along it to the parking lot beyond where I parked my car
in relative seclusion. This older
section of the parking lot, patched over in various areas where potholes had
formed, was usually empty save for nights of performances at the
auditorium. It was almost guaranteed
that I could find a parking spot here, and almost always the same one.
I reached into my pocket for my keys,
unlocked the door to my vehicle, and slid carefully inside. Placing my things on the passenger seat, I
closed my door, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking space. Turning on my lights, I pulled out onto the
dividing road I had observed from the library earlier and headed home.
