BEFORE

Familiar emptiness inside

As the distances grow wide

And though I vow to memorize

The last look in your loving eyes

It's here dusk and there dawn

Oh it's like a curtain getting slowly drawn

"Leaving"

Indigo Girls

August 25, 1949

Worcester, Massachusetts

Chuck shut the mailbox, shifting the stack of newly delivered mail to his left hand so he could secure the latch. He had recently returned from work, the last day of his summer job—a quasi apprenticeship at the company he would finally be able to lead alongside Jack Burton when he returned with his Masters Degree in April of 1951.

It seemed forever distant, worse than any collegiate year he had been away. He had received notice at the end of July that he had been accepted into the accelerated Masters program, based on his academic performance. His advisor had mentioned it briefly before he had left in May; Chuck told him he would think about it.

Two weeks at home, feeling like a fish out of water, parched and suffocating, and he had decided he needed to apply. His acceptance was quick. It meant staying in California after graduation in May, taking courses straight through the summer, but one semester early, mid-March, he would be back for good, with a dual major and double Masters Degree. At first, it had seemed too extreme, too daunting to be away for so long.

It took seeing Sarah with Bryce, over and over, like slow, inscrutable torture, to convince him to go. All his reluctance in the past had been about Sarah, his not wanting to be away from her. Now, even when he was close, sometimes it still felt like he was in California, or on some distant planet. She was just as alien, as lost to him, as if he had been marooned worlds away.

He missed talking to her. He missed seeing her. He missed her smile, her laugh…the way she smelled. She had moved on, as she should have, as he had wanted her to do. He was the one who hadn't become part of the present, this New World, the one who was still caught in the past. He thought the long term in California was his answer, even if it was merely his excuse.

"Chuck."

He heard it behind him, Sarah's voice. Her familiar pronunciation of his name, missing for so long, made his blood rush in his veins. He spun quickly, seeing her on the sidewalk, by herself. She seemed to have simply materialized. He wondered where she had come from.

It seemed she had walked, for she looked like she had mildly exerted herself in the heat of late summer. Her hair was long and loose, mussed from the wind. No makeup, only her natural, suntanned complexion making her seem to glow. Her dress was peach, gauzy linen for the summer weather. Her hands were folded behind her back.

She is fidgety…and doesn't want me to see.

She had trouble holding his gaze, her eyes flickering back and forth between his face and the sidewalk.

This was only the second time the entire summer he had seen her without Bryce, aside from when he was working late with her father. What those encounters had consisted of: watching her return from a date, usually late, though Jack never said a word…always in disarray—her clothes, her hair, her makeup. A quick defensive smile seemed more to hide her face than to reveal anything, appearing as she ran upstairs without waiting for a word from Chuck or meeting his eyes.

"Hi, Sarah," he said softly. Why was she here?

"Do you have time to talk?" she asked, expectantly.

He looked back at his house over his shoulder, then back to Sarah. "Gertrude's cooking dinner. But…I always have time to talk to you," he added with a smile.

She blushed and looked at the ground.

"I…uh…I wanted to apologize to you," she said.

"Apologize?" he asked curiously. "For what?"

"For the way…I've been acting. In front of you. In front of everyone." Her blush reddened, scarlet like a sunburn as she kept her eyes downcast.

Now he was blushing. He didn't want to have this conversation, this topic unbearable to picture, much less speak about. "Sarah, you don't owe me any apology. He's your boyfriend," Chuck added.

She hadn't mentioned Bryce's name, but Chuck assumed that was what she meant. He worried for a second that she had meant something else, and he had inadvertently insulted her.

"I know," she whispered, dispelling his concern. "But…I made you uncomfortable. I feel like you…avoided me all summer." He heard the tears, heroically restrained, in her voice.

She had been the one avoiding him, he thought, running upstairs without talking to him, every time he had seen her, all summer long. He felt like there was more that she wasn't saying, something she didn't know how to say to him.

The pain twisted in his chest, knowing she was upset and yet not being able to comfort her, at least not the way he wished he could. "I wasn't…avoiding you, Sarah." He sighed. "I was working. And you were…busy with Bryce." He hated the way he said 'busy' but he went on. "It's ok. We aren't little kids anymore."

"I wish we were," she sighed wistfully, still unable to look at him. "It felt so…easy…then. Right."

He felt his eyes burning with tears. He knew exactly what she meant about the past, but time only moved forward. He blinked his tears back. You can't go home again, like the title of that novel. No matter how much Chuck wished for it, they would never be the way they had been before. He didn't know what to say or how to say it, afraid his voice would break if he tried. That he would break.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," she said quickly, with deeper emphasis. He didn't know what she was apologizing for—upsetting him, her behavior, her inability to reconcile their past with their present, or something else.

"It's ok, Sarah," he answered, waving a hand gently, absolving her of any and everything she could have meant, even if he did not understand it. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

She finally looked up at him, her eyes the blue of glacier ice. Her face was strange, her misery evident, yet commingled with joy. His wanting her happy made her happy, whether she otherwise was or wasn't. He wished he could read her better. Unless she spoke it, her heart always seemed to elude him. She stepped forward quickly, wrapping her arms around him, almost hanging from his neck. Awkwardly, still holding the mail, he hugged her back. He tightened his grip, feeling it acutely, how much he had missed hugging her like this.

It was over too soon. She pulled away quickly, looking down once more, folding her arms behind her back again. He saw her eyes shift, following the stack of mail.

"Who's Jill?" she asked.

"What?" he gaped in surprise.

She pointed to the mail. Chuck looked down to see that the letter on top of the stack he had just grabbed was from Jill Roberts. Her return address, and her name, was larger than his address in the center of the letter, her handwriting unmistakably feminine.

"Oh…oh, yeah, Jill," he said. "She's a friend from Stanford. She lives in Sacramento, close to Palo Alto." He wasn't sure why he'd added that information.

"She writes to you too?" Sarah asked. Her voice was neutral, but oddly forced. Her eyes flashed with something Chuck interpreted as jealousy. It was different from her attitude at her birthday party, the way she had looked when Bryce had been with Carina. Instead, it reminded him of how she had looked when Chuck had divided his time between Sarah and Carina when they were small. It was unfathomable to him, that jealousy, why she would look that way now.

"In the summers, yeah," he answered. "Not as much as you write during the year, but, yeah."

"She must be glad you'll be back soon. She must…miss you," Sarah said. Her voice had started out strong, but ended with a whisper.

She was in pain, he could feel it, like the pain was his own. It didn't make sense. But he had more to tell her, wishing now he didn't have to. "Sarah, there's something I have to tell you. I was accepted into a Masters program."

"That's great news, Chuck," she said, smiling enthusiastically, genuinely happy for him.

"That means when I leave in five days, I won't be back in Massachusetts until spring of '51," he said, feeling the words drop like molten lead.

"Two years?" she gasped, her face pale beneath the tan.

"It sounds worse than it is," he hurried to explain. "It's just next summer…I'll be staying in California," he clarified.

She lifted her chin, blinking rapidly, like she was braced for a blow. "I'm glad you have your friends in California." She kept her eyes closed when she added, "It will be everything you ever wanted…and it's about to come true."

He felt empty, hungry, an insatiable need he knew no food would remedy. She was right, he told himself. But she was also wrong. He had simply found himself in a situation where the only thing he truly wanted was unattainable.

He wanted to hug her again, but he clenched his fists, holding them at his sides. She backed up, unsteady on her feet, reaching for the fence for support.

"I probably won't see you, so happy Birthday, Sarah," he said, forcing the cheer into his tone, even as he felt an ache in his chest. He was leaving the morning of her birthday. They had not spoken that word, 'birthday', to each other since her sixteenth. He had arranged for Gertrude to buy Sarah some yellow roses, to deliver them from him, a sign of friendship, while he was gone. To do anything more seemed ostentatious…and disrespectful to her boyfriend. Improper, even if her boyfriend did not seem to know the word's meaning.

"Thank you," she whispered, then turned away.

He turned and hurried up his walkway, forcing himself not to look back at her as she departed, knowing over a year and a half, an eternity, would pass before he would see her again.

September 13, 1949

Palo Alto, California

"You look like you just lost your best friend," Jill said, as she approached him as he sat on the sofa in the common area of his dorm. She wore a tight, short sleeve green sweater and a fitted brown tweed skirt that fell slightly below her knees.

"Huh?" he asked as he looked up from his textbook.

"You're a Gloomy Gus over here," she said, an exaggerated pout on her face to demonstrate. She swayed as she walked, one foot in front of the other, until she was right in front of him. "You look like you could use some company," she added with a smile, crowding him on the sofa as she sat.

His first instinct was to pull away, not let her invade his personal space. They were only friends, even if she was overly flirtatious.

That girl has been chasing you for nearly four years. What else does she need to do? Ask her out, for Pete's sake.

Michael's words, half envious, as he'd tried to wake Chuck up from his self-induced stupor.

For the first time, he felt himself listen. Not merely hearing Michael's words, but listening.

Jill liked him. In a real sense, she had been after him…for almost four years. Would it be so bad…to take her out for coffee or a soda and a burger? He was almost 21 years old…and aside from that misguided kiss from Sarah, he had experienced nothing like those simple things. He was pathetically behind when it came to dating, and to girls in general.

"It's not because Sarah only writes to you once a week now, is it?" Jill said. She was smiling, teasing, her teeth seeming sharp behind her smile. She was still scrutinizing his mail?

Because she likes you, he told himself, troubled less by the behavior, once he understood it.

"Sarah is still in high school, and busy with her boyfriend," Chuck said, surprised that the defeat he had expected to hear in his voice wasn't detectable. Of all the ways he could have answered, he wondered where those words had come from.

He had been using Sarah and her letters as a buffer…between him and his life outside of academics at school. Taking a step back and looking at his life like an outsider made him certain. It was an indirect way to let Jill know he was available, that Sarah was no threat. All of his walls had been imaginary, constructed of hope, not fact.

Sarah was no threat…for his attention, his affection. He was none for hers. He felt like the heavy coat he had been wearing could finally be cast aside.

"Say, you know what might cheer me up?" he asked, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was pretty, with a sparkling smile and an easy, bubbly personality. Fun. Maybe he needed a little fun. Yes, yes, he did. He had been blue and morose for far too long.

"What is that?" she asked, almost breathless.

What had she seen on his face that had never been there before? Whatever it was, it had encouraged her.

"Go out for coffee with me?" he asked, swallowing his uncertainty.

"Really?" she asked, her eyes coming alive as she beamed at him.

"Yes, really," he replied, chuckling.

"I'd love to," she gushed.

"I just need to run upstairs and I'll be right down," Chuck said, closing his text book and rising.

"My dorm is across the quad. I'll meet you in ten. Sound good?" she asked.

He nodded and smiled.

Going forward, he told himself as he climbed the stairs. Living in the present. It was the only direction, the only place, left available to him.

November 19, 1949

Palo Alto, California

When the football-player-sized man stepped out of the way of the mail counter, Chuck spotted Jill. Her back was to him as she was sorting mail into the mailboxes along the wall.

"What's a guy gotta do to get window service around here?" he teased, raising his voice so she could hear him.

She spun quickly, smiling with both delight and mischief as she saw him. He watched her walk towards him, swaying her hips the way she always did. "Hmm. I could think of a few things," she giggled, winking at him.

She leaned across the counter and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him. It was more of a public display than he was used to, maybe even more than he was comfortable with, but he kissed her back, telling himself it was ok to be infatuated, even a little giddy.

He felt, at least for a moment, that he could understand Sarah and the way she had always been around Bryce. Being attracted to someone who found him attractive was its own kind of intoxication, even if it felt superficial.

Jill was smart and fun. Extroverted and sophisticated. He felt older when he was with her, like an adult, as weird as that was to understand. She talked about a career, what she wanted after graduation. He had never known another woman who was as driven as he was about school, or her future. Her dream was teaching and researching at a university, with an advanced degree in the cutting edge field of molecular biology.

They had been dating for two months, spending almost every available hour together. Being with Jill made him miss home less, and kept his mind off of Sarah. The thought of being with Jill made the idea of staying in California for so long bearable.

She stopped kissing him, whispering in his ear, "Michael's gone, right?"

"He left for Thanksgiving break this morning," Chuck told her, whispering in her other ear.

"Speaking of that, you're still coming home with me tomorrow, right?" she asked. He had spent three Thanksgivings alone on campus. This year, Jill's parents had invited him for dinner. He had accepted.

"Of course," he said.

She lowered her voice even more. "Are you still ok with sneaking me in tonight?" He heard the throaty chuckle.

He was taking a chance, risking a lot, but he shook his head yes, pecking her lips gently. The dangerous nature of it, of them being caught, made it more exciting.

He recalled earlier in the week, when she'd first asked, when she knew Michael was leaving.

It's so hard to…be alone together. Imagine what we could do…

I don't think…I mean…is that…smart? Safe? I…

Relax, Chuck. It's not what you think. Exactly. Nothing dangerous. Just fun. And exciting.

Jill…

I'm the most sexually experienced virgin you'll ever find. Technical virginity . Get it?

He had needed a day to recover from that conversation.

He tried to fit Jill into a category in his head, and failed. She was in her own category, all by herself in his life.

Later, he told her the truth and confessed his inexperience to her. She had laughed, not mocking; she thought he was kidding. Once he made it clear he was being serious, she sobered. She told him it was sweet. Then she offered to teach him.

He had needed more than a week to recover from that conversation. Technically.

The next time they went out, she was more forward. She started teaching him, without his official acceptance of her offer. She took his silence, and his willingness, as a cue to teach him everything.

She guided his hands…and also touched him in the same intimate way. It made him think of Gertrude's adage about God and his clipboard. He knew inside what they were doing was wrong, because it lacked the loving emotion behind it that made it meaningful. Her boundary was firm and unbendable, but each time they were together, she seemed to rush him to the borderline faster. He consoled himself that it was his intention, what was in his heart, that mattered.

He felt close to her, attached to her. And when she touched him that way, when she asked him to touch her, he believed that he was in love with her. The situation was blurry, confused and confusing. It was easier to tell himself those things while his heart was racing and his body was tingling from her deft ministrations.

Finding privacy and time alone had been a challenge for both of them. Their favorite place had been lost in the stacks of the library, where almost no one ventured. The hardest part had always been staying quiet. With Michael gone, they could be alone in Chuck's dorm room, the only barrier being his fear of sneaking her in. She had convinced him that, due to the holiday and the limited number of people on campus, no one would notice.

Close to his ear, she whispered, "I can't wait for you to be able to hear the noises I've swallowed all this time."

All at once, he felt his bones had become molten, his legs shaky and inadequate to hold himself up. He gripped the counter to steady himself. She chuckled. "You're cute when you're flummoxed, you know that, right?"

He gulped, then kissed her one last time, whispering, "I'll see you tonight."

At some level, he knew he was betraying himself, tossing his virtue away, bargained with as if it were merely coin, convinced that it no longer mattered, since the one he had kept it for was lost to him. He couldn't even own that he was arguing with himself. He was lost, drifting, clinging to flotsam rather than something substantial, floating, listening to Jill's whispers and not his own heart. Every time he started to hear his heart, he saw Sarah again in pink, pressed to a wall, her lips fused to Bryce's, and then everything inside Chuck was confused again.

Maybe that was the best he could hope for. The light, seductive sophistication of Jill. The only alternative was to admit the truth…and hug it to him even as it drowned him. He floated.

A/N: Thank you, Zettel, for pre-reading insight. This chapter was necessary, as unpleasant as it is to think. In all fairness, I borrowed the term "technical virgin" as well as the definition from Alice Adams in her novel, Superior Women.