Chapter 12
March 1973 – Yale University
"Alright class: Time's up. Please pass your exams to the front of the class. As previously announced, the second part of this grade will consist of your presence and performance at the poetry reading this evening." The aging professor leaned against the side of the lectern, holding a slim stack of papers. "Your place in the line-up for tonight is listed on this schedule. You may each take one as you leave. You will be required to sign in before the performances begin, and sign out after it is over. Please arrive in time to do so in an orderly fashion. I'm looking forward to experiencing your work, and I hope you all comprehend the privilege you have in being part of a reading – both as artists and as members of the audience. That is why your grade is attached to your attendance, and why your spring break can wait a couple of hours. Good luck, and I'll see you tonight."
The collective moaning was not as muffled as intended, and the students dutifully took their schedules and left quickly.
Angela was looking forward to tonight; she delighted in hearing the others' poetry, and felt her piece was appropriately vulnerable. But she mimicked the body language of the other students, just to fit in.
When she walked into the club that night, Angela was shaking a little, but not uncomfortably so. She felt energized, and even her ever-falling nylons didn't bring her down. After signing in with her professor, she ducked into the ladies' room and made the appropriate, but rather unladylike, adjustments to her attire. Stepping out of the stall, she smoothed the front of the yellow, white, and pea green dress (in a size 6!), speckled with drawn outlines of poppies. After washing her hands, she stood in front of the mirror and fluffed her long blonde hair to the front of both shoulders, held back on top by a wide, pea green headband. Actually, Angela felt a little overdressed. She hadn't been expecting bean bag chairs, but felt trendy just being there.
Angela walked out into the low-lit, smoke-filled room. She spotted a bean bag near the front of the left front of the stage, and plopped down as demurely as possible. "Hi, Jane," she said to the girl next to her.
Jane breathed out a long drag of a cigarette. "Hey, Angela." She gave a distinctly unamused laugh. "You know the problem with these things?" Angela shook her head. "It's like class. In order to get a seat near the back, you've gotta get here early - but that means you're here longer." She snorted. "We're so close, we're practically in the spotlight up here." Jane shook her head in admitted defeat. "At least we've got spring break after this obligatory nap is over."
"Heh, yeah…," Angela chuckled nervously. She wasn't so sure she was still looking forward to reading her poem now. It was highly reminiscent of Lord Byron, her favorite poet, but she admired the vague stylings of the more mysterious, modern poets, like Seamus Heaney. But Angela didn't feel cool enough for that, and she was feeling more and more certain that Jane would agree.
The first few poets were visibly nervous. But then a tall, good-looking man with sandy blonde hair, who reminded Angela of that guy who played the Sundance Kid, stepped up onto the stage. Brady... No! Brian! Brian Thomas! From the moment he appeared, he was serious, looking and sounding, and Angela was instantly enraptured. She'd barely remembered him from the 40 person class. But with him standing above her, under the heat of the spotlights, she was stunned. Brian's dark gaze rested on her, and he finished his poem completely by heart, never looking away. He spoke in such a way that his rough voice sounded soft and languid. His demeanor was solemn and intense, and pointed directly at Angela. She wasn't entirely sure she knew what all of his poem meant, but she felt like she was listening to Italian opera. It was an honor to witness what was clearly exposing this man's heart. She was so engaged, she felt she was in the poem with him. Angela's chest sunk in a deep exhale as he finished, and she wiped a tear from her eye. She clapped zealously as he stepped off the stage, ignoring Jane's dumbfounded stare.
Angela paid the most perfunctory attention the rest of the evening. She did try to be present during her own recitation, but it was difficult. Her mind kept returning to Brian. His voice. His eyes – Not brown eyes, again! I'm no match for them! Oh, I don't even care! There it was again. That distinct feeling of being a woman, the same one she felt that night in the woods, so long ago. She felt inexplicably empowered and delicate. I have to find him!
After the presentations, the house lights returned, and Angela slowly made her way through the crowded room to her professor's table. All the way, she kept lifting her chin over the people nearest her, in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Brian. Once at the front of the line, her professor congratulated her work. "Thank you, sir. I'm really glad I came." She bent down to sign out, and heard a deep voice over her shoulder.
"Angela Robinson," the man read. "A most fitting name for an angel." Angela completely missed the rolled eyes of her professor, and focused solely on the speaker's. Unlike Greg's playful, chocolate eyes that seemingly reached out to meet her where she was, the deep brown of Brian's pulled her roughly into him, like a passionate tango. When Brian gently took her by the hand, a completely entranced Angela followed him out the door.
Angela had no idea where they were going, and she couldn't care less. They had been walking hand-in-hand for almost an hour, and she didn't know the first thing about him. They had barely more than introduced themselves, when the prosaic facts of life started to seem inconsequential and dull. Brian mystified her with his abstract thoughts and endless compliments. Finally, he stopped under a street lamp, and brought both his hands up to Angela's fragile face. "Your eyes are a vortex, and I must dive into it." With that, he leaned down and kissed her deeply. But when his tongue tried to go in her mouth, her closed eyes popped open and she stumbled awkwardly.
"Oh! Um – I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed. Great! He's gonna think I'm a child!
"There's nothing to apologize for. I was just overcome, and couldn't help myself. I feel drawn to you, Angela. Please don't push me away."
"I'm not," Angela said, seriously, looking from his eyes to his mouth. She stepped up on her tip-toes with her palms against his chest, and kissed him in as adult a manner as she could muster. After a couple of minutes, she pulled away and smiled questioningly up at him. He grinned down at her.
"You are fire, and I am oil. I want nothing more than to be consumed." With that, her smile broadened, and she kissed him feverishly. The wind had been picking up, and she was getting chilly. But that just spurred her to get as close to Brian as possible. When she pulled back, the first thing she wanted to do was (well, virtually high-five her mother), but then to rush to the nearest shelter.
Brian noticed her chattering teeth, and with his arms protectively around her, her looked quickly at their surroundings. Spotting a bar the next block over, he grabbed her hand and they ran to the door. Brian opened it, and pulled her quickly inside. "Phew! It's really breezy out there!" Angela gasped as the wind slammed the door behind them.
"Nature is echoing our passion," Brian said, running his hands down her arms.
Angela's breath caught as she stared again at this purely open book. He has zero qualms about expressing his desire for me. He's not at all threatened. He's so brave and kind. He wants me to know he wants me. It's like he's incapable of leaving me to wonder that. Taking her hand softly in his, Brian walked her to a small circular table with high stools. Sitting inches across from her, he looked intently into her eyes.
"What are your plans for spring break?" Brian asked her. Angela almost had to awaken at the question.
"Hmm? Oh, um, I actually didn't really have plans. I was just going to stay at my sorority house…get a head start on the final project in my Strategic Marketing class…" He kissed her. "You know, workout…" He kissed her again. "Maybe catch a movie…" He kissed her intently, cupping the back of her head, and lacing his fingers through her hair with one hand, and running his other hand down her arm. Grasping her hand, he pulled back.
"How would you like to not do that?"
"Pardon me?" Angela shook herself out of the moment.
"How would you like to come with me?"
"What? Where are you going?"
"Come with me to Las Vegas."
"What?"
"Please? I need you. I need you beside me. I'm flying out there tonight, and I can't bear the thought of leaving you behind."
"Wh-why are you going to Las Vegas?"
"I'm on my way to Baja, to study under Cucapá artisans. I don't know the language, but I can hear their heart. I can see the work of their hands. I can understand. And they will want to hear my words; my poetry transcends tongues. They will understand me, too."
"What? You're going to Mexico? For how long?" Angela was trying to keep from panicking.
"I'm not sure," Brian looked positively like a victim. "I just know I have to go," he said with a shrug. Angela's face fell, and she stared miserably at the tiny table. He lightly jostled her hands to bring her attention back up to him. "Please don't leave me alone, Angela. Come with me, at least to Vegas? Keep me company. Warm me with your presence." Angela's worried brows rose slightly in hope.
I have never been wanted like this before. I can't believe it. He wants me. This gorgeous man with his bottomless brown eyes and strong shoulders wants me! Not as a friend, but as a woman.
"Brian, this may be the foggiest itinerary I've ever assumed, but I've never felt so clear in my resolve." She squeezed his hands. "I need to be near you. Let's go."
