Tremont Street
We met by accident.
It was a Monday on Tremont Street in Boston. The sun was shining and the sky cerulean blue, despite the weather forecast which threatened rain. I was finally done with college in May and was gearing up for my first job as a music teacher. As luck would have it I found a parking spot in front of Boston, Inc, a very hip shop for wealthy college students, which I was not. Entering I was greeted chillingly by a beyond perfect 5' 10" Barbie Blond Trust Fund Undergrad who asked if I needed any help. Under my breath I said "never in my life" and said audibly "No thanks" and that was that.
I grabbed a couple dresses that looked professional enough for my music teaching job starting in the fall and headed to the fitting rooms which were located in the front of the building. A strange place for a fitting room, I thought, but the layout in these old Jazz Age buildings is funky to say the lease. This part of the building was probably where the the black door leading to the hidden speakeasy stood. I stopped myself from knocking on the door and saying "gin sling" but thought better of it and bungled my way into a dressing room, hangers clanking on the door as I tried to maneuver inside. I slid off my jeans and sweatshirt just as the commotion began outside the building. And then the door opened and closed. To my dressing room.
The 5'x5' Dressing Room on Tremont Street
Twenty-five square feet of the dressing room was now filled with my 5' 3" 125 lbs but also with, I'm guessing, a 6' 160 lbs man. I felt my calves bump into the bench as he backed up to close the door and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist to avoid crashing into the mirror. I dropped my hands from his waist as soon as I came to my senses, and he turned, shocked and blushing embarrassingly. Then chaos entered the women's fitting area. Reaching for my sweatshirt I saw fear in his eyes so I put a finger to my lips saying "sh" and pulled the shirt over my head. I reached around him cracking the door of my dressing room an inch and said "What is going on?" in my best teacher voice.
Everyone started yelling at once and I said "Slow down and breathe. Now, what is going on?"
One girl wearing a headband with blue cartoon characters bouncing brightly said "Is he here? Is he?" The other girls started talking at the same time, searching other dressing rooms, banging each door in their angst, followed by a tortured sigh.
"Is he in there with you? We saw him come in here. He has to be here. We saw him come in."
"Um, I don't have pants on." I said. "So, no, there is no one here but me… and, I'd really like to close the door now. So…"
The girls hung their heads in defeat. "Let us know if you see him. He is…" interrupting I said "I'll be here for a while so I don't plan on seeing any men. It's time for you to go. Goodbye." As I closed the door the girls retreated into the store as I closed the door to the fitting room.
I stood there wondering what to do next when the realization that I was still not wearing pants struck me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and then my jeans brush in front of me which I pulled on quicker than was humanly possible. I turned slowly, my face burning with embarrassment. His eyes were closed, his head slightly bowed as he said "Jaesohamnida. Jaesohamnida. Oh, English. Right. Um, I'm so sorry, I'll go right now. So sorry. Ashish."
He reached for the door handle and I said "Well, if you wait a second I could check if they are still out there. I don't think either one of us wants those girls to come back in here, unless…"
"Hashima, hashima. Don't. You're right. Right."
I stopped for a moment looking at him. He was boyishly handsome, 28ish, Asian, with jet black hair that brushed over his right eye. His eyes were a rich chocolate brown, and he smiled awkwardly, his face and eyes turned downward, dimples appearing on both cheeks. "Wow" I said, then trying to regain some sense of self respect, I began to babble "Oh, I mean, um. Wow. This is embarrassing, huh?" He said "Yes. Yes it is."
"Well" I said "Hello."
He burst out into laughter, and so did I.
How to extricate ourselves from the 5 x 5
Looking at his indigo blue cashmere sweater I said "Yeah, this is not going work. You can't go out like this. Give me a second. Oh, and lock the door…" He chuckled and I snuck out. What should he wear…
I returned five minutes later with a quiet knock."It's me." He opened the door with a quizzical look and I said "Here. Change into these. You can't go out dressed like a model. Fearful of being spotted by the clan I entered the room and closed the door, turning my back to him. I heard the bag open and the sounds of him changing. Then, a knock on the door. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?" Blond Barbie had returned to spread her miserable superiority some more. I felt the air still as he froze mid-dressing. "Yes, I'm all set. just getting back into my clothes." I said. Then, after a pause, she said "You just bought new clothes, I thought you were changing into them." "Well," I said "I changed my mind. Thanks for all of your help." And, as she walked away. Her footsteps sounded miffed.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
"Yeah." he replied. I turned around to see him wearing a grey Champion double weave Boston University sweatshirt and low rise jeans. Under my breath I said "That was worth spending every penny I have."
Back to reality, I said out loud "Alright. I'll do a quick check." I looked around the corner, returned, and knocked twice. "It's me." The door opened, he walked out and I reached to pull the hood on the BU sweatshirt up, then he followed me out of the fitting rooms, out the front door, and just as we thought we were in the clear we saw the girls coming back down the street. "Come this way" I said, tugging on his sleeve, leading him down the sidewalk to the store front of a closed shop. I turned him around so he was facing me and whispered "Let's pretend to talk." But as the girls approached he became nervous and moved toward me, then his hands went around my waist. My arms instinctively moved upward around his neck and then I looked in his eyes as our movement backward was stopped by the cool glass door of the shop. "Is that him?" someone said. He grew tense, dropping his head to my shoulder, as the tension started to fade, he lifted his head, looking at me intently, then slowly bent his head toward mine. His lips brushed mine once, twice, and I leaned into his body letting him steady me as his arms wrapped around me. My hands ran through his hair as we continued looking at each other. Then he kissed me.
What to do now?
The sound of the girls walking away brought us back to Tremont Street, where we stood looking alternatively at each other and the ground.
"Um, my car's on the street. Would you like me to give you a ride somewhere?" I said.
He shook his head as if to shake off some unwanted thought. His demeanor turned melancholy as he said "Yes."
"Okay." I said. "Alright. Follow me." We walked back up the street and stopped by my car. He looked at the car and then at me with a sideways smile and a dimple.
"This is your car?"
"Yup. The color is tomato red." I replied with my own version of a sideways smile - no dimple.
"I don't drive." He replied.
"At all?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you drive?"
"No, I mean, yes, I don't drive." He reached for the passenger door handle which was lined up with the sidewalk and pulled to no avail.
"Oh, the locks don't work using the key. I have to unlock it on the driver's side and then reach across." As I walked to the other side of the car I said "I share this information with you, although she might be embarrassed. She doesn't breakdown, she just gets tired and stops working where it doesn't count. That's why I love her."
"Your car is a girl?"
"Of course. How long could I put up with a male car? Not possible."
"Are men a problem for you?"
"Well, I have opinions. Strong ones. I'm, as my Dad would say, "a tough broad".
"And that's a problem for men?"
"Well, I can be kind of intimidating. I never learned how to be a delicate flower."
"People see me that way too."
"Like a delicate flower?"
He laughed and said "They think I'm tough."
"Are you tough?"
"I'm always the leader so I have to be tough. I'm loved and hated at the same time."
"I know how that feels. I was manager of my college a cappella group. You take the hits sometimes to keep things going."
"Yes. It's getting old, though. Plus, we never stop."
"Never stop what?"
"Working."
"What do you do for work?"
"What do you do?"
"Oh, so that's how this is going to go. Okay. I just graduated from college."
"I'm jealous. I couldn't go because of my job. I love learning. I'm a geek."
"Geeks are the best."
"Why?"
"They aren't high on themselves unless it's in the middle of doing something wicked smart - We are in Boston, the word "wicked" is the ultimate adjective. It means everything."
"How is that possible?"
"This is Boston. They won the Revolutionary against the most powerful country in the world, the UK. Bostonians made tea out of Boston Harbor to protest taxation without representation. They can do whatever they want to the English language - perhaps it's the final insult misusing the word wicked to make the Brits insane." He let out a laugh and I joined in.
"Well, where to?" I asked.
"I don't want to go back."
"Where is back?"
No response, so I said "Where do you want to go?"
"Not where I'm supposed to be."
"Okay. That leaves the rest of the world and I'm driving a VW Beetle. I could drive to any state in New England and New York and New Jersey are doable."
"Where are you going?"
"New Hampshire."
"New Hampshire it is."
"Really? We're talking New Hampshire. I guess if you like hiking or the Flume you're in luck. If you want to see the Old Man in the Mountain, I'm here to tell you it fell down. Can't see it anymore."
"Bet the Old Man didn't make it out alive."
"No, no, he did not." I gave him an approving smile. After all, a quick whit is a sign of intelligence in my family. Then I followed up by saying
"Alright. New Hampshire has a lot of locations. Anywhere in particular?"
"Where are you going?"
"Durham. Where the University of New Hampshire is."
"Durham it is."
"Okay. I have one more question."
"Ask away."
"What's your name?"
"What's your's?
"Cailin."
Long pause. "Namjoon."
"Well, nice to meet you, Namjoon."
"Nice to meet you, Cailin."
Durham, NH
As we started up Storrow Drive to get onto Rt. 95. Namjoon yawned and stretched.
"You're tired" I said.
"Yes."
"Sleep. I was going to do this drive by myself anyway."
"I might."
I turned on the radio and pushed "cd" - Ella's voice was clear and ringing, making me smile - Stockholm '66 - My favorite live Ella album started with How High the Moon and I began to hum Charlie Parker's Ornithology solo as counterpoint to Ella. I turned down the volume and then looked at Namjoon. He was asleep - most likely breaking every sleep record.
Uneventfully we arrived on Jean Shaheen lane near the outskirts of the University where I was staying. I was subletting from my friend Michelle who was subletting from a professor who goes to Europe every summer. There was just me and Peter staying there, and Peter was away for the weekend in P-Town.
I took a minute to look at Namjoon before waking him. He was beautiful, especially his eyelashes resting on his tan skin, and I was transported back to the store front and his lips on mine.
"That is quite a look in your eyes." Namjoon was awake and I was caught staring. Embarrassing. Ugh.
"Oh." I said as I turn and opened my door a little too aggressively. "Just checking if you were awake. And you are. So, that's good."
"Oh." He replied with a low bass tone which made me tremble a bit.