Beware of Love in Technicolor (4 page)

             
Behind Main Street was a small shopping plaza, which held a grocery store, a drugstore, a bakery, and a Burger King. It was not so charming.

             
On the sidewalk separating campus from town there was a bus stop. This is where I found myself, credit card burning a hole in my back pocket, the next time I spoke to John Cunningham.

***

              We were two weeks into our freshman year. I was less than impressed with the experience at this juncture. I didn’t know what I was doing in this little town, when I had always envisioned myself as more of a city girl. I was having a hard time warming up to the girls in the Pit. There was one girl, Gretchen, who I liked. She was a friendly blonde from Wisconsin; my dad would have said she was built like a brick shithouse. She went on to play hockey for the US Olympic team in 1996.

             
But she and I really didn’t have anything in common more than the concurrent bouts with insomnia and a love for the grainy reruns of
The Dick Van Dyke Show
at 2am on the old console television in the study lounge across from my room.

             
It was a Tuesday, mild for late September. I was reading the latest issue of the
Boston Phoenix
, an alternative newspaper with the best club listings and music reviews. I was planning a visit home to see my family and Penny on the upcoming weekend. She and I were going to spend Saturday afternoon shopping in Boston and go to a Red Sox game that night, courtesy of one of her father’s business partners. I wanted to see if there was anything I should do or see before returning to school on Sunday evening.

             
I was in a good mood. I was going shopping. I was skinny. And I’d soon be getting out of this god-forsaken town for two whole days.

             
“Where on earth did you get
The Phoenix
?” A voice suddenly broke my train of thought, and I noticed John had taken a seat next to me on the bench.

             
He was wearing another concert t-shirt, David Bowie this time, and the same black jeans and Docs. No jewelry, though. For the first time, I noticed his eyes were a slate blue, and his hair was ashy blond. It hung in his face in loose curls, though it was shorter and straighter in the back. His features were large: large nose, full lips, and strong jaw. He was very tall. He looked like a Greek statue. Not cute, but there was something pleasing in his appearance.

             
“You can have it,” I said, handing him the folded newspaper. “I’m done with it.”

             
“Where are you going?” he asked me.

             
“The mall.”

             
“Me too.”

             
I nodded and checked my watch.

             
“So, did Alex get drunk that night?” I asked, though I really didn’t care if Alex had found Jesus that first night more than two weeks ago. It was something to say.

             
“Nah, I dunno. Ben and his vapid chippies all ditched me after the show.”

             
“Sorry.”

             
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “But I should ask where you disappeared to that night.”

             
“I ditched those vapid chippies after the show,” I smiled. It was nice to talk with someone, anyone, even a near stranger at the bus stop.

             
“How is that roommate of yours?”

             
“You mean Mollyanna Cowgirl?” I asked. It was the nickname I had come up with while attempting to describe my new roommate to Penny during my five minutes of hall phone time.

             
He laughed and started to say something, but stopped as the bus pulled into the stop.

             
“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked as we made our way down the center aisle.

             
“Sure,” I replied, not wanting to seem anti-social. Truth was, I would have preferred to stare out the window. I had a feeling he was developing a crush on me, and I had decided upon first laying eyes on him that he was not at all my type.

             
There is a very good chance  that my horrible track record with boys up until that point in my life was also partially due to  my incredibly picky standards and impossible to meet list of criteria. I once broke a date with a guy because I learned he bought a pair of shoes at Kmart.

             
You see what I mean.

             
John had good shoes. In those days, you couldn’t do better by me than a pair of black Doc Marten boots. He seemed clever, had good hair, a nice smile, and a solid knowledge of alternative music. He was just so damned big. He towered over me. He could have snapped me like a twig.

             
I no longer hold that quality against men.

             
I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make at least one friend here while I applied as a transfer student to colleges in Boston and New York City. It beat hanging out with Molly. So I relaxed a bit and actually enjoyed our twenty-minute conversation on the bus ride to the mall two towns over.

             
Once there, we went our separate ways. In the forty-five minutes between the bus dropping us off, and the bus picking us up, I spent about $350 of my parent’s money on new jeans, new Docs, and for some reason I did not quite understand, lots of satiny new bikinis to replace my old cottons. The time at the mall left me feeling refreshed, like I had spent time with a long-lost friend.

             
Back on the bus, John and I once again sat near enough to chat on the otherwise empty vehicle. He inquired as to my purchases, and nodded in approval at each of my selections. I kept the Victoria’s Secret bag to myself.

             
When I turned the tables, he presented as couple of new CD’s and a small bag of black votive candles.

             
“Satanic ritual coming up?” I asked with a grin.

             
“You could say that,” he laughed. “Girlfriend visiting this weekend.”

             
“Girlfriend?”

             
“You look surprised,” he taunted.

             
“No, I just...,”

             
“You thought I liked you, didn’t you?” He was grinning like the devil incarnate, and I thought back to Danny Keller. My face flushed as my hand itched to make a fist, but I relied on my sharp tongue rather than my right hook.

             
“Please,” I told him,” you look smart enough not to waste your time.”

             
“Why is that?” he asked.

             
“You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

             
He let out a large appreciative laugh, which only served to make him more likable.

             
“Is she still in high school?” I inquired, suddenly interested in him and this girlfriend of his.

             
“Who?” he asked, momentarily distracted. He had gotten a glimpse of the pink and black Vickie’s bag at my feet.

             
“Your girlfriend.”

             
He brought himself back to the moment, and smiled.

             
“More like an ex-girlfriend, really. No, she just started at UMass.”

             
“If she is an ex, why is she visiting this weekend?”

             
“It seems she can’t live without me.”

             
“I doubt that.”

             
And so we bantered back and forth, until we reached our stop on the edge of campus. It was just shy of six o’clock, and the sky was a blaze of orange and pink as the sun set behind the west end of town. Students were milling about in the usual manner. There was a line spilling out the door of the dining hall that served this particular area of dorms.

             
We walked on past the health center, to where both our dorms were located. He lived in Holt, an ugly, eight story brick and cement structure that reached skyward in the shape of a “T.” The two short arms were an experiment in gender equality and early nineties political correctness; they were co-ed floors. The long stem of the “T” was more traditional; every floor served to house one particular gender of student. John was room 201, on “Second Long.”

             
“You want to grab some dinner?” he asked me as we reached the point where he would turn right to Holt, and I would continue straight up the hill to Wyndham Hall.

             
Finally, a dinner companion other than Molly. But my arms were full of bags, which I had to drop in my room first.

             
“I’ll walk you up there, and we can drop off your stuff,” he offered, as if reading my mind. I agreed, and we kept walking.

             
I remember the red and gold fallen leaves that lined the drive leading up the hill. I remember the long, low whistle of a passing train on the outskirts of town, and the clock tower chiming six. I remember the flicker of the streetlamps as they struggled to reach their full glow in the early autumn twilight, and the sweet, acrid smell from the university incinerator about a quarter mile away. But I don’t remember what we talked about.

***

              Unfortunately, in my need to drop my load of shopping bags in my room, Molly seized upon John and me, and we found ourselves a threesome at dinner.

             
It was fish and chips night. I filled a bowl with Cap’n Crunch and found a table beside a window. We talked about music. Molly informed us that we just had to listen to Jimmy Buffet. We also talked about movies. There was some movie or another I was dying to see.

             
Molly had gotten up for seconds on dinner. For a little girl, she sure could pack it away. Anyway, she was away from the table.

             
“Why don’t we go see that movie on Thursday?” John suggested to me. “There’s a theater at the mall. We can take the bus.”

             
I thought about it for a moment.

             
“C’mon, it’s my birthday,” he prodded.

             
“Your birthday is Thursday?” I asked.

             
“Friday, really, but you’ll be away.”

             
I agreed to go, and when Molly sat down at the table, I invited her to come along. I remember the looks on both their faces at that moment. Molly nearly hugged me. It was the first time she was asked to be included in something since the night we saw
Pippin.

             
John was not so thrilled. He shot me a look of surprise and disappointment. I had no idea why.

             
“What?” I asked, not understanding.

             
“I asked you on a date, and you invited your roommate along!”

             
“A date?” I asked incredulously. “Your girlfriend is coming here on Friday to spend the weekend with you.”

             
“Ex-girlfriend,” he stated. “And so what? Why does that matter?”

             
“It’s tacky.”

             
“So, I’ll tell her not to come,” he offered.

             
I paused, and thought for a moment. I figured he was bluffing, and I still was not sure how I felt about him. I didn’t want to look like an idiot if he was just kidding around. Besides, I did not intend to be there past Christmas, so I figured it was pointless to get a crush on someone now.

             
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with mock authority. “The three of us will go to the movie like normal people. And Friday, you can disrespect your girlfriend any way you wish, as I will be blissfully gone from this one horse town.” I stood up with my tray, and both he and Molly followed suit.

             
“Ex-girlfriend,” John stated again.

             
As she was getting up, Molly asked John, “You have a girlfriend?”

***

              Despite the impression I may have given of myself thus far, I am actually a nice person. I’m just a little slow to warm up. So when Thursday rolled around, I told John to come to my room to pick us up before the movie.

             
I knew he was approaching by the thud of his boots thundering down the empty, echoing hallway. I had left the door just barely open, so all he had to do was push on it to enter.