Tempus (20 page)

That made me feel a little better, but I also thought maybe I should learn to pay more attention.  After all, Julie showed me those pictures of Steve, and I had never noticed him looking at me that way.  That
had
to be it.  I had to have seen him and then projected his image into my glimpse of someone else.  That made sense.  Sort of.

Questions popped into my head, one by one.  What about the letter ‘G’ in the heart?  I was certain now that’s what it was, but I didn’t know his name
then
.  The eyes.  The blue, blue eyes.  I wouldn’t have noticed them in such detail at a distance, not without knowing it, not without realizing what I was seeing.  They were beautiful.  Those long, lush, lashes—I had to stop.

I grabbed my phone and sent Steve a message.  It said simply, “You up?”

The reply came before I could set the phone down and wait.  One word, “Yep.”

I called.  It was nice to hear his voice, and it helped clear my head and push the thoughts of Gabriel to the back of my mind for a while.  Steve's voice was deep, but not gravely.  It was ‘smooth.’  He wondered why I was up so early, so I told him it was because I slept so much yesterday.  That was probably more true than not.  We talked until he had to leave for work.  I promised to stop by.

Possessive
.  I had to get that thought out of my head.  I wondered if Dad had said it on purpose, since he knew how my mind worked. 

I didn’t call Julie until after eight.  She informed me she couldn’t go to lunch today.  She had to go with her Aunt for trade days the next town over.  Trade days was like an outdoor mall, and you never knew
what
you would find. 

Most things were only cheap imported goods, and brand name knock-offs.  Now and then, you would come across something truly unique or valuable.  Auntie Anne had a knack for that, digging through box after box and browsing row upon row.  If there were something of value, she was sure to find it.

Knowing all this, I was skeptical when Julie said they should be back by two.  They were
never
back by two; it was always an all day affair.  We chatted until Auntie was yelling from the front door, and once Julie got in the car we hung up.  We would have talked longer, but the things we wanted to discuss were not discussable in front of Auntie.

I decided to get the dressing-up done and out of the way.  I loved the way I looked afterwards, but I hated the process.  If I were magic, that’s one of the skills I would choose; making things happen instantaneously. 

With four hours to kill and a racing mind, I thought taking a walk might be a good idea.  There was a tiny children’s park nearby, and it was early enough it was probably deserted.  I grabbed my neglected camera, threw on some comfortable shoes, and headed out.

The temperature was nice outside.  There was the slightest of breezes, and even though it was early, it was warm.  I snapped a few pictures on the way, random things using my macro setting.  Even cracks in the sidewalk were fascinating when photographed on macro.  You could see the tiny particles of sand in the concrete, and the cracks were like canyons.

It didn’t take long to reach the park.  It wasn’t visible from my house, but it was only a few blocks away.  As I expected, there was no one there.

It had no fences, so I cut across the grass straight to the swings.  There were six: two for babies, two for small children, and two for bigger kids.  I wouldn’t exactly qualify as a ‘bigger kid,’ but the big-kid swings were high enough for me to swing in comfortably.  I chose the one on the end.  I put my camera in its case, placed it on the ground, and sat in the yellow seat.

I looped my arms around the chains, leaned backwards with my eyes closed, and began to swing.  This would be a perfect morning to just sit and think of nothing.  Unfortunately, my mind had other ideas. 

I was thinking about what Dad had said last night, about keeping my options open.  I was usually clear on what I did and didn’t want.  It was easy to make decisions, for the most part, to weigh things in my mind.  If I denied I was curious about Gabriel, to myself at least, then that was not keeping options open.  Why was I thinking of Gabriel as an option?  An option for what?

I couldn’t fool myself.  He was
very
attractive.  But what made him attractive, beyond his looks?  I didn’t know anything about him.  His dad could have moved them here because he was a troublemaker; maybe he’d even had trouble with the law or something.  That could make someone move to ‘
nowhere’
Missouri.

He didn’t seem the type, though.  The way Dad had described him, his concern for me yesterday—he seemed nice enough.  I didn’t get a creepy vibe, other than the ‘I saw you in my mirror once’ weirdness, which could have all been me.  I was lost in thought when I became aware of a presence nearby.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see a young mother and her child.  What I saw instead was Gabriel.

I came close to losing my grip on the chains, which caused me to nearly fall backwards out of the swing.  My hands scrambled to close and hang on, and I had that same feeling of vertigo for an instant.

“I am so sorry, did I startle you?”

Words.  I needed to say words.  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.  I was locked on those blue eyes, and I couldn’t even blink.  I tried to speak again, and managed to squeak out a “No.”  As if he would believe
that
.

“Is this swing taken?”  He asked, not making a move toward the one he indicated, the one beside me.

I squeaked out another “No.”

My eyes followed as he grabbed one chain, turned, and seated himself.  “I have always loved swings.  They give you the sensation of flying.”

I had turned toward him, but I didn’t remember doing it.  I saw that he was wearing a pair of black shorts, a white tank top, and a pair of nice sneakers.  I could see the bare skin of his shoulders, arms, and legs.  His sinewy muscles rippled as he swung back and forth, higher, and higher.  I watched in a near trance.

When he was swinging as high as he could go, he gripped the chains, leaned back, and closed his eyes, a huge smile on his face.  I just sat and gawked.  His black hair would blow away from his face, revealing his ears, forehead, jaw and cheeks, then whip foreword, shrouding all but his lips and nose. 

I’m not sure how long I watched, silent, but as the swing began to noticeably slow, he opened his eyes and looked straight at me.  “You should swing.”

I absentmindedly began to push with my feet a little, telling myself not to forget that I needed to hold on.  I couldn’t turn my head away until I closed my eyes.  I felt that same vibrating feeling, as if the air pulsed, filled with electrical currents.  I pushed a little harder with my feet, and went a little higher.  I felt instantly dynamic, full of life.

“May I?”  His voice was close.  When had he moved?

“What?”  I didn’t open my eyes.

“May I push?  You should go higher.  The apex produces momentary weightlessness.”

“Apex?”  Who says ‘apex?’

“Yes, the peak, when you reach the top, just before swinging back.”  He explained.

“I know what it is, it just sounded weird.  Most people would say ‘the top,’ or something.”  I hoped I didn’t sound rude, I didn’t mean to.  I couldn’t think right.

“I see.”  He was quiet a moment.  “May I push you?  The part I like best is the top of the swinging motion.  Did that sound better?”

“Yes.”  I wasn’t sure which question I was answering.  I would let him decide.

As the swing fell backwards and up, I felt two hands touch my back, even with my waist.  I could feel every detail.  I knew the heel of the palms pointed toward the center of my back, and for a brief second, the fingers wrapped around either side of my hips.  He pushed and released.

This repeated a few times, and I went higher and higher.  After a while I reached enough height to get that weightless feeling.  It was thrilling.  The air was rushing by, the chains made a rhythmic squeaking sound, and even when I couldn’t go higher, his hands still found my back.  I was afraid to open my eyes, afraid I might fall.  I had the strongest urge to let go with my hands and extend my arms.

“Come Josephine in my flying machine…”  I sang.

“Going up, she goes!  Up, she goes!”  He chimed in.

I laughed.  “You know that song?”  I asked on the upswing.  “I’m surprised.”  I said as I came back down.  I opened my eyes, and he stopped pushing.

“Every word.”  He said as I passed.

Without someone pushing, and without swinging my feet, my momentum slowed quickly.  He leaned against a support, crossing his arms over his chest.  I dropped my feet, dragging them, and came to a stop.

“Was your flight agreeable, Miss?”

Was that how he talked, or was he just messing with me?  “Adequate, kind Sir.”  I replied.

“
Adequate
?”  He scowled.  “Hmmm.  We intended
superior
.  Should you agree to fly with us again, I shall endeavor to provide you the most excellent flight achievable.”

I laughed, and found it very difficult not to stare—his face was beautiful.  I needed conversation desperately.  It was acceptable to look at someone during a conversation, even expected; it meant you were paying attention.  “Do you always talk that way, or are you messing with me?”

He walked around me, sat in the other swing again, and looked at me questioningly.  “Like what?”

“Like someone from England, without the accent.  Not ‘pip, pip cheerio,’ and all that, just too
proper
.”

  “Pip, pip, cheerio’ is
not
proper English.”  He said.

“Which is probably why you don’t
say
it, then.”  I pointed out.

He suddenly smiled, showing two rows of gleaming white teeth, and I realized I was staring at his mouth, at his lips.  I blushed so hard my face felt hot.  I knew he had noticed.  “Umm, uh,” I stammered.

“Yes?”  He was watching me attentively.

“So my dad says your dad was a professor.”  Safe subject.

“Yes, he’s retired.  He taught History.  He gave me my love of history, of antiques, and…” He twisted his swing toward me.

“And?”  I prompted.

“And of
unique
and special things.  Even things that may appear ordinary to one may be extraordinary in another’s eyes—sometimes the true value is not so obvious.”  He let his swing twist back into place.

“You mean like ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’ kind of things?”

“Something like that.”  He replied cryptically.

“Makes sense.”  I pushed myself a little, and then raised my feet.  The sun was getting hotter, but the breeze still felt comfortable.

After a brief silence he said, “Your boyfriend was very worried about you yesterday.”  He turned his head toward me, looking up from under the hair that had fallen over his eyes.

“He’s
not
my
boyfriend
.”  I’d like to think I wouldn’t have said it so emphatically if Dad and I hadn’t already had this conversation.

“No?  I was under a different impression.  My mistake.”  He didn’t seem displeased.

“Well, we have gone out a couple of times.  We’re going out tomorrow, all day.”  I had to say something.  I was feeling very, very guilty about Steve.  But he
wasn’t
my boyfriend—I didn’t lie.  “Steve’s a good guy.”

“It would seem so.”  He agreed.

We both became quiet.  The fact that the park was still deserted seemed unusual for a day like today.  It was beautiful outside.  It was also getting much warmer, fast.  I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back and I was getting thirsty.  I should have brought something to drink, since there was no fountain here, but I never intended to stay long.  Four more blocks South was a convenience store, though.

“Are you thirsty?”  I asked.

“Truthfully, I’m parched.  I jogged here.”

“There’s a Big K a few blocks that way.”  I pointed down the street.  “We could go get a soda.”

He stood up and stretched, leaning to the left and then the right.  He bent over and reached his fingers toward his toes, then pulled his arms up over his head.  Then he raised each leg, pulling his knees up and in.  It made me think of the people warming up before track.  I was mesmerized.

After he shook out his arms, he held out a hand for me.  I put my feet down, took his hand, and stood—then promptly fell, face forward, right into his arms.  I wanted to die.

“Oh, easy there.  I’ve got you.  Do you need to sit down?  Are you dizzy?”  He was holding me close.  I would have thought
too
close, if it hadn’t felt so nice.

“I
swear
I don’t fall down this much.  I’m so embarrassed.”  My face was in his chest, and I didn’t look up.

“Are you all right?”  He asked, and I could hear real concern.

“I’m fine, just dying a thousand deaths.  Nothing too serious.”

He held me away just a little as one hand moved to my face and lifted my chin.  He was looking down; his eyes squinted from the sunlight.  I could feel his breath on my face, and his lips were so close, just inches away.  Our eyes locked for what seemed like forever.  I seriously thought for a second I might faint. 
Again
.