The Pace (20 page)

“Let me think about it,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

“Well you better think fast. I’m a planner. I like to get things done early.”

He set his glass down. “Good thing I have a few years.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Your birthday is in less than two weeks,” I reminded him.

“Not really. The last time I checked, I won’t be twenty until 2036.”

I leaned toward him. “You’re joking.”

He just looked at me with no change in his expression. “You’re
no
t joking,” I said, leaning back in my seat. He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “So you don’t even want to pretend?” I asked.

“How would you feel if someone wanted to celebrate your birthday in March?”

“Okay, so you have a point, but you still have to make everyone else
think
you are having a birthday, and that means I can think it, too, right?”

Instead of answering, he scooted his chair back and put his hand out for me to take. “What?” I asked.

“I would like to dance with you,” he said politely.

I thought about pressing him on the matter at hand, and then I realized it would be stupid to ruin the mood. Instead, I took his hand as we went to the dance floor. Although I was confident in my rhythm, my new shoes were hurting a little, so I was a bit apprehensive at first. Lucky for me, they were slow songs, and I had forgotten my scrunched up toes by the time he took me in his arms. Song after song went by, and I didn’t think about my feet one time.

At 11:45, he led me outside and we sat on a bench where other couples were gathered. It was a cold evening, and I was worried about him keeping warm, but he insisted he was fine.

“I really would feel better if we went inside,” I said.

“Sophie, I’m fine. We won’t be out here much longer.”

I tried to find other excuses to lure him in. “What about the ball dropping? How will we see it out here?”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re on a boat. Not in New York,” he said, teasing me.

“I know, but I meant, how will we know when it’s time to kiss?”

“I didn’t know we needed a
time
to kiss.”

“Would you stop it? You know what I’m trying to say,” I countered.

“Trust me, Sophie, you will know when it’s time to kiss.” It was clear to me that he was not going, so I sat there half-sulking and half-content. I sulked because I was worried about him keeping warm, and I was content because the view was beautiful. The water was pitch black, and I could see the reflection of the city lights across it. It was peaceful.

Within a few moments, my mouth dropped open when the entire bay was lit by an array of blue, red, and green hues shooting into the sky. Suddenly, I knew what he meant about us knowing when it was time.

As soon as the sound of the fireworks followed the initial lights, I turned to him and smiled. His eyes were welcoming, and his smile was utterly and completely captivating. I kissed him without thinking of anything else, other than the joy that was flowing as we rang in the New Year. The night couldn’t have gotten any better. At least not until we got back to his house.

The ride home couldn’t have gone fast enough. I was both nervous and excited about spending the evening with him. I made sure I’d packed my cutest pajamas. I wanted to feel like myself, so I didn’t buy anything out of the ordinary. I just picked out a newer pair of cotton pants and a T-shirt.

Our arrival was a little awkward. Both of us were unsure how to handle the situation. By this time we were very comfortable with each other, but all of our experiences spending time together, through the night, had been in my room. This was different. This was his house, and his room. To help with the transition into the new surroundings, I settled on a familiar room to start.

“Mind if I change in the study?” I asked.

“No, of course not.” He seemed a little bit more at ease at the idea of that as well.

I ended up changing in there while he went to his room. I quickly changed and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, then I went to wait for him downstairs. He followed shortly after wearing black sweatpants and a gray long-john shirt that clung to the curves of his muscles. Suddenly, my T-shirt selection felt inadequate because I was sure it didn’t show off my assets like that.

“Are you tired?” he asked, as he entered the living room.

“No,” I answered, without having to think about it.

He picked up the remote control and put on the remnants of televised New Year’s celebrations. It felt like a first date, because there was obvious nervousness between us. I think both of us knew this evening would be cardinal in our relationship. The largest matter at hand was that I loved him and wanted him to be
the one
that night.

Instinctively, I rested my head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me. “Thank you for taking me to dinner. It was great,” I said, softly.

He gave me a squeeze. “Thank
you
for coming.”

We watched the television for a few more moments until I broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Will you kiss me?”

He looked perplexed. “You don’t have to
ask
me, Sophie.”

“No, I mean. Will you really kiss me?” I could see the inference register in his mind. He knew what I wanted, and he put his palm to the side of my face and pressed his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and absorbed the heat coming over me. My body was on fire for him. I felt it from my toes all the way to the top of my head. I wanted to
be
one with him. So much that when I was absolutely sure every cell in my body wanted to move forward, I pressed my lips fully to his and pulled him toward me. His hand moved through my hair as he shifted his weight onto me.

He moved his lips down my neck in response and kissed me from one side to the other in a way that sent even more fire through my body. I turned my face to find his lips again. After a few moments, I moved my hands beneath his shirt and molded my hands against his cool back.

He gripped the back of my neck in response, only to release it as I pulled his shirt over his head. The firmness and coolness of his chest against the heat that was permeating through me, was about to send me into a frenzy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

He returned his lips to mine and started moving down my neck again. After a few seconds, he let out a low, frustrated grumble and slid himself lower to rest his head on my chest. He squeezed me tighter, as if to signal that he didn’t want to let me go, but I could see torment and frustration in his face. His eyes were closed tightly, and his jaw was clenched. It was completely unexpected. I lifted my head in reaction.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. What’s wrong? What did I do?”

He still wouldn’t open his eyes, and he continued to press his ear to my chest.

“Nothing,” he uttered. “You didn’t do anything. I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

I rested my head back on my pillow trying to run through the last moments and nothing seemed wrong to me. I didn’t understand the disruption, unless it had to do with me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “If you don’t want to...”

“Sophie . . .” He was burying his face into my shirt. “I don’t know how to stay focused. I can’t.”

“Oh, you mean you
can’t
, actually do that?” I looked down to read his expression.

“Yes, I can. I think anyway.” He shook his head, dismissing my assessment. “But that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it, Wes? You’re killing me with suspense.”

He sat up. “I have to concentrate really hard to keep my mind on pace with real time.”

“Okay,” I murmured, not quite understanding.

“When I’m close to you like that, it is virtually impossible for me to keep focused.”

“So what are you saying?” I needed him to spell it out for me.

“An hour together with you could feel like a second to me if I’m not careful.”

“Careful?”

“If I let myself lose concentration on time, which is exactly what happens when I’m that close to you, then I would virtually lose hours of time with you.”

“Don’t you think it would be worth it?” I asked. “You might lose one thing, but you gain another.”

He pondered what I was offering for a few moments, then smiled and touched his cool hand to my still heated flesh. “Being close to you feels better than you can imagine.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I would rather be just like this with you for hours than the other way for minutes.”

“So, it bothers you to be close to me?”

He shook his head. “No. Actually, when I’m around you, I’m the calmest. It’s easiest to concentrate when I’m with you, until you get me like this.” He smiled.

“So, does that mean we could never?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But, I won’t sacrifice my clarity for it. I don’t want to miss a single moment of the time I have with you.” He pulled me close to him and gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead. I had to take in a deep breath just to absorb it all.

“Well, I guess we have plenty of time to work on your clarity,” I said, still hopeful. He didn’t seem to find as much optimism in that idea as I did. He didn’t reply.

“Speaking of time,” I added, breaking the silence, “what will happen to us as time does go by and I get
older
?”

I could feel his chest and arm muscles contract around me with unease.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

I’m not sure if I was too tired to think about the unsure future or too afraid to let myself, but neither of us elected to consider the question further. Instead, silence took over until I nodded off to sleep.

He must have carried me upstairs, because the next thing I remembered was waking up to the splendid sunrise through his bedroom window. The question from the night before still lingered in the back of my mind, but it was only a fraction of my thoughts in comparison to the other memories of the night.

T
hat weekend, he was out of town for a racing event, so I didn’t see him for a few days. It ended up working out well for me, because I had midterms to study for and it gave me time for that.

It also gave me time to work on a paper for English
.
Normally, I would’ve dreaded it, but this time, I was looking forward to it. It’s not that I minded writing. I loved it. What I found difficult was getting out what I wanted to say without sounding too opinionated. Teachers always say they want students to express themselves and write about what they want, but when we do, it’s like playing the lottery. You never know what the teacher is going to say. They may love it, or they may say it’s all wrong, so I had always handed in my papers with apprehension. But the online school was different.

I appreciated the whole cyber student-teacher relationship. I didn’t have to see my teacher’s face when I turned something in, or better yet, I didn’t have to see the reaction when it was passed back. This way, I sent it through the Internet without ever having to gauge the reception. It was great, and so with this paper, I was eager to get going. I was really planning to go over the top with this one.

Our topic was a motif in Othello. We had to identify a recurrent theme or element found in the play and write about it using supporting evidence.
Excellent
, I thought. I decided to write about blindness. Sure, it’s argued that military valor, naivety, and jealousy are all portrayed, but I couldn’t help but think about how Othello’s blindness to what was real caused him to see what was not.

I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I spun around in my computer chair and reached for my copy of
Othello
, which was on the end of my bed. I thought about how easily Othello loses faith in those he trusted based on stories and fabrications. I was flipping through the pages to find a good quote when I heard the taps at my door. It scared me at first, because I wasn’t expecting Wes, but I relaxed when I saw him. I turned off the light at my desk, as if I was afraid someone was watching us from the darkness, and then I opened the door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked happily.

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He eyed my blank computer screen. “Oh, were you trying to get some work done?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to do it now. I’ll do it tomorrow. It’ll be easy.” I was distracted by his presence. Realizing how much I had missed him, I reached up on my toes to give him a kiss, and he leaned down just enough to meet my lips in the darkness.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for the book.

“Othello paper,” I answered, plopping down on my bed. “I’m going to write about how stupid he was. I mean not stupid, per se, just…blind.”

“Othello wasn’t blind,” he said, sitting at the foot of my bed, flipping through the pages. “I think he saw everything so clearly from the beginning.”

“You think he saw that he was going to kill Desdemona?”

“No, I don’t think he saw
that
. I think he just knew true happiness was unattainable to him from the beginning. He subconsciously believed their love was too good to be true.”

“That’s interesting, but I think it means exactly what I said. He was blind. It
was
attainable.”

“You’ve always been so hopeful about life.”

“Well then,” I said, moving over to him. “Since you know so much, I guess you know how much I missed you.” I climbed up on my knees and leaned over his back with my arms around his waist.

He gently cupped one of my forearms in his hands. “Well that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“Okay, talk.” I leaned my head down so it was resting on the back of his neck. He smelled so good. I nestled my cheek further into the comfort of his cotton, hooded sweatshirt.

“Sophie,” he said, softly, while tilting his head toward me until his temple was touching my forehead. “You have no idea how happy I was to see you that day we met.”