Winter Jacket (5 page)

“Do
they live close?” I already knew the answer from the first day of class, but she didn’t need to know that.  She wasn’t a special circumstance this time though; I remembered where all of my students were from originally.

She nodded and fanned her fingers out on my desk. “Yeah.
Out in the suburbs.  I thought about going to school further away, but this is a good college,” she said with a graceful shrug, “so why not?”

“I couldn’t do it,” I said, shaking my head.
  “I had to go to school in a different state to get away from my family.”

I watched her
take her lower lip between the top and bottom row of white, straight teeth.  I wasn’t sure if my admission made her uncomfortable, so after clearing my throat, I moved the conversation in the direction it should have gone from the beginning.  “So, let’s talk about your rough draft.”

+++++

I threw my jacket over my head and walked briskly from my campus building to my waiting car in the faculty parking lot. The rain had made that morning's dusting of snow turn into slush, and I could feel the cold seep into my boots as I dodged one puddle after the next. I only lived a few blocks from campus, and normally I walked to campus even in the snowy months, but I'd had the foresight to drive today knowing I had a mountain of student papers to lug home. I had always dreamed of buying a house steps from whatever campus I worked at. Some girls dreamed of Barbie weddings; I dreamed of real estate.

Once in the shelter of my car, I took a moment to inspect myself in the rearview window to make sure my mascara wasn't streaking down my face.
 It had been a long day filled with committee meetings and student conferences, and I was looking forward to the weekend. I had a pile of student drafts to sludge through, but at least I could do that in my pajamas.

Nikole and Troian had invited me over for dinner
later that night, but I was considering making up an excuse to get out of it. I loved my friends and Nikole was actually a pretty good cook, but when I spent a lot of time with them, especially in their home, I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself and resent them and their happiness.

It was my own fault for being single though
– I had a nasty habit of self-sabotage just when things were starting to go well. I'd done it in practically every long-term relationship I'd been in.  It was like I couldn't let myself be happy. I continually found faults in my partners, petty or otherwise, and incessantly picked fights over paltry, unimportant things.

The worst part was, I was completely self-aware. I
knew
when I was poisoning my relationships, even in the moment. But for whatever reason, I just couldn't stop myself.

As I continued to sit in my car, it started to rain harder. I watched the giant droplets spatter on the windshield until everything beyond the glass blurred. I was in a funk and the weather wasn't
helping. Normally by this time Winter had broken, the snow had melted, and new green life was poking up amongst the mud. But this had been a relentless Winter, the cold refused to lift, and a blanket of clouds permanently choked out the sun. I was feeling verbose. Moody. The best kind of mood to get writing done, but not grade papers. If I graded with this murky attitude clinging to me like a damp towel, they'd all be getting C-'s.

I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. The rain continued to steadily fall. I turned off the radio and listened to the soothing patter hitting against the car roof.

When I stopped at the intersection around the corner from my house, I saw a familiar blue jacket. I peered past the rapidly swiping wipers and through the rain.  I rolled down the passenger-side window.

"
Hunter?"

She whirled her head around. Grey-blue eyes peered back at me from under the hood of her jacket.

"Can I give you a ride?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I heard her say. As if mocking her, the rain
immediately picked up.

"Get in," I implored.

I could see her hesitate only briefly. She ducked her head and immediately trotted over to the passenger side door.  She tried the handle, but found it locked. I mentally berated myself – I always forgot my car automatically locked itself as though it was paranoid I’d be tossed from the vehicle while driving, Grand Theft Auto style.

I released the locks and as soon as
Hunter heard the telltale click, she yanked the handle up and pulled the door wide open before slipping into the passenger seat.  Once in the car, now sheltered from the rain, I heard her sigh in relief. She pulled her hood back and ruffled at her loose hair, droplets splattering against the inside of my vehicle.

I tried not to gawk t
oo much.  With her hair thoroughly wet, she looked like she’d just stepped out of the shower, which of course meant my head went to an inappropriate place.  My nostrils were invaded by the scent of her shampoo, re-awoken by the rain –rosemary and lemon.

She swung around in her seat to face m
e.  “Thank you, Professor Graft,” she breathed.  “I wasn’t expecting the rain; otherwise I would have brought an umbrella.”  That detail didn’t surprise me. She seemed to me the type of person who religiously kept track of the weather, always prepared.  I was thankful that for at least one day, the weather had taken her by surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.  This weather has been ridiculous lately.  It can’t decide if it wants to be Winter or Spring.” I hated myself for running with the w
eather topic.  Nothing like regurgitating the weather report to make you sound prehistoric.  I might as well have popped an 8-trak tape into the dashboard of my car and started talking about the economy.

I wanted to say something funny, like I’d take her anywhere as long as it wasn’t across state lines, but that sounded creepy.  So instead of letting my mouth betray me, I kept it simple: “Where can I give you a ride to?”

“My apartment.  It’s on the corner of Marshall and Water.”

I nodded, mentally picturing the intersection.  It was near campus, normally within walking distance except for the current monsoon.

We drove in silence with the soothing swish of mechanized wipers and the sound of rain spattering against the roof of my car filling the void.  I was tempted to turn on the radio, but I worried something embarrassingly Top 40 would start playing.  I was a college professor.  I was supposed to listen to a steady diet of jazz and NPR.  I did those things, but I also had a soft spot for ridiculously catchy pop songs and hip-hop.

When we reached the intersection
of Marshall and Water a few minutes later, I pulled my car to a stop.  To my left was a redbrick building that looked to be about 4-stories high. I ducked my head to appraise the apartment complex.
“Don’t most students live on campus?” Nearly 95% or something like that.  Students needed to get special permission from the Dean of Students, in fact, to be allowed to live off campus.

Hunter nodded and tucked a chunk
of damp hair behind her ear. “My parents are…” She frowned, as if searching for the right word. “Funny,” she settled on. “I mean, they named me Hunter.”

“I didn’t want to ask.”

“Weird for a girl, right?”

“Not weird, per say, just unique.”  Truth be told it was a strange name for a girl in such a small, conservative town – it was too gender neutral and too progressive even for the 21
st
century.  Maybe it would have made more sense on the West Coast, but in the Midwest where everyone was named after his or her great-grandparents, it stuck out.  I wondered if her parents were transplants.

“My parents
wanted me to get more of a sense of independence when I came to college,” she continued, “so they insisted I get an apartment instead of living in the dorms.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “But they also insist on paying my rent for me, so it’s not as though I’m
actually
independent of them.”

“It sounds like they have your best intentions in mind though,” I noted. 

Hunter smiled suddenly.  It was a playful grin I wasn’t used to seeing on her wide, expressive mouth. “Yeah, but shouldn’t I get to experience a kegger once in a while?  Hide alcohol from the Resident Assistant on duty or something?  Isn’t that all part of the college experience, too?”

I laughed
despite my misgivings to be chatting so familiarly with a student.  Especially
this
student. “You’re not missing much,” I said.

She smiled wistfully. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.”  She looked up at her apartment building.  The rooms in the front of the building were lit up, casting an eerie yellow light into the dark, stormy sky.  “Thank you for the ride,” she said politely
, switching from playful back to demure. 

I smiled to let he
r know it wasn’t a big deal.  “Have a nice weekend.”

She got out of the car and raced up to the front entrance of her apartment complex.  She bobbed from one side to the next as if running between the raindrops.
I watched her pull a ring of keys out of her jacket pocket and, after briefly fumbling, she found the right one and opened the front door. 

My hand felt for the shifter to pull the car into reverse, but my eyes stayed trained on her.  She surprised me by spinning around and waving in my direction.  I held up my hand in a similar gesture even though I was sure she probably couldn’t see me through the rain and my steamed up windows.

When the door to her apartment complex closed, I pulled the car out of park.  Even though I wanted nothing more than to go home and change into sweatpants, I drove in the direction of Troian and Nikole's.  I needed to see my best friends to clear my head.

+++++

I plastered a smile on my face when Nikole answered the front door.  My smile felt as plastered to my face as my wet hair.

The smirk on her face came all-too easily. "You look like a
soggy rag."

"Hi to
you, too." My teeth were practically chattering.  It had been a miserable, wet walk from the parking lot to their condo. "Let me in, woman. I'm freezing my balls off."

Nikole grinned and stepped back to let me in.
 "I guess we'll have to find a way to warm you up."  I loved that Nikole was a shameless flirt. It was nice to have a friend I could flirt back with without it getting either of us in trouble.  Flirting to me was like breathing; I couldn’t survive without it.  Perhaps it’s why I made for such a horrible girlfriend.

I stepped beyond the threshold and was greeted with the scent of something spicy
– Thai or Indian, I guessed.  Troian came bouncing into the front foyer. She wore a white apron splashed with an unidentifiable orange sauce.  The sight of her made me pause. "Oh, no. Don't tell me
you
made dinner."

Her nose wrinkled and she stomped a foo
t. "Hey. I can cook just fine."

"So Mac and Cheese tonight?" I playfully teased. Being around these two instantly lifted my bleak mood.

"Keep it up and I'll send you back out into the rain," Troian said, shaking a wooden spoon at me.

I took off my jacket and shook it out. "I can’t be too mad at the weather,” I
casually commented. “Thanks to this rain, I got to give Winter Jacket a ride home."

"Oh, I bet you gave her a ride," Troian said reflexively. "Wait," she paused, blinking. "Are you
serious
?"

I nodded. "It's not a big d
eal," I said, even though I started grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "I only did what any other Good Samaritan would have done."

"Sure, any Good Samaritan who wants to get in her pants," Troian shot back
with a snort. "I'm surprised your head didn't pop off with her in the close-confines of your car."

I made a face. "I'm not an animal."

"Why don't we move this conversation into the kitchen," Nikole, always the voice of reason, suggested. "I don't want to let Troi's hard work in there burn."

"Would I be able to taste the difference?"
I teased.

Troian might have been small, but she sure had sharp elbows.

I followed my friends into their kitchen, which was currently the center of a food hurricane. Pots of various sizes steamed on gas burners. Two cutting boards, one piled high with various vegetables and the other with deboned chicken, covered the island countertop.

"What prompted this little food experiment?"
I asked, taking in the view.  When they hosted me for dinner, rarely was the meal such a production.  Burgers and oven baked fries were the typical fare – grilled chicken breast and vegetables when we wanted to count calories. I felt guilty for not bringing something like a salad or a bottle of wine.

Troian went back to t
he stovetop and stirred a saucepan filled with the same orange-yellow sauce that was splashed on her apron. "Just flexing my culinary muscles,” she remarked.  “I hope you like butter chicken and naan bread cause I'm not making you anything else."