Alternative

September 31, 2008 at 11:21AM

At Beth's place. She makes tea for both of us with soy milk and honey, explaining to me that they don't keep any milk or nuts in their house because her mom is deathly allergic. Exaggeration? I don't question it.

Quiet in the kitchen when she's making tea. I sort of feel like I'm meeting her for the first time again, like we have none of the stability of an established friendship. I don't really know what to say.

Speak. Think of something. What's wrong with me?

Rain drizzles gently outside her kitchen window. White floral curtains look dated. Time on the oven clock looks wrong. I hear someone shuffling around in the other room, probably Amanda, and lean my head over in curiosity. Beth notices me doing this and looks into the living room as well.

I keep expecting her to comment on how quiet I am, but she doesn't. She's happy to just remain in silence until she remembers a subject that warrants speech.

After a while, the silence stops. She mentions the Earth Science test, then this feral black cat she saw on her way home from school, then she starts talking about this mixed media piece she's doing for art class that involves combining newspaper clippings, photography and painting. The photographs she's using are from this artist she loves, Diane Arbus.

"Do you know her?" she asks.

"Nope."

"Oh. Well, she's great. She killed herself unfortunately, but she was a really talented photographer."

"Oh... cool." I say.

"Yeah. Her career really shifted when she switched from a 35mm Nikon to... I want to say a 'twin-lens' reflex that created these, like, square images. It's cool 'cause sometimes she would just follow strangers with her camera and photograph them. But I think she got tired of doing that and then the photographs became a lot more planned."

She keeps on talking about Diane Arbus, but I kind of check out after a while. It seems like she assumes I'm just as invested in the subject as she is, just as interested in all the minutiae of this specific person's life. She's getting so into talking about it that she's becoming kind of flushed. I only get like that when I play hockey. Maybe I need to get more into talking. This side of her is different, a little weird maybe, but it's also kind of endearing.

She catches herself eventually.

"Sorry, I've been talking for too long. I do that sometimes...

"No problem," I say.

"My doctor, uh... therapist, tells me I need to check in with people to see if they're still interested in what I'm saying."

"I'm interested," I say.

Therapist... cool that she's able to admit that to me. Most people wouldn't reveal that so easily.  

"Want to go downstairs so I can show you those songs?" she asks.

"Sounds good."

Down in her parents' basement, she shows me some lyrics and plays a rough chord progression on her guitar. The lyrics include references to Jesus in several sections. There are also a couple lines about love. I wonder if she's talking about some kind of religious love, or romantic love, or family love. I wonder if she's ever been in love.

I play along to her chord progression and try to flesh it out a little bit. She says she likes what I'm doing and moves closer to see exactly how I'm adjusting it.

I'm suddenly hit with her proximity. 

It's just the two of us down here, side by side, and this powerful sense of calm comes over me, like this is something totally natural or inevitable, being down here with her. Sitting right next to each other, faces inches apart. I wonder what she'd say if I told her I'd dreamt about her. 

We finish the song with the new chord progression. I look up at her nervously.

"What do you think?"

"I think it works great," she says.

She looks down, suddenly nervous too. I'm worried that I've maybe looked at her too intensely, revealing how much I'm enjoying being alone with her.

"If it's easier, maybe you could record the other ones and I could work on variations on my own...and then show them to you?"

"Yeah, that's probably better," she says.

"Cool," I say.

I pack up my guitar. She kind of hovers over me, like she's pretending to be monitoring something, or lost in some deep, important thought. I think she just feels awkward, unsure of what to say.

I feel this surge of electricity as I stand up and make eye contact with her. I'm about a half a foot taller than her. She looks up at me and smiles through her awkwardness.

She looks ridiculously pretty. Blue eyes sparkling. I suddenly feel like I'm in a dream. I want to kiss her, but I don't really understand what's happening and my legs feel like they might buckle. I don't want to suddenly collapse.

"Thanks for having me over," I say.

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Anytime."

She walks me out and we mumble our goodbyes.

Later. I'm watching TV at home but can't really get my mind off her. I get this rush of courage and start texting:

Really liked that song you wrote. Excited to check out the rest.

I see her typing a reply.

Thanks. You made it a lot better.

Oh cool. That's great to hear. I think we make a good team.

Me too.

I really want to say something else, but I know it's a risk. About to put my phone away and leave the room when I get an idea, steel myself and write as quickly as I can.

I like you.

She isn't typing anything back. Shit. Why did I say that?

Liking you too...

Wait, what does that mean? Did she understand what I meant? I write another text quickly and send it before I can change my mind.

I mean, I like 'like you'... do you know what I mean?

Another long pause. She replies.

Yes. You too.

I let that hit me. I want to be dreaming again. Retreating from reality. The faces and places of my life rendered distant hallucinations. 

I like this place. On the precipice. Exciting things ahead. Possibility. I don't want reality to ruin it.