shadows in sycamores

The third time

At 10 o'clock there was an eclipse in the light between the adjar Coffee Grounds door and the frame. I grabbed the handle. Before I could open it, she did.

The place just behind and below my sternum and above my stomach constricted in surprise. She was too, apparently, and bobbed up on the balls of her feet once then backed down.

I offered a feeble, "Hi."

Her's was the same sad smile of kindness I had seen in the hallway. Any awareness of her sadness I had initially, however, was soon overcome by my awareness that she was leaving, her backpack over her shoulder. What she did was gentle, but without a word, she stepped out the door, forcing me against the wall. Then she paused.

"I'm sorry. I gotta go..."

"Oh." I struggled to renegotiate.

"...Jay."

She remembered my name! But she was already down the sidewalk, disappearing into the shadows of those sycamore trees. That same brown coat buttoned completely up around her small frame, hands shoved in her pockets. The breeze blew her curly brown hair back from beneath her stocking cap. 

I was amazed at myself as I ran to catch up. "Is it okay if I walk part way with you?"

"'kay," she answered a little nervously, but looked up at me with that same smile.

"I never got your name." It was awkward.

"Trista," she almost whispered.

There were several steps of silence. Our steps were echoing in the tunnel of those large, old trees that canopied the median in darkness, and I suddenly felt like a stalker. My mind began searching for excuses to take off.

Then she started asking questions. "So what are you studying?"

And the whole mood changed. We were suddenly chatting each other up about classes, instructors we'd both had. Like the 70-year-old White professor who said he used to be a Black female CIA operative.

Her laugh caught me off guard, but her hand quickly stifled it. "How 'bout Santa Claus?" she asked.

"With the big ass beard, white as the snow?"

She nodded, giggling.

I stuck out my stomach, gesturing with my hands. "And the 'little round belly... like a bowlful of jelly'?"

Her hand fell away and her head tossed back in laughter, an absentminded hand on my arm.

"Who's the meanest fuckin' professor at this college!" I stopped to make an emphatic appeal.

"I know, right!?!" She was facing me her eyes large and teeth bare in laughter. Her face was now fully visible in the light of the street lamp, looking me full in the face. She realized her hand was on my arm and pulled it back. She glanced down and ran a finger through her hair, pushing the curls behind her ear. Then looked back to see me still there, still looking, still smiling. 

And what I so vividly remember is that in that moment there was no sadness. 

Then suddenly she seemed to realize where we were standing. We were in that spot where I first saw her, actually. She looked around to see we were at the edge of my dorm and up toward the floor where I ran into her today.

"I gotta go."

She started walking away. Again.

Dammit. "So anyway," I called after her, putting it out there. "I really like hearing you laugh."

She stopped.

The the hum of the air-conditioner units was so very loud. I stepped forward to close the distance.

She turned and again glanced upward. Then without warning she pushed me back against a tree trunk, rose up and kissed me! I was overwhelmed by the abruptness, the bark crunching against my back, her body strongly present against my own. Her lips moved softly across, brushing, caressing, touching mine. Her tongue parted my lips and teased my own until they were meeting, twisting, dancing between our open, barely touching mouths. 

She'd reached one hand around to cradle my head. And in my mind this elicited a picture I'd once seen of Hamlet cradling a skull gently in his open hand.

Our mouths parted. She bowed her head and slid down, her hands on my shoulders, her head buried in my chest, and my heart pounded. We were motionless for I do not know how long. My hands embracing her shoulders against me. I guess I was still in shock, afraid to do anything. She had initiated it all, and I didn't know how far she'd go. If I make a move, will she leave again? 

The question didn't last long.

I felt her shoulders heave and thought I heard her sniff. 

Before I could react, she placed a full hand across my mouth. She looked up at me, unmistakably pleading me with her eyes not to say another word. Then she kissed the back of her hand where my mouth would have been. And without a word, she left.

As I now look back, what haunts me is her brown silhouette disappearing between the sycamores.

"Wow," I breathed when I was able to gather myself together. I noticed the desire I had for her now had not ebbed from what I'd felt before.

I so had to see her again. 

I did. Three days later.