The Aspen Experiments

Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Explanations

I waited in the lobby that evening, pretending to watch TV, until John came down.  I stared at him, and he immediately walked over to me.

“It happened, didn’t it? I can tell.” He looked excited, rather than alarmed or sorry.

“That’s it?” I said, “No, ‘Gosh, I’m sorry Dara, I should have warned you? Please forgive me?’”

“It couldn’t have been that bad, right? I mean, just the roots and…” he trailed off, either because I was glaring at him or because several girls were walking through the lobby. “Look, we can’t talk about it here, meet me at the flagpoles after dinner, okay? Please?”

I kept up the glare, but nodded.

Dinner was much the same as yesterday, and I wondered if anyone would start noticing my vacancy.  Thankfully tonight there were Reuben sandwiches, my favorite. I was starving, probably from whatever that psycho test had done to me. I focused on my sandwich, and hoped my friends didn't mind that I was ignoring them. Again.

The flag poles were at the front of campus where the road made a U in front of the central courtyard.  Bright lights shone on the flags, the wires snapping loudly in the cold wind. John was leaning against one of the flag poles, looking calm and fantastic. He somehow managed to look lean and muscled even in the heavy camo jacket he had on. He was looking out at the road as I walked up, and his face had odd shadows from the flag lights. They lit up the planes of his face, which were hard and smooth. His cheekbones were high and he had a slight cleft in his chin. With his inky hair and brown skin I wondered if maybe he was Native American. I liked the angles of his eyebrows and eye sockets. I liked the shapes of his face altogether and wished I could get him to sit for a sketch, to draw how it all fit together so perfectly.  Shut up, shut up! I told my inner artist. So he’s good-looking, in a geometric kind of way – forget it! You’ve got much more serious things to deal with.

The chill wind cut through my pathetic coat. It had served me fine in Texas, but was not up to a frigid Connecticut winter. 

“H-h-hey,” I stuttered as I got near. It was only the cold, I told myself.

“Yes, it’s much too cold out here to talk easily,” John said, as if answering a question. “But we’re not allowed to hang out in each other’s rooms, and the lobby is no good, too many people. I know a sheltered place, I think you’ll like it.”

I had been bracing myself against the nausea and was surprised to find that I barely felt any as I walked up to him. But then he took my hand again, to tuck it around his arm, and I staggered. He steadied me against himself, which didn’t help much, as it only intensified the feeling of cold and unease. I pulled away from him, breathing deeply through my mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking. It feels so natural to… well, sorry.”

“It’s f-f-fine,” I said, “Let’s get out of the wind.”

John led me around to the back of the fine arts building, carefully not touching me. Several alcoves in the back of the building looked sheltered, and one was concealed by two bushy evergreens.  Pushing past these trees I saw a heavy blanket on the ground, folded in half and filling the small piece of ground between the brick and the trees. A clump of bananas waited in the corner. John sat gracefully, leaning back against the building.

“I missed dinner,” he explained, pulling off a banana and starting to peel it. I crouched down, sitting on my bottom and pulling my knees up to my chest. I unzipped my coat and wrapped it around my legs, re-zipping it on the outside.