She slapped my arm, lightly, with the hand I wasn’t holding. “Shut up. I’m happy with you being the funny one.”
The lights on stage brightened, then, and whatever lights there had been in the rest of the room dimmed; the students went quiet. The ensemble marched out and took their places on the stage, just eight of them.
Beside me, Dee barely suppressed a giggle. I leaned toward her; she was biting her knuckle to keep from laughing. She whispered, helplessly, “Penguins.”
The ensemble was all dressed very smartly in tuxedos; each had black hair in some stage of slicked-downedness. The resemblance to penguins was undeniable. Dee’s giggles disappeared, however, when they started to play. I don’t even know what the first piece was; I couldn’t bring myself to look away from them to the program. Beside me, Dee had gone quiet and still as the handful of strings moaned and crooned, sweet and melodic. I sighed, some essential part of me going still for once, and listened.
There was nothing I was conscious of except the music and the fact that Dee’s hand was in mine.
When the piece was done, she left her fingers in my hand and we clapped, stupid and silly, using one of her hands and one of mine. The ensemble played two more pieces, neither as d’oh-worthy as the first but both making me shiver, and then Dee pulled her hand from mine and whispered, “Bathroom.”
She slid silently out of her seat and left me there, my hand missing the weight of hers, cool with her sweat drying against the air conditioning.
I listened to two more short pieces, distracted, until I couldn’t stop thinking about the sweat on her hand and wondering if she’d left because of something other than having to pee. It was so cold that I couldn’t tell if the goose bumps on my arms were from the freezing temperature or the arrival of something supernatural. I felt blind.
I slid hastily from my seat and out the back of the theater, not bothering to see if anyone was watching me go. Out in the main building I glimpsed an official dude standing by the door, looking uncomfortable in a flying-monkey costume. I asked him where the bathrooms were. And then, with a flash of insight, I asked him if he’d seen Dee go by. “Dark hair, really revoltingly pretty, about this tall.”
Recognition flashed in his eyes. “She said she needed some air. She looked sick. I told her to go up to the balcony.”
He pointed up the burgundy-clad stairs to the second floor.
“Thanks, Jeeves,” I told him, and jogged up the stairs. I followed the narrow hallway, trying doors, until I found one that opened onto a little balcony with a view of the ugly alley behind the theater and the backs of several shops, and, to our left, a narrow view of the street teeming with cars. I stepped into the welcome heat and shut the door behind me.
Sitting on the floor against the wall, Dee looked up when the door clicked shut.
For maybe the first time in my life, I said exactly what I was thinking to her. “Are you all right?”
Dee looked very small sitting there against the white-painted stone wall. She reached out an arm toward me, plaintive, an unconscious or conscious mimicry of the action I’d done last time I’d found her sitting by herself, behind my dorm.
I sat down beside her and she leaned against me. Down below, a horn blared, a motorcycle engine roared, and some sort of construction equipment rattled. For the second time in my life, I said exactly what I was thinking to her, although I didn’t mean it the way she probably thought I did. “I missed you.”
“I was cold. I should’ve brought a sweater. See how I fall to absolute pieces without Mom around to tell me exactly what to do?” Her voice was ironic.
“You’re a mess,” I agreed. I had my arm around her. My heart was pounding hard as I worked up the guts to say for the third time what I was really thinking to her. I closed my eyes and swallowed. And I did it. “Dee, why did you really leave? What’s wrong?”
I’d really said it out loud.
But it didn’t matter, because she didn’t answer. She pulled out of my arms and stood up, walking over to the railing. She stood there so long, watching the cars like they were the only important thing, that I was afraid someone would miss us and come looking. I stood up and joined her at the railing, silently watching the world.
Dee looked at me. I felt her eyes on me, examining my face, my hair, my shoulders, as if she were somehow analyzing me, sizing me up. Seeing how I’d turned out after nine years of being friends.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she asked.
I took a breath.
“James,” she said again. “I just want to know. Do you want to kiss me?”
I turned to face her. I didn’t know what to say.
She made a strange, uncertain face, mouth pulled out straight on either side. “If you want to … you can.”
Finally, I spoke, and when I did, my voice sounded weird to me. Not mine. “That’s a funny way to ask someone to kiss you.”
Dee bit her lip. “I just thought—I just wanted to see —if you don’t want to, I mean, I don’t want to ruin, I mean … ”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, and I just didn’t know what to say. I closed my eyes for a second, and then I took her hand. Goose bumps raced along my arms in an instant, and I closed my eyes for another second. I had the completely obsessive desire to find a pen and to write something on my hands. If I could just write kiss or WTF or mouthwash on my skin, I’d be able to sort this out.
A car alarm went off, far away. I leaned forward and very softly kissed her lips. It wouldn’t change the world. There weren’t any choirs of angels that descended to attend our kiss. But my heart stopped and I didn’t think I’d ever breathe again.
Dee’s eyes were closed. She said, “Try again.”
I cupped my hands around the back of her neck like I’d imagined doing one thousand times. Her skin was warm against my palms, sticky with the heat, smelling of flowers and shampoo. I kissed her again, so careful. There was a long, long pause, and then she kissed me back. I was freezing cold in the hot D.C. day, her mouth on mine and her arms finally coming around my back, holding me tight as I kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. We stumbled into the back corner of the balcony, still kissing, and then I pulled away to rest my face against her hair and try to figure out what the hell was happening.
We stood in the shadows there, her wrapped up in my arms, for a long time, and then she started to cry. At first I just felt her shaking, and then I stepped back a little to see her face, and found it streaked and wet.