Enraptured, I watched the fingers of his left hand move across the strings of his cello as his right hand guided the bow on the bottom half of the instrument, beautiful music filling the air at the fountain as he played with the rest of the campus orchestra. Elliot was, as he always is, the standout. I smiled at the light radiating from him, unlikely to wane.
Standing in that very spot next to the fountain the night before, I told him. About Alex. That I had figured myself out.
He only chuckled.
“I was hoping for a couple months of confusion.”
I laughed in return.
“It might’ve been fun,” I followed.
Elliot shuffled under the light of the lamppost next to the fountain, silence suddenly between us as we stood under the clear night sky.
“Reagan—”
“Elliot—”
We both cleared our throats, uncertain how to carry the necessary awkward conversation. Thankfully, Elliot was Elliot, so he filled in the silence.
“You’re really cute.” Caught off guard by his sweet compliment, I laughed. “And smart, and funny, and driven, and,” he continued, “really, really cute.”
My cheeks flamed at his gush inducing words, and my heart couldn’t help but lurch as I peered into his round hazel eyes, my own sweeping across his face to the two sweet dimples on either side of his cheeks.
“What?” he smiled.
I wondered if it would be wise to tell him how much I would’ve enjoyed attempting to pave out a potential future with him. Since the beginning of our relationship, we played with each other’s words, each other’s feelings, each other’s pasts, and each other’s futures, both desiring more, but never willing to reach for it. Had we each not carried such deeply rooted histories, could Elliot Harris and I have been?
“You,” I started, “are everything that’s right in this world—”
“Reagan,” he interjected, laughing, “are you actually using cliches on me?”
“I,” I paused, wanting to defend myself, but what left my lips instead were the right words to articulate how much he meant to me, “wanted to say this since the moment we met.” A look of curiosity brushed his face as I began to elaborate. “You,” I started, “are a man of fiction.” Elliot laughed as I continued. “You’re the character my mind wanders off to invent when I grow weary of reading and watching insufferable leading men.” Elliot’s expression softened as he listened, and unfortunately for him, and also for me, I watched as it morphed into one of solemn contemplation. “You are a man, made of his past and his future, always learning, always yearning, always living, always growing.” Elliot swallowed, dropping his eyes to the ground. “And every time I’m with you,” I said to him, “I’m always awed by you, and weirdly, so proud of you, who you are and will become.” I let silence fill the space before continuing, Elliot’s eyes returning to me. “All I’ve ever wanted,” I paused, “was the chance to see you be you.”
We stood there in quiet, our eyes locked intently, thoughts and emotions swirling between us, and the light of the lamppost flickering above us.
“Then watch me.”
I blinked at his invitation while his resolute eyes stayed steady on mine, wondering if it was fair to him to be a part of his life when I couldn’t be in it in the capacity he might want. There was nothing truly extraordinary about me, except for, ironically, my ability to be a good friend. Would that be enough?
“You don’t actually think you can come into our lives, then leave it, do you?” asked Elliot. “Everett knows that best of all.” At the mention of Alex, my eyes flickered, breaking our gaze as I redirected them to the ground, but Elliot only lifted my chin gently to meet his eyes once again. “If you ever grow weary of insufferable leading men,” he said, borrowing my words, “and I haven’t yet figured myself out,” he continued, “I’ll be around,” he finished, the sweetest smile, accompanied by two darling dimples, appearing on his face.
As Elliot’s eyes caught mine in the middle of the orchestra’s performance, he flashed me a grin before throwing me a wink. I beamed at him from the place where I stood in the crowd, fortunate for the chance to see him be him.
“This music blows,” Silas said loudly, hooking arms with me, as Margo attached herself to my free arm, both of them spinning me around.
“But that Elliot Harris,” Margo followed, “mmm.”
I rolled my eyes at the both of them, but allowed them to move us away from the center of campus.
“Can you believe there’s only one month left of this God forsaken school year?” said Margo, walking us off of a large patch of grass and onto the sidewalk.
“Please tell me you’re passing your classes,” I followed after her.
“Just barely scraping past the probation list,” she answered proudly.
All I could do was laugh.
“And you?” I turned to look at Silas.
“Well,” started Silas, “I’m thinking I’m better suited to carry on the family business.”
“What do you know about marketing?” I challenged him.
“Excuse you,” he snapped, bringing an offended hand to his chest. “I have all the social medias.”
I laughed once again, but more so because I wondered if it would one day be Margo and Silas, standing beside me to share in life’s most monumental moments. They, whoever they may be, say college is where lifelong friendships are made, and nestled in between two of the most fascinating characters to grace my life, I hoped “they” were right.
“Ooh yes,” Margo moaned suddenly.
I turned to look at her, confused, when my eyes caught the swim team marching in the direction of the fountain, likely to catch their team captain playing classical masterpieces on the cello.
“Bye!” squealed Margo, letting go of me and reaching for Silas.
“Catch you later, Rae Rae!” called Silas as Margo dragged him away, hot on the trail of the swim team.
I shook my head, laughing, as I watched the two of them grow small in the distance.
My eyes continued to survey the campus, a diversity of thoughts and feelings all around me. Peace, strangely, became the overwhelming emotion, filling every crevice of my heart. It was comforting to know that I had company in my attempt to sort myself out. So much had changed since the beginning of the school year, and yet, so much remained the same. The thrill of life and anticipation for what the future could bring was still the energy that drove each and every one of us.
“Hi,” said a voice, the voice’s arms wrapping themselves around my shoulders from behind.
I smiled before turning around to greet Alex.
“Greetings.”
“That,” he said, “is a mighty formal hello,” he followed, his brows furrowing. “I’m not sure you’re aware that our status has changed.”
I playfully rolled my eyes at him before grabbing the front of his white button up shirt with both hands and drawing him close to me.
“You smell like jasmine tea,” I sniffed him.
“Curious,” said Alex.
“Have you been at the tea shop?”
“Guilty.”
“Without me?”
“You’re a distraction.”
I smiled up at Alex, very aware of our status change. From strangers, to neighbors, to friends, and back, to strangers, to neighbors, to friends, just to be standing in front of each other, at last, as lovers. What amazed me the most, and, I think, even Alex, was the seamless transition. As we stood there together, bodies weaving their way around us, all that there was, was us. I finally understood how the stars they align.
“How did you come up with Between?” 7th grade me asked 8th grade Alex.
Alex shrugged coolly as we made our way home from the disastrous talent show where I embarrassed myself and Alex redeemed me. There was nothing but the darkness and street lights to accompany us on our way home.
“Sounded deep,” I shrugged quietly in response.
Alex looked down at me, just to watch me shrug once again.
“I didn’t know you liked Olivia Randall that much.”
Alex laughed.
“I like every girl that much,” he said. “I’m a teenage boy after all.”
“Some grown men don’t even know how to love that deeply,” I blurted. Alex eyed me oddly as all my nervous ticks came out to play. “With or without the stars aligned.”
“Seems you haven’t properly analyzed the poem,” he grinned.
I looked up at him in our strides, thinking back to his recitation of the poem in the center of our middle school’s talent show stage.
He cleared his throat loudly and halted us in our walk suddenly.
Stepping in front of me, he lowered his voice, his face level to mine, “Where whispers befall deaf ears. When smoke hazes over all eyes. Where space stands between. When scents they waft over. Where aftertastes linger,” he recalled pieces of his poem, “I hear. I see. I feel. I breathe. I savor,” he continued, reordering his poem.
“When you love somebody that deeply,” he clarified, his eyes locked on mine, “the stars are never not aligned.”
Wow.
Years later, I finally understood.
Alex placed my hand into his and led us away from the commotion of campus, reaching the hill overlooking the large, grand football field of the university below. Snuggled against his chest, I looked up at him, awed. Not even in my wildest dreams did this picture of Alex, me, and the sunset ever make its way into my imagination.
“You know there’s an opening,” I said to Alex, pushing myself away from him.
“Yeah?” said Alex, furrowing his entertained eyebrows at me. “Where?”
“The celibacy club,” I answered him. Alex laughed. “You should consider joining,” I suggested.
“Plot twist,” said Alex loudly, “I’m in it,” he added, “as president for the foreseeable future.”
I rightly snorted.
“As resident VP,” I assured him, “I’ll do everything in my power to assist you.”
“You, of all people, can’t help me,” countered Alex. “Although,” he said, “Madam Vice President,” he continued, “kisses are permissible, are they not?”
“I’m not sure you’re following—”
“The vertical kind,” Alex interjected.
I shook my head in amusing disapproval, but as we stood there, the sun beaming its final rays brightly on the horizon, and the quiet of the campus courtyard off in the distance, all I could think about was a kiss of the vertical kind from the man staring me back, who couldn’t keep from smiling as he recognized the thought creeping into my mind.
“Is that a yes?” he asked me.
Taking a step to close the distance between our two bodies, I let my lips answer Alex’s question.
THE END
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