"Well, is she pretty?" The little voice in my head asked.
"Crap, she's sitting right there in front of me." I replied arguing with myself. I hated admitting to myself that this would be so much easier if she was.
Jenny isn't exactly going to make the cover of Vogue, but there's that innocent aura about her. The kind that makes you want to scoop her up and take her away because everything else is going to hurt her.
I know better, of course, but it doesn't stop me from thinking about doing it. She's clearly made it well on her own, but whatever it is, she's always back here with me asking for my advice.
She pauses in that way to let me know she's going to speak. "What are you going to do?" she asks softly afraid my answer is just going to be filled with the false bravado of our youth.
"I'm going to have to wait and see." I reply earnestly. I lean back on my hands and take a look at her. A good look at her, drinking in the vision of her under these redwood trees on a neutral ground for the two of us. She cowers as someone passes too close to us; I just raise an eyebrow and nod politely to the young man who is just passing through. She wouldn't have shivered if the grass had been longer, but here, the lawn is manicured with putting green accuracy. Plus it doesn't help that the small blades are often trampled by hundreds of students most days of the week.
Again, I'm tempted to reach over and draw her close to me, but the reaction from her in either direction scares me. It's more about never knowing and not being willing to ask. The last one I asked put me in my place right outside the door and I never got to see her again. The seconds pass away, somehow just being here quietly is all we need, although I wouldn't mind being able to read Jenny's mind because it would bridge the gap between my fantasies and reality.
I suddenly envision her under me as I feast on her neck listening to her moans. I want to know that when I look deep in her golden-flecked eyes that she's thinking of only me.
My vision is snapped as she makes that worried hum. I sit up and lean in closer, I know something else is about to be said.
"Did, you go?" she asked referring to one of my part-time jobs. The second hand snaps.
I take a heavy sigh. I can't lie to her, but she also knows I can't tell her everything. If I stall too long here, she is going to know something horrible happened. And that bit of truth I'm not ready to share with anyone. "I did. January through just last month." She shudders finding out the truth.
"Be careful." An old speech pattern becomes evident as she says 'careful' and the worried hum slides into the silence between us. My hand sits on my knee, frozen.
I nod only wanting to hold her and reassure her, but deep down, I do want her to make that first move.
Other thoughts wander on by randomly. How is she doing on her eating disorder rehabilitation? Does she have someone special in her own life? I want so badly to ask, but the years that have parted us make these questions difficult to broach. There's that hum again.
"Want to go see the ducks?" I smile. Though it's October and most of the ducks aren't in the creek anymore, I reply. "Sure." Again, I could reach for her here, but she gets up on her own. A random fit strikes her and she grabs her hair and twists it nervously.
I use the opportunity to regale her with a story from my 'glory days' of being a general juvenile delinquent. It makes her laugh, throwing her head back and closing her eyes shaking her head. I'm not sure if she's sad about the fact I find so much pleasure in having been a hell raiser, but it also liberates her, giving her comfort that she's the 'normal one' between us even though now, it's less apparent.
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