My friend and fellow college student, Mary, had some issues. She loved sex. And her body was very responsive. But she claimed she couldn't have sex with someone without immediately falling in love, and she wasn't ready for that emotion. So, my bright idea was to blindfold her, take on a different persona, and give her what she needed and what I wanted. How could she fall in love with a fictional person?
Have you ever realized you screwed up, but all you could do was sit and wait for the consequences to catch up to you? That was me all weekend. I expected a cop on my doorstep to arrest me for rape. I thought some of Mary's friends would come to kick the crap out of me. Perhaps worst of all was not knowing what was going on with Mary right then. Was she sobbing into her pillow? Getting drunk? Getting ready to do something stupid and permanent? Not an hour went by that I didn't pick up the phone to call; but each time, I put the receiver down. As hard as it was not knowing, actually facing her was unbearable. So two days dragged by.
Can somebody feel overjoyed and terrified in equal measure? That's how I felt when I saw her in class on Monday. My seat was to the side and three seats back from hers. I watched her like a hawk for the next hour, looking for some sign. But she never looked back. She never spoke. She barely took notes. And when class ended, she quickly packed up and walked out without looking my way. Well, I knew the risk to our friendship, though it grieved me deeply. I just hoped I hadn't scarred her.
Days went by. The classes we had together were much the same. She didn't hang in the lounge anymore, nor in the student center, nor in the quad that was filled with girls soaking up the warmth of late spring. With her continued absence my heart grew heavier. I told myself it wasn't worth it; I shouldn't have tried that stunt; should have just leave things as they were, with her wistful and lonely but still my friend. But sometimes I just can't leave well enough alone.
Monday came around again, and I was early to class. Just as everyone was settling in, Mary walked in. She locked eyes with me, for a fraction of a second, before dropping her gaze and heading to her seat. She stayed eyes-front for the rest of class, but I replayed the brief look in my head all hour. She didn't look angry or accusing, but whatever message those eyes held was beyond me.
After class, she packed as quickly as before. Then, Mary half-turned. Her eyes flicked up at me.
"Hey," she said softly, and with tight little wave, she merged into the crowd filing through the door.
Well, that was interesting. All the fear and grief I felt diminished considerably. So, things may be strained, but she didn't seem to hate me after all.
* * * * *
Although I saw her a couple of times on campus, we weren't face-to-face until the class met again on Wednesday. We both arrived early, and bantered a bit as our classmates straggled in: how hard the professors were working us, grad student gossip, which of our acquaintances made fools of themselves on Friday night – all safe subjects. Then the professor went to the lectern and we settled in. I actually took notes this time. When everyone made for the door an hour later, I took my time loading my pack. So did Mary. I stepped up beside her.
"So, got any lunch plans?"
She kept her eyes on the folders she was pretending to shuffle through. "I'm going to go through some notes for a quiz tomorrow." Her hands stilled, but she still didn't raise her eyes. "And... then I'm walking down to the botany lab to practice keying out flowers for the exam." She paused, and... was that color coming to her cheek? "I'll be heading down around one o'clock." Mary zipped her pack shut. "See ya." And she nearly bolted out the door.
Remember all the fear and grief? Because at that moment, I sure didn't. The lizard brain in my head read into that short conversation only what it wanted to hear: that Mary was saying she wanted Paul, and where he could find her.
* * * * *
One would think that a lab containing hundreds of plant specimens – pressed, dried, and mounted on glass plates – would be in the vicinity of the botany department. But no, it was in a refurbished storage building at the bottom of a hill, waiting for a building grant that never materialized. The shortest route from our corner of campus involved cutting through some hedges and along a descending wooded path. Privet bushes ran rampant here, offering many hiding places. It was a dangerous locale, if you thought about it. Easy for a dangerous man to lie in wait. And at the appointed hour, I was doing just that.
She was well along the path and about to start her descent when I stepped out behind her.
"Don't move," I commanded in Paul's low voice. She cried out and stumbled, then caught herself and froze. Two steps and I came within reach. She began to tremble as I tied the blindfold in place.
"Now, go right." I grasped the loop at the top of her pack and guided her deeper into the brush. We halted on a moss-covered open patch, about seven feet wide. We were less than forty feet from the trail – if Mary cried out when someone happened to use the trail, that would be that.
I slid the pack from her shoulders and leaned it against a sweetgum. Silently, I stepped around her, watching as she stood, uncertain, trembling. I heard nothing but the rumble of traffic filtered through the shrubs, and the blood rising in my ears.
