“Hey,
need help with those?”
I
turn from pulling bags of groceries out of my trunk to see Ryan standing on the
sidewalk. I was just thinking that I had
bought too much again. “Sure; that'd be great.”
We
get the groceries into the house in one trip.
He sets his bags and the milk on the table while I drop the other bags
on the counter. “Thanks for the hand.” I
pull groceries out of the bags and then notice Ryan has moved into the living
room and not out the door.
“This
is a nice place. Much nicer than the
dump next door.”
“It’s
easy to have a nice place when there’s only one person making the mess,” I
laugh. What’s he doing walking around my
house? “Well, thanks again,” I call out.
Ryan
returns to the kitchen and, holding the top door frame so his shoulder muscles
become defined against his t-shirt, watches me put food into the fridge, a fact
of which I'm keenly aware. He steps towards the side door with a grin as I turn
around. “You're welcome, Kim’s mom.”
“You
can just call me Jackie.” I suddenly feel oddly awkward.
“Ok,
Jackie,” and he winks as he goes through the breezeway to the drive.
Why
is that wink so unnervingly attractive? I finish putting my groceries away.
September becomes October and I have settled on a place at home to work in relative comfort. Every Friday at four in the afternoon, though, the
apartments next door start their weekend ritual of kegs, blaring music, and
groups on the lawn and balconies. That first
evening was the rule instead of an exception. I couldn't write a more stereotypical
college scene if I tried. Today I want
to finish one article, but the sound of beer pong competitions, music and shouts win.
I remember
for the millionth time Megan’s “Vestal virgin” comment. Considering the classic
Vestal virgins were abstinent Roman goddesses of the hearth, my celibate state
and my usual Friday night social life spent at home fits perfectly. The gathering crowd next door only completes
the picture of a full-blown Roman bacchanalia, including the toga(less)
experience of my first weekend. I consider
going to a movie with some friends, but it’s been a tiring week so I decide just
to walk down the block for take-out at the Indian restaurant.
“Hey,
Kim’s-Mom-Jackie, come join us!” Ryan yells across the noise and front walks as
I lock my door. “We have a whole keg of Yuengling!”
“No
thanks,” I shout back.
“Ok, maybe next time,” and he turns back to a group
of long-haired, long-legged girls.
Right, I'm
sure that'll happen. Still, his wink and muscled upper body comes to mind while
I walk to the strip mall along the Vestal Highway. This is truly ridiculous musing.
I give my
order to the young woman at the restaurant counter and wander next door to walk around one
of the last movie-rental brick-and-mortar stores until my order’s ready. Maybe I'll find a movie – like Bambi - that will counter the wild time
at the apartments. The store’s movie
soundtrack plays loudly as I walk sideways along the current releases’ aisle.
Of course I bump into someone. “Oh,
sorry,” I blurt out and then notice it’s David. I haven't seen him since our
walk that first evening. “Hey! Good to see you again.”
“We seem
to have a habit of running into each other while searching for something. What
are you looking for this time? A puppy?" he teases. "How is the house working out?”
“Pretty well, although the
college neighbors have weekend parties every weekend, so Friday nights I have my own kind
of spicy evening with some Indian food and a good movie. I’m looking for something
to mask the sound of revelry and hooking up next door.”
“Ah,
yes. Student parties are a problem living where you do. My place is just far
enough away that the houses in between dull the noise.”
“That's a
little detail you didn't mention at the diner."
“Could I
make it up to you by paying for your movie tonight?” There’s that warm smile of his.
“Sure. I've just started to look, though. What are you looking for?” I note how easily we talk.
“Something
that will fill a quiet evening while the girlfriend's away, although I don't
quite know what I want either.”
“Then you
pay for my movies and I'll give you movie suggestions.” We walk through the
store pointing out possible options and reciting favorite scenes for each other. In the end, after showing off our respective
impressions of Jack Nicholson, we each decide on Nicholson movies: Easy Rider and The Shining for David, and As
Good As It Gets for me. I also pick
up the original Toy Story just
because I love it; I'll save Bambi
for later.
“Well,
maybe next time I'll see you at Wegmans and help you find some organic mustard,”
David laughs while paying for the movies.
I remind myself that David is taken and can't be more than a
friend. By the time I get home, the beer pong games have broken up and the parties have moved
inside. Hopefully my tandoori chicken
and my movies will counter any challenge to the throne of kegs later. Still, as I dish out my peas pulao and naan, I
can't stop thinking about Ryan's offer to join their party.
The next morning my house exposes its assortment of drafts signaling it's time to put up the storm windows. I struggle into the crawl space over the breezeway, wrestle down the old heavy wood and glass storm windows, and stack them against the garage wall. I set my kitchen step stool under the first window and try to hook the little metal brackets over the little metal hooks above me. It occurs to me I need to buy a taller ladder than my step stool. I hold over my head the bottom edge of a window that weaves around and threatens to fall backwards. I try closing my eyes and imagine the connection of hook and bracket.
The next morning my house exposes its assortment of drafts signaling it's time to put up the storm windows. I struggle into the crawl space over the breezeway, wrestle down the old heavy wood and glass storm windows, and stack them against the garage wall. I set my kitchen step stool under the first window and try to hook the little metal brackets over the little metal hooks above me. It occurs to me I need to buy a taller ladder than my step stool. I hold over my head the bottom edge of a window that weaves around and threatens to fall backwards. I try closing my eyes and imagine the connection of hook and bracket.
“Here. Let me get this.” Ryan’s bare muscled arms
reach around me and grab the edge of the pane. He easily holds the pane up and
hooks it onto the brackets. I try ignoring his chest pressing
against me through his t-shirt.
I
turn around, nearly bump my head into him and end up looking into his eyes. Look away! “Thanks.”
“Well
you looked like a damsel-in-distress, and I just happen to need a good deed to
do today. Why don't you let me finish
these for you, Kim’s-Mom-Jackie?” Before I can object, Ryan carries some of the
storm windows around to the front yard.
“Ok,
I won't say no to that offer,” I call after his receding back and suddenly the dirty
dishes in the kitchen seem urgent to finish.
“How
old is Ryan Miller?” I frantically text Kim.
“abt
30 – non-trad student. Y?”
“Oh,
no reason. Just have seen him around a
little and he seems older than the other students.” I hope my lie doesn't read as lame as it feels.
“ok.
i’m off to work, then. Ttyl.”
He’s
30! 20 years younger than I am! I feel so old.
And yet Ryan’s interest has raised the possibility that I can compete in
this dating game. “Truly, Jackie, do you
really think this is a good idea?” I
mutter to myself. I am standing at the sink when the side door closes and
startles me back to reality.
Before I can turn around, Ryan says, “They're done, Jackie.”
Before I can turn around, Ryan says, “They're done, Jackie.”
“Oh
good!” I emphatically turn around, and for the second time that
day, I nearly bump my head on Ryan’s chin.
Does this boy understand the concept of personal space and not sneaking
up on people? I quickly slip out from between Ryan and the sink. “Well, thank you!”
“Anytime.
Just call if you need any help at all around this house.” He follows me to the
door and hands me a slip of paper with his number written on it. When did he decide to write this up? And why does his attention make me feel
special?
Monday afternoon I go to The River Fork Times offices to check on assignments as well as work in a different spot. I also want to talk with Mary.
“Hey Jackie!” Mary calls from her
desk, “Have any crises with that pink and gray bathroom yet?”
“No, nothing has gone wrong
yet. That apartment building next door still
has a non-stop party every weekend, though.
I know I should have expected it, but I forgot how ‘non-stop’ college
parties truly are!”
“Ah, such fun! I envy you!
Truly!” Mary’s words are a mix of teasing and exaggerated sarcasm. She and Donald live in a ranch house in the
First Ward, far from the chaos of student dorms and only about a mile and a
half away from where John and I used to live.
The only students that might be even near where they live are graduate
students in some of the 1920s brick apartment houses. “Have you seen that cute
red-head since you moved in?” Mary is always on the lookout for potential dates for me.
“Well, he showed up yesterday to
help me with the storm windows, and he invited me to one of the parties,” I say
a bit cautiously. “But that doesn't mean
anything; I'm sure he’s just being nice.
You know he’s 30 and used to date one of Kim’s friends. I think he’s more than a bit young for
me. He calls me ‘Kim’s mom,’ for
heaven’s sake.”
“You never know. I've heard that
the latest fad is young men attempting to bed as many middle-aged women as
possible.”
“Oh yeah, that’s what’s happening,” and I roll my eyes to hide the immediate thrill inside me. “Maybe I should do a short expose on it.” I
picture Ryan’s dark brown eyes ringed with those thick lashes.
Right then the editor in chief, Dick Beetle,
barrels across the room, his short squat body moving with purpose and his arms
swinging with intensity. “Jackie! I’m glad
you came in,” he bellows. “Starting in November I want you and Mark Perry to do
a monthly historical series on the Triple Cities area.”
“Sure, Dick. I can do that.” Dick
did keep giving me work – and so a paycheck – even if he could be a real
problem.
I had heard of Mark from Mary who
off-handedly mentioned him a couple times as a good looking and smart young
man. Although he is a fairly new
graduate from Buffalo State, he’s about 36.
Apparently he traveled around the world “couch surfing” on almost no
money before he decided to become a free-lance journalist and return to
college. I had argued with Mary then 36 is a bit
young for a prospect. Now I am considering a 30 year old as a possible option. I can't decide if I’m intrepid or desperate. Maybe I'm both.
Posted by Jackie Connolly
Chapter 2, Part 2
Posted by Jackie Connolly
Chapter 2, Part 2