Word Count Day 3

9,331/50,000

Chapter 4

"Hi," she said. "I'm Allison."

Sedgewick just about fell out of his chair. He'd been eating in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, his back to the world and his eyes scanning his art history notes. A girl came up behind him, practically sprinted, and jumped to a stop right in front of him. She rested her leg on the chair opposite Sedgewick and retied her running shoes, showing smooth legs that weren't tanned or sculpted to perfection, but still got his attention. She wore a baggy pair of green running shorts and a black long-sleeve t-shirt with the slogan "Petra means rock" plastered across the front. It was faded and thin, suffering from a few too many washes. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, though strands of hair had come loose and were shifting in the air.

She was smiling, almost on the verge of bubbling, but managing to keep it in. She had watched Sedgewick's reaction when she first bounded up, but quickly turned to tying her shoes to avoid his gaze.

She looked tired, though energized, from her morning run, and was still breathing heavy. She had bright green eyes and Sedgewick found himself wondering just how deep the eyes of this fourth college girl went.

Sedgewick opened his mouth to speak after what felt like minutes, but was only seconds, and was only just now becoming an awkward pause. He closed his mouth again and smiled. He leaned back in his chair and his left hand dove for his pocket and he started twirling his pen with his right hand.

"Sedgewick," he finally managed. "I'm Sedgewick." He was totally unprepared for this. It couldn't be right. Such an encounter usually required a hundred failed tries, hours of watching and waiting and wondering when the right time would come. But it had all been stolen from him, snatched out right before his eyes, keeping him from all the longing and drama and forever waiting. Sedgewick couldn't believe his luck.

"Sedgewick?" she repeated, as if taken aback. "Well, it's good to put a name to a stock boy." She smiled. There was no second-guessing it now. She was definitely the green-eyed fourth college girl, and she was definitely talking to Sedgewick. But her manner, her style seemed to indicate a bad end. Stock boy?

Sedgewick nodded. He kept fiddling with his pen.

"Look," she said, reaching and grabbing Sedgewick's pen. He could feel the heat in her fingers, a sensation that went all the way to his toes, and his fingers went limp and he let the pen go. "I don't normally do this. But it's a big campus and I didn't think I'd see you again until we ran out of ramen and Diet Coke."

She paused, and Sedgewick realized her cheeks were red, bright red, not from running, but from this. Her fingers twitching slightly, just like Sedgewick's, and they happened to still be touching, faintly, as if to keep Sedgewick from reaching for his pen again. Sedgewick smiled, remembering the grocery cart of college survival food. He always wondered what ramen actually was that it could be so cheap, and was thankful he could live with his grandmother and not brave the dorms.

"Here," she said, taking Sedgewick's hand in hers and picking up his pen, the cap bent and twisted from absent minded fiddling. She wrote a series of digits across the back of his hand, careful to let the ink flow and not push too hard on his skin. "I know this is an incredibly high school thing to do, but I've got to get to class. Give me a call sometime."

She dropped the pen and stood up, ready to take off as quickly as she'd come.

"Wait," Sedgewick said, reaching for her arm. "Why…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. But Allison knew what he meant. She wondered herself.

"Because I believe…" she said, trailing off but smiling slightly. She walked away. Sedgewick watched her go, and then turned back to his art history notes, carefully copying her number above the dates for American expressionism, in case something should happen to his hand before he could get to a phone.

Chapter 3

Sedgewick walked home that night. He didn't always walk home after work, sometimes he was simply too tired. But tonight was a good night to be alone with his thoughts.

They often ricocheted around his mind like bullets, and tonight was no exception. He bit his lip as he turned the corner on his block, realizing how far he had shuffled along in a daze. His nose felt cold in the October air, and he was eager to get inside.

The cycle started over again on Monday, with a week of school and a few random evenings of work. The weekend had gone by in a blur, miscellaneous yard work on Saturday, a short shift at Cub, and a day off on Sunday.

It was dark and early as Sedgewick walked to the bus stop. Alone, again, with his thoughts. As you can imagine, they kept going back to Connor and the green eyed girl. Well, probably more the green eyed girl, but Connor was certainly in the mix as well.

Children were new and different for Sedgewick. Certainly he had been a child once, in many ways still was, and though he remembered some of what it was like, enough to remember certain looks and certain feelings of joy or panic, he had no preparation for this side of children, the older, more responsible, parental role. He simply had minimal, if any, interaction with kids and it left him lost, dazed and confused.

Other people Sedgewick's age have a similar lack of interaction with kids in their daily lives. They usually don't have kids themselves, and only the childcare professionals routinely encounter that in the workplace. Unlike other teens, Sedgewick never did any babysitting. He didn't have any younger siblings, not even one close in age so he could at least mimic the mothering and fathering skills he saw in action.

Examples for mothering and fathering skills were short in Sedgewick's life, but you could also say they were beyond measure. He also never had any cousins who lived close by. He lived most of his life quietly with his grandmother and grandfather, and then just with his grandmother. There was never the late night wailing of a child in distress. Nor the quiet giggle of a happy baby.

So with Connor, Sedgewick had made up as he went along. And what was really surprising him, why the matter was still on his mind a weekend later, is because Connor had responded so well. It worked. Either Sedgewick had legitimately figured out how to interact with a child, or Connor could just sense Sedgewick's uneasiness and responded with pity. Pity, strangely, seemed to flow both ways.

Sedgewick rounded the corner and saw the bus shelter empty and checked the bank's clock to see that he was right on time. It was also 53 degrees, not cold by any stretch, but it was definitely getting colder. The frigid temperatures would begin setting in and the frost would start to appear on the grass blades and roof shingles.

Sedgewick plopped down on the bench and his thoughts turned to the other matter. The fourth college girl. Girls—women—were a mystery to Sedgewick, as they are to most guys, especially young college age boys—men—like Sedgewick. His eyes couldn't help following them, sometimes overwrought conversations developing in his mind, when in reality the only interaction he could ever hope for was "Sorry, we're all out of Diet Coke," or "I got x=72.3." Neither had much potential, though that was okay. That was reality.

But Sedgewick also knew that while not every girl who passed by and made his eyes quietly follow was worth following, not every girl he had these flirtations moments with in his head could ever see him that way, while that was true, there were, maybe, quite possibly a few girls out there who were worthwhile for his eyes to follow, who just might see him in the same flirtatious way, though hopefully in a deeper way that still mattered when flirting dissolved with familiarity. Maybe.

As Sedgewick sat on the cold metal bench a few others joined the wait for the 7:04 bus. A black man, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, shuffled along, followed by a business man in a suit and tie, briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other.

Then came another college girl. Sedgewick had seen her before. She didn't have green eyes, but she did have dirty blonde hair, a messenger bag over one shoulder and often read history notes on the bus. She lived a few blocks away, at least that's what Sedgewick guessed. He'd seen her turn a corner and join Sedgewick's route to the bus stop only a few blocks from her. She probably lived on that street. But she was consumed with history notes and the pavement and keeping her hands in her coat pockets.

Not every girl would captivate the imagination. Sometimes it was a tyranny of the new. There was something about the inherent potential in a fresh encounter with someone you didn't know. They hadn't seen you sitting at the bus stop by yourself for two months, they didn't expect you to be as quiet and reserved as you were, and frankly you didn't know what to expect from them. You didn't know they whether they'd sit on the bus and bury themselves in history notes, or if they'd at least spend a minute, maybe more, pretending to just sit and stare ahead, leaving the door open, just a crack, for conversation with the slightly handsome, curious looking fellow they just sat down next to and barring an accident would probably be sitting with for the remainder of the thirty minute ride.

Not that Sedgewick thought himself handsome. That might be a stretch. But he did wonder if the same curiosity that arose in him every time a member of the opposite sex of approximately the same age passed by was perhaps aroused in said member of the opposite sex by him. We're not talking attraction, just simple curiosity. Sedgewick would settle for being noticed.

The number 16 pulled up to the stop light at the corner and Sedgewick stood up. He let the college girl get on first, though more by silent acquiescence than any gentlemanly gesture. He followed her on and watched her sit down near the front and go instinctively for the notes in her bag. Sedgewick took an empty seat near the middle, towards the back of the middle, but not as far back as the back of the bus where the seats faced one another instead of towards the front.

Sedgewick liked the idea of riding in the back of the bus, it seemed like the cool thing for school children to do, and on a city bus a white boy choosing to sit in the back seemed to ensure those years of racial segregation that were shattered by Rosa Parks in the 1950s were indeed overthrown, though it was only a gesture in Sedgewick's mind. But the seats that faced each other weren't very comfortable, and they made it hard to read.

Of all the things you can do on the bus, reading was Sedgewick's favorite. There were certainly other good things, sometimes sleeping didn't feel so bad, and sometimes leaning your head back and just staring out the window, letting the feel of the tires on the pavement lull you into a daze was a fine way to pass the bus ride. But reading seemed the most efficient use of mind and time, and so that's what Sedgewick usually did. The consistent reading time meant he usually finished an inordinate number of books.

At the next stop a black man in an ill-fitting suit and trench coat got on the bus. He looked older, with gray hair taking over and a worn, stretched look about his face. He sat down in the empty seat next to Sedgewick.

"How you doin' there, boy?" the man asked.

"I'm good."

The man nodded.

"And your weekend?"

"You know, Charles, it was a blur." Sedgewick said. "A good blur, but a blur nonetheless." Another good way to pass the time on the bus was to talk. Sedgewick didn't normally talk to strangers a whole lot, though the bus was a social sphere where it was perfectly acceptable to do so, and with routine schedules some of those strangers became acquaintances and sometimes even friends. Charles was one of those, a man who got on a stop or two after Sedgewick and got off at the university with Sedgewick. After noticing this for a week or two Sedgewick finally got up the never to talk to him.

"I know what that's like, I do," said Charles.

"How about yours?"

"Wasn't a blur, that's for sure." Sedgewick smiled, waiting for more. "I savored it. Went for a walk on Sunday morning with my woman. You can't beat a good walk on an autumn morning, 'specially not one with a fine young lady on your arm. Am I right?"

Sedgewick grinned and nodded, trying not to laugh. He didn't have that many Sunday morning walks in autumn with pretty girls, but he had to imagine they'd be worth savoring.

"I'm right," Charles said when Sedgewick didn't answer. Charles worked at a non-profit near the university, some type of desk job that Sedgewick didn't understand. It sounded as though Charles had worked there all his life, or at least quite a long while, judging from his stories of days gone by.

"Your wife, you really love her—don't you?"

Charles turned and looked Sedgewick in the eye.

"Boy, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" He slapped Sedgewick on the knee, just like his grandfather used to do, and turned back to the front of the bus.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "I do." They sat in silence for a block or two. The bus slowed as it pulled up to another stop.

"I said those two little words some 35 years ago. I meant 'em then, and I mean 'em now." He paused, "That's right, she's my light," and chuckled softly to himself. The bus pulled away and another block passed.

"And why are you asking?" Charles knew the answer. Sedgewick did, too.

"So who's the girl?" Charles asked, leaning forward slightly and nodding his head as he spoke. Sedgewick looked to his knees and shuffled his feet, suddenly bothered that he couldn't stretch his legs more.

"She's nobody," Sedgewick said. "At least not yet."

Charles nodded. Sedgewick exhaled and drooped his shoulders.

"It's so stupid, Charles, I saw a girl at work, I see a thousand girls at work, but I thought about this one all weekend. We didn't even say a single word to each other. I didn't even see her for more than a moment, but I haven't had a moment where she's not in my head."

Charles started laughing, slowly at first, but harder and harder as Sedgewick got going, bringing the tirade to an abrupt end.

"I… I just…" Sedgewick exhaled and grew quiet. Charles smiled, but didn't say anything. He watched a punk rocker with a leather jackets and metal studs board the bus.

"You've never felt like this before, have you?"

"No. … Well, yeah. But, no." Sedgewick could only shake his head.

"Does it feel ridiculous to have feelings for a girl you've never talked to?" Sedgewick nodded in response.

"That's okay. You know that, right? We're wired that way." Sedgewick didn't say anything.

"And it never really ends. 35 years of marriage and I still notice the girls go by." Sedgewick smiled weakly at the thought of Charles checking out women semi-retired like him.

"But I'll tell you what," Charles said, leaning in close. "Actually getting to know that girl of your eye is so much more amazing than those little butterflies you've got messin' up your system right now. You'll either find those pretty eyes are just a hollow façade and there's nothin' goin' on upstairs – in which case there's no sense wasting any more weekends on her. Or you'll find yourself falling for the deeper mystery behind those eyes, a mystery you'll never fully understand or tire of experiencing. I've gone 35 years and my wife is still a joyous mystery."

Sedgewick didn't say anything. His mind was wrapped around what Charles had said and was trying to figure out what that meant for him.

"I apologise for talking your ear off, boy. It looks like our stop is coming up."

"Thanks, Charles."

"Any time, my boy, any time. You'll find that men my age can be founts spouting knowledge and wisdom to anyone who'll listen. The problem's getting us to shut up. See, here I go again."

Sedgewick smiled as he made his way out of the seat and followed Charles off the bus. Two two walked in silence to the corner, and just before they went their separate ways Charles spoke.

"You'll let me know, won't you, just how far those eyes go?"

"I will." Sedgewick adjusted his bag on his shoulder and headed to class.