CHAPTER 1:
They were walking hand in hand along the winding, rocky trail of Salmon Park in Oakvale. The early-summer sun’s gentle light sparkled through the oak leaves, the air smelled of fresh rain, and the brassy calls of waterfowl echoed in the distance.
Spring had decorated the wild park with carpets of soft green and delicate yellow poppies among the mounds of polished stones. A mother quail and her hatchlings scurried into a blackberry bush and a lone egret stood in the shallow waters of a pool below the trail, staring into the dark wet and pondering his next snack.
In Lara’s free hand hung a picnic basket filled with crackers, cheese, and fruit. In Jimmy’s, a guitar. A gust of warm wind blew his long fringe into his face. With a shy smile, he released Lara’s hand to swipe his hair to the side before eagerly latching on again.
They arrived in the hollow that Lara knew as her private beach. In it was a pond surrounded by walnut and fig trees, blackberry brambles, and wild grape vines. There was no fruit, but Lara did not mind. She knew that she would bring Jimmy here again later that summer.
Lara whisked a thin blanket from the basket and onto the ground. She spread out their lunch as Jimmy sat down and readied his guitar on his knee. Then Jimmy was strumming the guitar and singing softly in her ear. His song had no melody or words...
Lara sat up with a start, her eyes darting around the room before falling onto her nightstand, which was decorated with six dirty teacups.
She flopped to her side murmuring, “Not another one,” and lay curled in a stiff ball. When despite her best efforts, images from her dream threatened to invade her mind again, she jumped off her mattress and stumbled into the kitchen, ignited the burner under her tea kettle, then frowned... She was down to her second-to-last teabag.
Stumbling over to her balcony window, she parted the dark curtains and standing blinds and squinted into the June brightness. Rio Valle, named for its topography, was a county and city in central California nestled between two rivers. With a Mediterranean climate and fertile soil, it was an agricultural paradise with bountiful local produce all-year round. As a vegetarian, Lara deeply appreciated the regular access to quality, inexpensive produce. But much to Lara’s disdain, Rio Valle’s summers were long, sunny, and hot. She had tried to remedy this with a thick comforter tacked over her balcony window, and was promptly ordered by complex management to take it down as it was an eyesore.
The window from her second-floor apartment offered little in the way of a breathtaking view. Located on the southern side of Lincoln Apartments, her home overlooked the ruffled grey awning and dull asphalt of the parking lot. Beyond the various shades of grey there was a tall wall, separating the complex from Exeter Square—a much more exclusive gated community where Lara could not even imagine residing.
This is how the Alden area in Rio Valle was: rather varied. Sterling Avenue itself was a street that stretched between the county’s two major freeways, 50 and 80.
The I-80 side of Sterling was characterized by used car dealerships with faded paint and an overabundance of cash advance joints, dollar stores, and fast-food franchises. The apartments were cheaper down at that end, but predictably also less safe. After a couple weeks of sleepless nights due to the nearly constant domestic disputes from her upstairs neighbors and shady business dealings outside her window at 4am, even penny-pinching Lara had resigned herself to moving a few miles down the street when her lease was up.
She lived closer to the gentrified, highway-50 side of Sterling now, her modest apartment complex sandwiched between two gated communities and within walking distance from Loehnman’s Plaza, a posh little shopping center of the community with a hipster bakery, a clothing store where items seldom went for less than three digits, and a fancy hair and nail salon that Lara would never set foot in even on a dare. Thankfully, there was also a Savemart, Chipotle, Blockbuster Video, Noah’s Bagels, and other more familiar, working-class establishments. The only place that ever got Lara’s business, however, was Savemart. She never treated herself to restaurant food or entertainment.
For those fleeting few months that spring semester, change sneaked into Lara’s life and threatened to sweep her away to Blockbuster to rent a romantic comedy or—heaven forbid—to Mimi’s Boutique to get her nails painted purple. But as gradually as the dreamlike waves of change had gathered strength, they came to a crashing halt only two weeks prior. And Lara’s life reverted to the way it was at the beginning of the semester—as if her days had been what she experienced a few minutes ago: a dream. In a blurry haze, she had written her final papers, sat in on her final lectures, and said goodbye to her boss for the summer.
The only constant in the soundscape of thoughts, memories, and music that always played in her mind was a name: Jimmy Wong.
He might have been a sorcerer or a god by the way he had created and then destroyed Lara’s world in just one semester...but in actuality, he was just a freshman theatre major, nineteen years old.
Like most theatre majors, he was friendly and uninhibited. Even though he only stood five feet and five inches and wasn’t exceptionally good looking, his friendly, carefree nature made him very popular. He had a wide, flat nose on a round, lightly-tanned face. He had a big smile, which he flashed readily, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. He was definitely regarded as more cute than handsome by the other theatre majors. But his boyish appearance was offset by the silky black hair that hung in his eyes, and a deep speaking voice that carried authority. And hiding under the long-sleeved dress shirts and designer T-shirts he often wore was a thin, yet toned physique—no doubt a byproduct of his dance and martial arts training.
Lara commanded a different sort of attention. Where Jimmy’s face was round and tan and prone to smiling, hers was gaunt, pale, and rested in a perpetual frown. She wasn’t exceptionally tall at 5’7, but her spindly limbs gave the illusion of height. With a big forehead, big ears, and a tiny nose, her physique and facial features felt ill-matched. Like she was a gnome that had been stretched out on a rack.
She habitually tented herself in oversized black blouses and elastic-waisted skirts, and armored her dainty feet in black combat boots. Her hair was also black, though not naturally so. It hung down all the way to her waist, parted lazily in the middle, tangled, split-ended, and matte. She hated the feel of makeup on her face and never wore any, so her light brown eyelashes and brows were overpowered by the stark blackness of her hair. One of the boys who hung out in the Theatre Department had coined her look dollar store goth.
The only physical attributes of Lara’s that one might describe as pretty were her bright green eyes and her flawless, velvety skin. Not a line or a spot on her face, people often mistook her for a high school student, though she was twenty-three and a senior art major.
Lara’s eyes glazed over as she rinsed out her used teacups. Against her will, it reminded her of rinsing cups of paint in the Rio Valle State University scene shop where she worked during the schoolyear. It was actually there that she had had her first interactions with Jimmy.
Of course she had been tangentially aware of him, ever since he enrolled in the 2008 Fall semester as a theatre major. She was tangentially aware of all theatre majors, although friends with none of them. She would occasionally notice the popular boy, loudly talking and laughing with his classmates as they walked through the scene shop when she was painting a drop. She might have noticed him noticing her, too, had she been paying any attention.
But that spring semester, Jimmy was enrolled in Stagecraft, a class which required thirty shop hours for a passing grade. He helped with set construction the first couple weeks. Lara frequently caught him looking her way whenever he passed with a big metal pipe or spoke with Ron Roberts, the set designer and Jimmy’s stagecraft professor. And on the third week, Jimmy was assigned to help Lara paint drops.
Their first day working together, Jimmy was mostly silent. This suited Lara, who detested small talk and assumed she and the popular theatre major would have very little in common anyway. But she kept catching him staring. It made her brush-hand shake.
Then on Monday, February 9th, the second day Jimmy came to help Lara paint, he seemed much more determined to strike up a conversation.
“Hey,” he said, joining her at the sink to wash his hands before they started. “I heard you have a drop for me to work on today?”
Lara grabbed a towel. “Yeah...” she told the towel as she dried her hands on it. “You’ll be painting the sky this time.”
"Great! Sounds epic.”
His attempt at banter landed on the floor with a splat as he dried his hands.
Lara handed him a brush. “Okay, let’s start,” she said, her eyes quickly darting away from him.
“I can’t believe I have to paint this whole part of the drop blue by hand,” Jimmy groaned as Lara tied her hair into a sloppy ponytail.
“Okay, don’t overly saturate the brush. And do nice even strokes.”
“Yeah, yeah, wax-on-wax-off, right?” Jimmy smirked. “I think I can handle it.”
Then, after several minutes of silence,
“So how old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
Jimmy dropped his paintbrush. “R-Really?? Wow...”
Lara resumed her soft stroking of the canvas.
“...But you don't look that old,” Jimmy puzzled, picking up the brush and tripping to the sink to rinse it.
When he returned with a fresh brush and she didn’t add anything to the conversation, he continued.
“Seriously, I thought you were only a couple years older than me. I mean, you are a junior, so I knew you had to be at least twenty, but still...”
“I spent a gap year in Japan after graduating high school there, and another two years...slacking off at home...before I started—ugh.”
Lara ran to the sink to rinse out the blob of paint that had just fallen on her black blouse.
Jimmy awkwardly watched her rinse her blouse.
“Wow, you lived in Japan?” he called out, to fill the silence.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t elaborate, so he added, “What’s Japan like?”
“It’s...okay.”
She grabbed a bright orange apron and frowned at the color before wrapping it around herself and turning away from the sink.
“Well, that made everything clear,” Jimmy retorted with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye.
Lara returned to his side—now clothed in paint-splattered orange—and picked up her own brush. She was doing detail work on the green leaves and Jimmy could not help but be hypnotized by her dancing hand.
“Wow, you're fast...”
“Comes with practice.”
“How long’ve you been painting?” he asked, resuming his monotonous blue stroking.
“Since I was six.”
After another awkward pause during which Jimmy had hoped she would elaborate, he prompted, “What was the first thing you ever painted?”
“A vampire.”
This time Jimmy couldn't contain himself.
“Pfhaaaaaaaaahahaha!” he wheezed, clutching his side.
Lara stared at him, her brush mid-stroke.
“I’m sorry, I’m ah—I’m sorry!” he panted, waving a hand. “It’s just, when I told my friends I’d be painting, they were like, Good luck talking to Lara. She’s weird.”
“I’m weird...?”
“No! Nononono!”
Jimmy panicked, waving his paintbrush-hand this time, sending sprinkles of blue flying at Lara.
“I mean, I don't think you’re weird! And I think vampires are cool...”
Lara made a face. A blue-splotched face.
“Um, here...” Jimmy stammered, handing her a towel. “Sorry.”
Where most people in his circle would have said, “Oh, don’t worry about it,” or, “Oh, Jimmy, you’re such a douchebag,” Lara said nothing as she wiped her face clean.
He was rescued from reacting by the entrance of a freshman theatre major with a pixie cut and hipster glasses.
“There you are,” she beamed as she approached the pair (though it was obvious she meant Jimmy.) “Busik wants you.”
“Doesn't he know I don't swing that way?” Jimmy joked.
Lara rolled her eyes.
The pixie cut giggled, “Nooo, silly. He wants to talk about Midsummer, of course. You know, that play you’re in that opens in a week and a half?”
Lara suddenly remembered that the pixie cut was Erika, assistant stage manager for the year’s Shakespeare play, and that Jimmy was Puck.
“Okay, okay,” he chuckled.
Jimmy removed his apron and went to the sink to rinse his brush. Erika and Jimmy chatted loudly, but Lara drowned out what they were saying. Instead, she played a song in her mind and let her thoughts wander to the book she was currently reading.
“...handle things here without me?”
She was jolted into the present.
“Oh...sure,” she answered dumbly, looking back at Jimmy. Then without thinking, she blurted out. “Unless I'm killed by a vampire before then.”
Jimmy was stunned for a beat, though not as stunned as Lara. Nobody ever understood her dry sense of humor and now Jimmy probably thought she was a delusional psychopath who believed in vampires. But to Lara’s shock, Jimmy’s face melted into a playful smirk. Erika finally looked at Lara—with a frown and question marks in her eyes—but quickly discarded the inside joke and pushed Jimmy out of the scene shop.
“Lara, I'll see you on Friday?” Jimmy called out with a smile and a wave over his shoulder.
Lara gritted her teeth and nodded into her canvas.
“I’ll bring you a snack next time. Maybe some garlic bread?”
“Jimmy, let’s go,” Erika puffed as she pushed him out the door.
Lara’s lips twitched for a moment before resuming her painting. She restarted the song in her mind and tried to remember where had last left her train of thought as the brush glided along the canvas...
Lara, I'll see you on Friday?
For some reason, those words kept painting over the soundscape in her mind.
Guess I'll call it a day, she sighed to herself and walked over to the sink.
Stephanie Connor, the scenic artist and her boss, had walked in just after Erika. She was tall, thin, and plain like Lara and always wore a maroon sweatshirt that looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Her mousy brown hair was somewhere between waved and straight, but she never styled it, preferring to let it stick out in a perpetual state of fresh-off-the-pillow.
“Trying to escape?” she teased Lara.
“I’m just tired,” Lara answered as she removed her apron.
Stephanie’s smile softened. I’m just tired was Lara’s catchphrase.
“Hey, it’s only the third week of the semester. Too early to be tired,” Stephanie retorted. “What about those poor kids in Midsummer who had to rehearse all Winter Break?”
“I’m coming back to finish this on Friday—and so is Jimmy.”
As if his name was an incantation, her pale cheeks brightened slightly.
Stephanie’s lips rose into a smirk. “I think Jimmy likes you,” she sang.
Lara chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah. Sure. Anyway, I’m done for the day.”
She put her clean brush away and handed the yogurt container of green paint to Stephanie.
“I’ve definitely been painting too much. I could have sworn I saw a pair of purple eyes behind all that green.”
Stephanie laughed. “Okay, go home.”
Not long after she arrived home that day, Lara felt ill. The next day, she woke with a fever and was out for the rest of the week. Consequently, she did not come back to the scene shop on Friday. As she lay in bed eating canned veggie-noodle soup and crackers, she caught herself wondering if Jimmy had tried to bring her garlic bread.
“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day...” she murmured into her soup.
She blushed and shook it off. Why did that matter?
By Sunday, she was over the worst, but a little cough still nagged her. She was settled down in bed that evening to enjoy the rest of the respite before her return to school the next day, when suddenly she was serenaded by the strains of Bach’s Tocatta and Fuge in D minor. Her phone.
This was already an unusual occurrence—not many people called her—so she curiously bent to the side to see who it was...and nearly spilled her tea when she saw the ominous JIMMY WONG CALLING. They had exchanged numbers at the beginning of the semester, but that was only so he could text her if he were sick.
She answered halfway through the second play of her makeshift ringtone.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“...Hi,” came his obviously nervous reply. “Oh—were you in bed?”
“Yes. I’m still a little sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” he answered hastily.
“I’m mostly better now,” Lara assured him, taking a sip of tea. “Just tired.”
After an awkward silence, it spilled out of Jimmy.
“Yeah! So, um, I just got out of tech rehearsal for Midsummer and I didn't feel like going out to eat with everyone else and I was wondering if you needed me to bring you anything.”
“Oh...no, I’m good. I’ve got lots of canned soup.”
“Oh...sorry. Well, guess I’ll go now. B-Bye!” he stuttered as if a dinosaur had just appeared in front of him.
Lara settled back into bed to finish her tea. And it wasn’t until a few sips in silence that she realized she had made the mistake of taking everything Jimmy had just said literally. Of course he felt like going out to eat with his castmates. He was a social butterfly. And of course he knew she probably didn’t need anything. She was a grown adult.
Then she shot upright.
In a sudden burst of something unusual for Lara—impulsivity—she opened her phone and dialed the last received number.
“Hi?!” he answered on the first ring.
Lara blanked for a second. Had she really just called him? Why had she just called him? Before her brain could intervene, her mouth said the words,
“On second thought, could you bring me a loaf of French bread and some tomato soup? I’m vegetarian.”
For a few dreadful seconds, Lara wondered if Jimmy had hung up and if she needed to change universities.
“...Oh! Cool! Wow, uh, okay!”
After hanging up and texting him directions to her apartment, Lara leaned back in bed. Coal, who had been waiting for this, jumped into her lap and curled up.
Lara’s cheeks burned. “This is good,” she told herself. “It’ll be nice to have some fresh bread with the soup...”
But for some reason it was an image of Jimmy’s smiling face that her mind focused on and not the bowl of soup and chunk of bread this imaginary-Jimmy was holding.
“I think Jimmy likes you…”
Stephanie’s voice taunted her.
“Shut up,” she mumbled, stiffly rolling onto her side (and knocking an indignant cat off her lap.)
In what seemed like no time, there was a brisk knock at her door. After awkward greetings and a brief tour of her tiny apartment and paintings, Jimmy heated up the soup for the two of them to eat.
“Where’s your knives?” he called out from the kitchen. “I wanna cut the bread.”
After a pause, Lara answered, “I don’t have any.”
“Wha—really?”
Lara’s ears burned. “I...get by without them. I only do simple cooking.”
Two strange, blunt chuckles burst from Jimmy. “Yeah, I don’t have time to cook either! Anyway, the soup’s done.”
Lara had no dining table, so Jimmy sat at her computer desk and Lara sat in bed. They each tore chunks of French bread off the loaf with their hands.
“This is a pretty nice place...” Jimmy offered, chewing his tomato-soaked bread. “Do your parents help you out?”
“No.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Do you have an extra job besides the scene shop then? How do you afford it?”
“My mom’s house is being rented out... I get bimonthly checks in the mail.”
“Why is her house being rented?” Jimmy pressed. “Where does your mom live?”
Lara pretended not to hear and took a long sip of soup. Sensing he’d hit a bad nerve, Jimmy also quieted down and pretended that his soup was the most interesting thing in the studio apartment.
Soon enough, the soup was gone and the clock read 9:00.
“Wow, it’s late...” Lara remarked. Then she winced.
Smooth, Lara. That’s what you’re supposed to say when you want somebody to leave—normal people don’t remark that it’s late without a hidden agenda. Now he thinks you just used him for free soup...
While Lara doomspiraled, Jimmy put the soup bowls in the sink and filled them with water, and by the time she was starting to wonder if she should explain what she had meant when she said it was late or if that would only make things more awkward, he was lowering himself next to Lara on the edge of her bed.
After a string of failed conversation attempts, Jimmy’s busy eyes finally found Lara’s CD collection. Grabbing the CD on the top of the pile, Jimmy’s overly chipper voice said,
“Well, what have we—” his voice fell when he saw the morbid cover art “—here...”
“Makoto,” Lara answered.
Jimmy scrutinized the elfin man with red eyes and ram horns sitting on a throne and chucked, “Japanese metal?”
“Well, it’s Visual-kei, technically,” Lara answered. Then, before she could stop herself, she explained, “It’s a sub-genre of rock that originated in Japan in the early 80’s and it’s kind of like glam rock—I think that’s where the term Visual comes from?—the bands dress up really elaborate for their performances and album art—see how Makoto is wearing a Regency coat in this? The band he used to belong to often wore suits from the Victorian era. They even wore dresses—even though they’re all men—and they’d wear their hair long and curly and use heavy makeup. And the musical style is somewhat influenced by Classical music as well—Makoto’s songs often have full symphonies or choirs or sometimes small Baroque chamber ensembles—you know, with harpsichords and stuff—but then he also likes to include traditional Japanese music influences like the koto and shamisen and—”
It was then that Lara accidentally looked at Jimmy. His pursed lips suggested he was on the verge of laughter. She knew that look all too well. The sight of it always made her heart rate spike.
She shrank back against the wall and finished in a barely audible voice, “Anyway, I like Makoto’s music a lot.”
After a brief silence that stabbed Lara’s ears, Jimmy’s dreaded laughter finally came. But to Lara’s astonishment, it was gentle. There was no scorn in it.
“I can tell you like it a lot...” he chuckled. “I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you speak.”
“Sorry...” she mumbled into her fingers. “I didn’t...mean to ramble...”
“Oh, no, no,” he insisted, waving his hand and scooting next to her against the wall. “Ramble away! I like learning new things. I can spend hours going down Wikipedia rabbit holes—and Japanese glam metal is completely new to me.”
Jimmy opened the jewel case, carefully removed the CD, and held it up to Lara with a questioning tilt of his head. She explained that she used her computer to listen to music, and Jimmy put the CD on, and got back in bed with her.
It only took the first few bars of the pipe organ introduction for the bright smile to return to Lara’s face. She sang along under her breath for a bit, then, with Jimmy’s encouragement, she sang full voice.
“Wow, you’re actually a really good singer!” Jimmy yelled over the scream of electric guitars.
After a brief section of chugging riffs, the song quieted to a piano section.
“I love this part,” Lara grinned, pointing at her computer. “I used to listen to classical music all the time.”
“I used to listen to classical music, too...” Jimmy paused, a slight catch in his voice. “But now it’s mostly musical theater soundtracks and indie stuff...and emo, I guess,” he finished with a nod. “Nothing this heavy, though.”
“You can borrow it if you want.”
Jimmy thanked her and set the CD case at the foot of the bed. It was when Jimmy resituated himself against the pillow that Lara realized a horrific truth: Despite her discomfort over having someone she didn’t know very well in her home, a part of Lara was glad he was still there.
And even more horrific: It was nighttime, and she was in bed with a boy. Granted, this was because she had no couch, but the fact remained: They were in bed together.
The Makoto CD moved onto its second track, which was mercilessly a ballad.
Lara pulled her black comforter onto her lap. Jimmy scooted under the comforter with her. It was a twin bed, and even though they were both slender, their legs were touching. For some reason, he didn’t seem as eager to talk now.
“So you did all these paintings, I assume?” Jimmy finally asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to sell any of them?”
“I couldn’t... They’re not anywhere near good enough.”
Jimmy sat up straight. “You're kidding.”
Lara stared blankly at the abstract piece she called A Study in Black.
“No, I’m serious. They’re full of flaws. I could point them all out to you if you’re interested.”
Jimmy leaned closer to Lara and pointed to the dancing forest nymph on the wall directly in front of her.
“What about that one?”
The nymph’s arms were stretched towards the rays of light pouring in from between tall redwoods, her beautiful brown face framed in black curls.
“The color balance is off,” Lara answered without thought. “And the concept is a bit cliché...”
“...But she’s beautiful.” Then he suddenly looked at her with unexplained courage. “You’re beautiful.”
Back in the present, Lara shook away the memories and turned her attention to her neglected cup of tea. It was grossly over-brewed, and copious amounts of sugar and half and half were added to compensate.
Lara cradled the concoction and made way to her computer to log on to Facebook for the fifth time that day...
Nothing new.
Before she could quell her impulse, she scrolled back through her inbox, finding an older message and clicking on it. It was sent to her February 17th, 2:05am, two calendar days after bread and soup with Jimmy.
Hey, Lara, how are things?
I know this is not something I should be saying in a message, but between dress rehearsals and classes, I don’t have time to see you and I know you're probably asleep now, so I didn’t want to call you. So here it goes...
I really like you.
Wow, looks really boring on the screen. I’m sorry! I guess you noticed? I know I wasn't exactly being subtle...
But seriously, I really mean it. I know I’ve said this before and I feel silly using the same word all the time, but you’re just so unique You’re a beautiful artist, you’re smart, you’ve got a surprise sense of humor, I could talk to you for hours...I’m shocked you’re not already taken. And I really do think you’re beautiful. That wasn’t just a line.
I know I’m a lot younger than you and I’m terrified things might not work out, but I can’t ignore my feelings anymore. I want something more.
If your answer is no, I completely understand. I’d still like to be friends. This probably sounds casual, but believe me, I’m unbelievably nervous right now (my hands won't stop shaking...)
Hope you're feeling better.
Sleep well.
-Jimmy.
Then, February 17th, 3:05pm, after Lara’s reply.
First, I’m so glad to hear you’re finally over your cold and that you’ll be back in the scene shop tomorrow!
And I completely understand that you can’t give me an answer yet. I’ll wait as long as you need.
Oh, and Midsummer opens the day after tomorrow. Can you come? The cast is going out afterwards to celebrate and I know you usually like to go to bed by 10:00 (you crazy woman!) but you’re welcome to come along.
See you tomorrow!
-Jimmy
Wednesday, February 18th, 10:37pm, a few messages back and forth later...
Hey, Lara!
Saw this on youtube and thought you’d like it. I won't spoil it, but I will say it involves vampires and Nightwish. I checked out their music by the way - I actually like it! I think it’s really cool how they combine opera with metal. I listened to opera and classical music a lot, back when I used to play piano. (Sorry I didn’t tell you why I quit, btw. Maybe I will someday...)
I’m sorry you were too tired to hang out today. Hope you feel better soon.
Friday, February 20th, 9:32am, a few messages back and forth later...
Hiiiii Lara.
Well, too bad you couldn’t come out with us afterwards last night, but I’m glad you loved the show.
Now that the show’s finally open, I'll have tomorrow off (during the day). Wanna do something?
-Jimmy
Friday, February 20th, 11:11am, after Lara’s reply...
Sweet! I’d love to watch a Makoto concert DVD.
Did I mention before how utterly awesome it is that your grandmother is Japanese and you lived in Japan?
You’re practically more Asian than I am lol.
And I can’t wait to taste your cooking. What are you making? ^_^
-Jimmy
Sunday, February 22nd, 11:58pm:
Hi ^_^
I can still taste your spaghetti. It was so good. I can’t believe you cooked that without a knife lol.
I guess I don’t have much to say... I mean, we talked for what, 5 hours yesterday? Haha.
Just wanted to check in. Oh, by the way, half the department knows already. News travels fast, doesn’t it. Yargh...
But I’ve been thinking and we should probably keep this a secret from my parents. At least for now. I know I’ll have a hell of a time convincing my Mom that it’s okay that my girlfriend is 5 years older than me.
So I guess that means we probably should keep our status on facebook “single” just to be safe (my sister and some cousins are on facebook).
See you tonight.
-Jimmy
Present-day Lara quickly closed Firefox and returned her empty cup to the kitchen. It was time to wash her neglected dishes.
The six-day-buildup of dirty dishes revealed that Lara had not eaten much. Aside from eight teacups (which had been lazily rinsed out at times), there was just one dirty pan, two plates with tomato sauce residue, and a bowl with dried oatmeal remains.
Forgetting to eat and forgetting to wash dishes were not that unusual for Lara, but she still felt ashamed by the sight.
Lara filled the sink with soapy water and rested her hands in it. Immediately, her mind threatened to go there. She frowned and squinted her eyes shut. But her impeccably perfect memory mercilessly fed her what her mind protested and her heart demanded, taking her three weeks back in time to Saturday, May 16th...
As she stood at the sink to rinse the teacups and saucers, she felt Jimmy sneak up behind her and close his arms around her waist. She turned off the tap and stood quietly in his arms, feeling his breath on her neck, then a soft kiss.
“I love you...” he whispered.
Lara blushed, realizing this was the first time he had said it.
Jimmy kissed her neck again, this time longer. Lara could feel his heart pounding into her back. During the past couple of weeks, she had seen a look in his eyes that was both lonely and happy. The mixture of feelings had confused her at first, until she gradually realized that she had been feeling the same way.
Lara’s lips drifted to his. He inhaled deeply and squeezed her tighter.
Their three-month anniversary was just five days away, but they had still done nothing beyond innocent kissing like this. Lara knew this was almost unheard of in the college community. Through some stilted conversations at the beginning of their courtship, Lara had revealed her complete lack of dating experience to him. And while he was shocked by the news that she had never even been kissed, to Lara’s shock, he didn’t judge her for it. It wasn’t a deal breaker for him either.
But this gap in experience between them had led to some uncomfortable moments. The few weeks leading up to their first kiss, Jimmy would often look Lara in the eye, trying to lock her gaze and steer her in. Being terrified of eye contact, Lara’s head would always swish away.
Whenever Lara was around Jimmy in the presence of other theatre majors, anytime sex came up in conversation (which it often did in that building), Jimmy would try to change the subject. Lara couldn’t tell if he did so for her benefit or his, but she felt horrible either way.
And a couple weeks prior, when Jimmy had confided in Lara about the reason he didn’t play piano anymore and she had held him until he stopped crying, he’d rolled on top of her and kissed her hard. When she felt the full weight of his body on her, heard the intensity of his breathing and his unbridled moaning, she froze, unsure of what it meant and how she felt about it. As soon as he sensed her discomfort, Jimmy had immediately stopped, stammered a hasty apology, straightened his clothes, and let himself out.
And now, nearly two months since their first kiss, Lara knew something had to give. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to give it yet.
As Jimmy’s breathing intensified and his hand found the back of her head and pulled her close, Lara’s brain raced.
He’s going to get tired of me. He needs more...
Do I need more?
How do I even......
God, why can’t I be normal?!
Lara’s lips tightened. Jimmy reluctantly pulled back and settled on just holding her.
Lara’s brain could not comprehend her situation. She was dating a young man who loved her. He respected her boundaries, was understanding of her strange idiosyncrasies, he gave her space when she was tired and needed to be alone, and he tried to get her to go outside sometimes and draw her out of her shell. She was still too shy to talk to his friends much, but they all seemed nice. She had often fantasized about finding someone like that—even just a friend—but now that this dream confronted her as reality, it was hard to accept.
With a final squeeze, Jimmy released her and headed for the living room. But Lara did not resume her dish washing. She stared into the soapy water, as if it would give her an answer. She stared so long she could have sworn she saw a pair of violet eyes materialize, staring up at her.
The present-day sink was so full that water was beginning to creep onto the countertop. In a panic, Lara turned off the tap. She wiped her puffy eyes, picked up a sponge, and attacked the teacups. The plates, pan, and bowl were not as easy a task since the food had been dried on like glue. She decided to let these soak and wandered away from the kitchen.
Coal had been waiting at the front door and was looking up at her with green eyes that matched her own. Lara patted his head and let him out. She closed the door and leaned against it. For some reason, her legs weren’t working properly. Before she could sink to the floor, she stumbled over to her bed.
Losing hold of her pride, Lara fell onto her bed and screamed silently, digging into the mattress with white knuckles. It was so hard to believe that tender memory had taken place only a few days before he broke up with her. It seemed so distant now that Lara wondered if she’d imagined the whole semester. She jumped out of bed and ran to the computer. Surely there would be something mindless on Facebook to cheer her up.
“He said we’d still be friends. He said we’d still see each other,” she reminded herself out loud as she waited for her computer to connect to the internet. Impatiently tapping her fingers on her desk, she watched the Facebook homepage load.
No new messages.
She carelessly scrolled up and down the News Feed. Maybe one of his friends had posted pictures of him...
Her hand fell off the mouse. Time stopped. There in plain sight, next to the icon of a little red heart were the words, Jimmy Wong is in a relationship.
Lara clicked on his name. His page loaded instantly (her slow computer couldn’t help but have it memorized since she checked it every day). Under his relationship status were the words in a relationship with Kennedy Mullen.
The name was unfamiliar. She clicked on it and was greeted with a picture of a pretty redhead holding a rose and smiling.
“Where did he meet her...”
Lara stared harder, hoping the image or name might give her more clues.
“When did he meet her? Just like that?”
Suddenly it dawned on Lara.
“ That’s why he hasn't been writing back...”
A fist tightened around Lara’s already small stomach.
She retreated to her bed.
She wrapped her arms around herself and clenched her eyes shut...
February 27th...
“This is Lara,” Jimmy said, proudly extending his arm.
“Oh! Jim told us so much about you!” Kiara, president of the Dramatist Society squealed as she attacked Lara with a big hug.
Lara stood stiffly.
Another theatre major smirked, “It’s kind of surreal finally talking to you, after seeing you around the department the past couple years.”
March 13th...
“Wow, you painted this for me??” Jimmy marveled, admiring the watercolor of the rainbow over the sunflower field.
“Thought I might take a break from the fanciful and morbid,” Lara said. “Happy birthday.”
Jimmy squeezed her.
“Now I’m only four years older than you,” she said dryly.
Jimmy let go of her. “That's not funny,” he admonished with a twinkle in his eye.
“Just the same, I hope you enjoy the painting.”
“Of course I will; it's beautiful!”
April 27th..
“It’s so nice seeing the techies and actors mingle more,” Kiara confided in Lara.
“Yeah, this is college!” another theatre major chimed in. “We’re too old for cliques.”
“Well, we are, after all, the—what did you guys call us?” Jimmy asked, his arm around Lara.
“The gap-bridgers,” chorused the two theatre majors.
Everyone laughed. Lara looked down and picked at her chipped fingernails.
“That’s it. I’m becoming an art minor!” Jimmy declared.
Everyone stared.
“...I’m serious.”
May 22nd...
“Okay, I have a basket—I'm bringing the cheese and crackers and you’re still getting some fruit from your cousin, right?” Lara asked into her phone.
“Yeah...” he answered with a nervous laugh. “Listen, can I come over later today? I need to talk to you about something...”
Tears soaked Lara's pillow as images of Jimmy and herself frolicking at the river flowed through her mind. She had flowers in her hair and he was singing and strumming his guitar. Then the pretty girl with red hair popped in out of nowhere and took Jimmy’s guitar. She began to sing and strum, and Jimmy turned his back on Lara to follow the song.
“Stupid...redhead...” Lara heard herself mutter between hiccups.
“You’re stupid.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lara answered the voice, assuming it was her usual self-loathing internal monologue. “I’m stupid. And petty. And immature. Like I care anymore.”
“Ohh, don’t be melodramatic now...” said the voice.
“I’ll be melodramatic if I want to! My heart is broken...and I believed him when he told me his was too. One heartfelt message from him and I believe him... I’m so stupid...”
“He’s only nineteen. He’s not yet a man.”
“Oh, shut up, Lara—” Lara whirled around to face the voice.
A man was floating next to her bed, hugging his knees into himself. He wore black leather pants and an expensive-looking white shirt. He appeared around her age and had shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair and violet eyes.
“Pardon me for not revealing myself earlier. It’s against the rules to do so before the pre-study year is up,” he explained with a smile.
“Pre...study...?” Lara’s throat finally managed to form the words.
“Yes, I’m doing a study on you. My people—the Yllime—do studies on a handful of humans every year.”
“Humans... Ee-li...”
Lara dug her fingers into the mattress to steady herself. The room was starting to blur and the strange man’s voice was starting to sound deeper and deeper underwater.
“I’ve been watching you, Lara Winters, and I know much about you. Your love of painting, your morbid fancies, your anti-social demeanor, your occasional tired days in bed staring at the ceiling, your dislike of meat, your broken heart, your—aaand she fainted,” the man mused. “Oh well, they say that’s what happens 99% of the time.”