Common Denominator
Chapter 1: Andrea
I used to think that I was the common denominator, but I was wrong.
Chapter 2: Wynton
We were not unacquainted.
He was a peripheral friend of my friends, but I never knew how. He was two years ahead and studying music.
On a campus of only 1000 students, even a music major and an ancient Greek major will cross paths. He always had an instrument. Sometimes two.
Five minutes before seven, he approached the Circulation Desk.
Andrea, right? He handed over a book on music theory and his student ID. I took out the circulation card to file, stamped the due date, and pretended to desensitize the spine.
Everyone knows the detectors don’t work.
So why bother to check it out?
I wanted to see if you were going to South Hall tonight, but I guess you are working? It came out as a question.
I’m done as soon as Quinn shows up for her shift. But, I hesitated, I’m not a South Hall kind of person.
Saying no to a South Hall party wasn’t personal. South Hall reeked of vomit, piss, and pot.
We looked at each other.
Technically, he hadn’t asked me.
Technically, I hadn’t said no to him.
Fair enough. What if we meet out front at ten? I’ll grab some drinks, and we can go where it is quieter.
We met at ten. The music had started. Beastie Boys.
You don’t even want to go in, do you?
Nope.
Hold this. If something happens to me, you’re not coming to save me, are you? He handed me his guitar case.
Nope.
He returned with two red Solo cups. We walked away from South Hall and settled on the steps of Aspinwall.
Trade you, he said motioning to the beer he carried and the guitar case I was still holding.
It’s your security blanket, I teased.
Big talk from someone who works at the library on Friday night and probably has two books in her bag.
He opened his guitar case and played. Segovia.
Come on. I showed you mine. Now you show me yours.
I had three. He read off the titles.
50 poems. e.e. cummings. The Ambassadors. Henry James. A Homeric Lexicon.
Wait. A Homeric Lexicon?
He smiled at my embarrassment.
It was the perfect first kiss.
I wish one of us had spilled Rolling Rock on A Homeric Lexicon.
Chapter 3: Adam
It wasn’t a date.
I climbed over the armrest into the passenger seat Sawyer had vacated.
There are easier ways to do that, Adam said, shifting into reverse. Like using the doors.
I buckled my seatbelt.
But they aren’t as much fun.
We were returning from a board game night with friends. Adam drove me, but he also drove Sawyer.
It definitely was not a date.
Is this Tanque Verde? Adam slowed to read the street sign.
It’s still early. Want to do something?
We spoke at the same time.
I’d been in Tucson for a month, and we had been reading signs since meeting 3 ½ weeks ago.
Can I show you something? It will take about 30 minutes to get there.
I’m game. I said.
Adam looked in the rear view mirror.
Am I good for the right lane?
All clear, I told him.
Blinker on, he crossed over the turn lane and onto Sabino Canyon Road.
He drove into the Catalina Foothills.
You don’t see stars like that back East, do you?
He pulled off the road and got out of the car. I crawled into the driver’s seat and out the door.
He laughed.
Not as much fun. I know.
He easily slid his tall form onto the hood and patted it.
Come up.
He watched me struggle for a minute before extending his hand.
Andrea, I promise not to tell anyone that you took the easy way.
I took his hand.
Our bodies were close and still as we read the stars together in silence.
It was the perfect first kiss.
I wish one of us had slipped off the hood.
Chapter 4: Kyle
What was three more weeks?
He had already bought me the plane ticket.
But after 20 years, three more weeks asked too much.
The driveway curled around the house. I’m here, I texted unsure whether to use the back porch or go around to the front.
I hit send, and my phone immediately buzzed.
Hold on. I’m almost home, his text read.
I wanted to respond, Almost home? Where are you?
but I didn’t.
I stood beside the open car door awkwardly, gripping the handle of my overnight bag even more awkwardly.
This was a bad idea.
Almost before I could focus on the black SUV racing up the driveway, he was out and hurrying toward me.
Andrea!
I stepped forward still holding the handle of my overnight bag.
His words rushed faster than his car.
Put that down. Leave it. I got it.
He stopped. His voice was softer.
Andrea.
Andrea.
It was the perfect first kiss.
I wish that he had stepped on my toes, and it had started to rain.
Chapter 5: Andrea
I want no part of perfect.
This time
I want to kiss on the up escalator at Dupont Circle
and a hurried commuter mutters, Stand right,
and we almost spill off the escalator and onto the tile.
This time
I want to kiss on the dock by the creek out back
after it rains
and the boards are wet
and the water is cold
and we slip.
This time
I want to kiss on the couch in my living room
and one of us sits on the remote
and the TV volume spikes
and the cat pukes on the stairs.
This time
I want to kiss on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum while tourists complain
and my mouth is dry from pretzel salt
and his breath smells like hot dogs.
