By the Light of the Moon, Part 4

Read part 1, part 2, and part 3 here first for the full story.

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Monday during the supper hour, I searched the dining hall for Susan. Her hall mates came down for dinner without her.

Gator remained annoyed at my constant checking. The scowl on his face made clear to me he no longer wanted to listen to me expound on the walk home from Center City, how bright Susan was, and how the moonlight reflected off her hair. I continued my soliloquy even though he appeared to tune me out.

Gator observed me darting in and out of the scrapping room looking for Susan. The way he fumed; he must have wanted to chain me to the sink. He appealed to me to help with the work and I did. After we finished clearing and stacking dishes, cleaning the room, and polishing the stainless steel, we left.

“I wonder what she’s doing tonight,” I muttered.

“I wouldn’t know,” Gator answered with a bit of annoyance.

We walked on in silence as I planned my evening studies in my head. Maybe Susan will be at the library?

Gator mumbled to himself about whether he should watch “The Untouchables” reruns on TV or go all-night bowling. When we reached the dorm, I left Gator by the wall, went inside to retrieve my books, then headed to the library.

Upon entering the building, I climbed the steps to the fourth floor, made my way to a table behind the stacks, sat down on the heavy oak chair, and unloaded my arm full of texts and notes. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, rocked back on the chair, and immersed myself in whichever course required my immediate attention.

Fifteen minutes into my first assignment, I was cruising. Not even the thoughts of Susan interfered with my focus.

The sound of footsteps distracted me. My head popped up and caught a glimpse of someone walking between the stacks. It wasn’t Susan. How I wished I had seen her at dinner. If she had a date, I didn’t feel threatened. In fact, her popularity heightened my desire to pursue her.

I scrutinized the clock. Ten minutes wasted. Get back to work but I couldn’t. My mind wandered again, this time, to the weekend and the Walnut Street bridge. Ten more minutes, gone.

I rearranged my notes, pushed the academic materials away, and stared intently at the clock, willing time to slow. The second hand just kept turning and each time it reached twelve, the minute hand leaped to the next hash. I rocked back to the table, rested my head on my arms, and began to doze.

A touch on my arm startled me awake. I quickly oriented myself and tried to act appropriately.

“Would it disturb you, if I joined you?” Susan said, a smile spreading across her face.

“No, please sit down. There is plenty of room. I guess I got kind of lost there for a bit.” I glanced at the clock, dismayed at the time.

“Oh, I thought you were working on a research project regarding the inner lining of your eyelids.”

“No, no, I was working on a hands-on sleep study. It was going very well.”

“Should I go?”

“No… Never.”

“Never? Really?”

“Well, at least not until the library closes. Then we must go.”

“That sounds more reasonable.”

“I take this studying stuff seriously. I can show you how I do it.”

“Can you show me how you dodge bullets from policemen?”

My face warmed as it must have turned red. Ellen told Susan that story. Deal with Ellen later. How did Ellen know about that? I told Mom at the time, best she learned about it directly from me. Ellen must have heard about it at school and was too embarrassed to talk to me.

“I guess just about everyone knew that story,” I said and tried to make it sound like it was not such a big deal. “I didn’t need to dodge the bullet, by the way, the policeman shot in the air. Misunderstanding. Let’s study. We can discuss that later.” Embarrassed, but smiling inwardly, glad I was the subject of their conversation, albeit that topic.

“All right, I look forward to hearing your version of that story.”

I gazed into her eyes as we talked and it was as if I were touching her. The feeling was so intense I had to turn away. When my eyes met hers again, my knees grew weak, my stomach fluttered and I wondered, did she feel the same thing?

I tried to resume studying but I couldn’t focus. She opened her books and fumbled with her notes. I was distracted. No way I would accomplish any work.

“I can’t concentrate,” I declared. “How would you like to get some fresh air?” 

I made one large stack of my materials, tucked half under each arm, and we left. Susan and I descended the steps in front of the library and crossed the grass to the statue of Ben Franklin at the center of college green. Ben sat on a pedestal with a lip that made a comfortable place to sit.

“So, Ellen told you about the Quinlan party. Did she tell you everything? That’d make a great dad story someday to tell our children.” I stopped, almost gasped. I realized what I said and hoped that Susan hadn’t paid attention but before I could say another word, she pounced.

“What! Our children!?” She mocked me, her eyes wide with what I prayed was feigned horror. “What an assumption.”

“I don’t think I meant it the way it sounded,” I said, trying to think of a way to explain it but how could it sound any different. Besides, was “our children” such a bad idea?

“I think it came out, the way it came out,” Susan said, challenging my defense.

“Well,” I said as I tried to choose my words carefully. “Now that I said what I said, does it sound so bad?”

Susan didn’t answer immediately. Was she seriously considering the idea, our children?

“You know,” she finally said, “We went out once. I’ve spoken to you a couple of times. Now, we’re having our children.”

She appeared stern; but deep inside, the concept, this silly blurted thought, seemed to intrigue her. Was she totally repulsed by it? She glanced at me and smiled warmly.

“Your child,” she said, “will have a father who was a hoodlum. How can you even consider telling any young impressionable child that story?” She shook her head and stared at me with a blank expression.

“I can envision them trying to outdo their outlaw father by getting shot or stabbed instead of almost shot or almost stabbed.” Her eyes pierced me. “No, I certainly couldn’t allow you to tell those stories to our children.”

“Our children!” I repeated. “Our children! I can’t believe you said that.”

“A slip of the tongue,” Susan said, still smiling in response to my reaction.

“Obviously,” I said grinning. We sat silently but not for long. I don’t think either of us wanted to contemplate such a frightening concept as parenthood. We both started to talk simultaneously. Susan stopped. I continued.

“I don’t want to interfere with your social life as you currently know it. I mean, I would like to take up a portion of it. I know that Paul Stevens has asked you to homecoming even though it’s a full month away. Well, how would you like to go with me?”

“With the future father of my children?” Susan said with more than a small hint of sarcasm. “You’re very sweet but I accepted Paul’s invitation as, no doubt, you know.”

I knew. Ellen told me. I scooped up several pebbles from the ground, held them in my hand high over my head and shook them like dice. Then I tossed the stones on the lip of the statue base where we sat. I touched each stone, narrowed my eyes, and sighed.

“Excellent,” I said.

Susan appeared amused by my behavior, although she had a puzzled expression on her face.

“What’s excellent?” she asked.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Come on, tell me, what was that all about.”

“I can tell the future and here’s what I learned,” I said with dramatic seriousness. “I will not need to ask anyone to homecoming because I’ll be taking you. Paul will be home with mono. You may not know but my pebbles know.”

“You do?”

I smiled a sly smile, raised my eyebrows, and nodded.

We laughed and talked some more. I asked her out for the next Saturday night and she accepted. I told her she was welcome to join me on the fourth floor of the library any evening. We stood to go.

When Susan thought I wasn’t paying attention, she reached down, picked up one of my pebbles, and slipped it into her pocket. We continued to talk and didn’t stop talking until we said good night.

At first, Susan’s appearances on the fourth floor of the library were sporadic. With time, however, she joined me regularly. That eventually led to a major change in her grades, for the better, I might add. Saturday night became our night.

For at least the next year, we continued to go out with other people on Friday nights. Ellen even went so far as to fix both of us up with Friday-night dates from time to time. However, no Friday night date ever measured up to Saturday night.

About homecoming that year? Susan told Ellen and Janet about the pebbles. One week before homecoming, Janet took a phone call from Paul Stevens; she wasn’t surprised. Seems that Paul had left school and was home, not life-threatening, just mono. When Ellen learned the news about Paul, all she could say was, “Kismet.”

Spring 2020

I rolled the pebble around in my palm, felt the smoothness of the stone, measured its weight, then placed it back in the pouch. I decided to share my discovery with Susan, who was preparing our dinner upstairs, and put sorting through boxes on hold.

I imagined our grandchildren sitting quietly while I told them how I met their grandmother. The girls would listen. I wasn’t so sure about the boys. I slipped the pouch back into its corner of the box, replaced the lid, put the box back on the shelf, tucked into its own little nook, just like the sweet memories I carried with me.

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