friend. A friend? What was she really? Who was she to him?
At the entrance to his building, Shadi said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but is there any way you could meet me tomorrow at the Downtowner? I need to move things out of Ricky’s room. I don’t know anyone else with a truck.”
“You don’t have a car?” he asked.
She shook her head. “This is my ride,” she said, pointing to a rusty three-speed bicycle locked to the bike rack outside the building.
“What do you do in the winter?”
“Hang on tight,” she said, laughing. Then she unlocked the bike and hopped on. “Can you meet me out in front of the building at ten o’clock? You don’t teach tomorrow, right?”
“No,” he said, and watched her pedal away. “I’m free.”
T he first time Ben saw Sara was on campus at school nearly six years ago. He was studying, sprawled out on the grass in front of the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. She was walking along down the sidewalk, a backpack slung over her shoulder, smiling like someone had just told her a joke. She even shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. He watched her because she was so pretty and so happy. It’s such a rare thing to see people so joyful. So absolutely content.
He asked her once later what she was smiling about, and she said that someone had just hollered, Hey, beautiful! at her as she walked across the grass. And Ben said that he’d almost done the same.
He was in the throes of finals after his second year. He was miserable, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking. Pursuing a PhD in history had seemed like a good idea two years before (when he was twenty-two, fresh out of Georgetown, and in love with the prospect of teaching someday).When he started graduate school, he romanticized the life he’d one day have: the handsome young professor in jeans and a tweed blazer, fawning coeds vying for the front-row seats, him brilliant and funny as he taught his students to love history as much as he did. But suddenly, as he crammed his brain full of facts and time lines, theories and speculations, he started to wonder if this had been a big fat waste of time. He was living in a dumpy studio south of the tracks. The train rattled his windows every single time it went by, and there was the faint scent of raw sewage every time he opened his back door. Getting his PhD, if he wasn’t willing to leave Flagstaff, seemed like nothing other than a feather in his cap. A useless frilly feather that did nothing but blow about in the wind. And then he saw Sara walk across the quad, smiling to herself, almost laughing out loud, and any doubts he’d had flew out the window.
He’d leapt up and decided to follow her, leaving his books on the grass behind him. She’d gotten all the way to the student union before she turned around and said, “Have you been following me this whole time?”
When he said, “Maybe just a little,” she laughed and said, “Well, you must be thirsty, then. Let me get you something to drink.” And she’d taken him to a vending machine, popped a dollar in, pressing the button for a Mountain Dew without even asking what he wanted, and handed it to him. “There. Now tell me your name.”
Within a month, she was spending the night in his room four nights a week, going home only to shower and do her laundry. She lived with three other girls in an apartment off of Lonetree Road. Melanie was one of them. They had grown up together in Phoenix, come to Flagstaff for college, and now they were both in their final year of nursing school. She and Melanie both got jobs at Dr. Newman’s office as soon as they graduated. Sara moved out of her apartment and signed a lease on a place closer to downtown. She never asked Ben if he wanted to move in with her; she just brought him a bunch of boxes from the grocery store and started packing.
He used to love that she took charge with everything. He loved that she was so decisive. And
At the entrance to his building, Shadi said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but is there any way you could meet me tomorrow at the Downtowner? I need to move things out of Ricky’s room. I don’t know anyone else with a truck.”
“You don’t have a car?” he asked.
She shook her head. “This is my ride,” she said, pointing to a rusty three-speed bicycle locked to the bike rack outside the building.
“What do you do in the winter?”
“Hang on tight,” she said, laughing. Then she unlocked the bike and hopped on. “Can you meet me out in front of the building at ten o’clock? You don’t teach tomorrow, right?”
“No,” he said, and watched her pedal away. “I’m free.”
T he first time Ben saw Sara was on campus at school nearly six years ago. He was studying, sprawled out on the grass in front of the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. She was walking along down the sidewalk, a backpack slung over her shoulder, smiling like someone had just told her a joke. She even shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. He watched her because she was so pretty and so happy. It’s such a rare thing to see people so joyful. So absolutely content.
He asked her once later what she was smiling about, and she said that someone had just hollered, Hey, beautiful! at her as she walked across the grass. And Ben said that he’d almost done the same.
He was in the throes of finals after his second year. He was miserable, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking. Pursuing a PhD in history had seemed like a good idea two years before (when he was twenty-two, fresh out of Georgetown, and in love with the prospect of teaching someday).When he started graduate school, he romanticized the life he’d one day have: the handsome young professor in jeans and a tweed blazer, fawning coeds vying for the front-row seats, him brilliant and funny as he taught his students to love history as much as he did. But suddenly, as he crammed his brain full of facts and time lines, theories and speculations, he started to wonder if this had been a big fat waste of time. He was living in a dumpy studio south of the tracks. The train rattled his windows every single time it went by, and there was the faint scent of raw sewage every time he opened his back door. Getting his PhD, if he wasn’t willing to leave Flagstaff, seemed like nothing other than a feather in his cap. A useless frilly feather that did nothing but blow about in the wind. And then he saw Sara walk across the quad, smiling to herself, almost laughing out loud, and any doubts he’d had flew out the window.
He’d leapt up and decided to follow her, leaving his books on the grass behind him. She’d gotten all the way to the student union before she turned around and said, “Have you been following me this whole time?”
When he said, “Maybe just a little,” she laughed and said, “Well, you must be thirsty, then. Let me get you something to drink.” And she’d taken him to a vending machine, popped a dollar in, pressing the button for a Mountain Dew without even asking what he wanted, and handed it to him. “There. Now tell me your name.”
Within a month, she was spending the night in his room four nights a week, going home only to shower and do her laundry. She lived with three other girls in an apartment off of Lonetree Road. Melanie was one of them. They had grown up together in Phoenix, come to Flagstaff for college, and now they were both in their final year of nursing school. She and Melanie both got jobs at Dr. Newman’s office as soon as they graduated. Sara moved out of her apartment and signed a lease on a place closer to downtown. She never asked Ben if he wanted to move in with her; she just brought him a bunch of boxes from the grocery store and started packing.
He used to love that she took charge with everything. He loved that she was so decisive. And
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