Here Be Dragons

Chapter 8

"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! I think Jack Coleman likes me!"

"What do you mean likes you?" Kitty, away at the distant, glorious Harvard, was being intentionally difficult. "Are we back to kindergarten...?"

"He touched my hand, Kitty! He seems to think I'm his romantic heroine!"

Kitty smacked her forehead. "Sharlene. Babe. You ought to stop instrumentalizing the poor guy. This is practically insulting."

"I can't instrumentalize him! I'm a girl! And a victim!"

"Then it's time you started showing some sensitivity."

I winced. To be honest—Kitty's criticism aside—there was still a part of me who had a hard time imagining Jack as anything but the star quarterback I remembered him being in high school. By shoving him into another rubric I was once again running away from the true complexity of life. Kitty was right: I was being unfair to Jack.

But it was definitely not my intention. While a guilt-ridden Jack who felt responsible for me was something I could understand, a Jack who simply seemed to enjoy my company was a different story altogether. It was a Jack I did not know how to relate to.

"Like a person," Kitty's words kept playing in my ear. "Treat him like a person." If only it was that easy. Boys were rough. Most of them seemed huge compared to my 5 feet self. Except for my brothers, no boy ever treated me like a person. It was always "take a ride on THIS", "Would you like some fries with that shake?" and "nice ass!"

I was supposed to be a young woman on the verge of maturity. Boys were supposed to be fun. Instead I was sitting at home, afraid to melt the moment I'd step into the rain.

Where was the fun in that?

Too scared to move on: too scarred to sit still. It was practically the story of my life.

***

Nevertheless, nothing was written in stone. Even if the story of my life was a bore to read, I was totally free to rewrite the end.

"That's the spirit!" said Kitty when I shared my daring plan for finding and possibly befriending Jack. "And bring some food and beverages. He's an athlete. They can eat their weight in food."

"And since when do you know so much about athletes?"

She rolled her eyes. "Bring the food. He'll thank you."

"What kind of food...?" But Kitty was already gone. Off to do whatever secret things Ivy League's students did in their spare time. An elitist bitch. Ha.

So what food and beverages should I bring to an accidental-yet-obviously-planned meeting with a really cute athlete? I was baffled. I almost called Dad, just so he could tell me not to interrupt him in the middle of work, when I finally got over myself and decided that lattes and donuts would have to do.

Done with my 4PM lesson, I stopped at North Tradition, stocked, and headed to the stadium.

We were never much for sports in the family: Dad had never quite lost his academic bearing (no matter how many years he spent working blue collar jobs), Sean loved basketball, and Mom and Brian simply escaped to one of Mom's brothers whenever an important game was on TV.

"What's wrong with our TV?" Dad used to complain. And while Mom would still try to explain sometime, Brian had simply loaded the snacks into Mom's shopping totes and pulled Mom out of the door, wailing that "we're gonna to be late!"

Finding my way to the stadium I felt a little awkward. I knew the game, obviously (hard growing in the US without knowing it), but I wasn't a die-hard fan like Brian or Mom. With someone who was two steps from becoming a pro, I was afraid I'd make some silly comment. In fact I was trying so hard to quiet down my nerves that I forgot to be nervous about getting lost inside the stadium.