Chapter 2

Second chapter: Peter and Rachael's first date

After a completely pointless history lecture, in which Sam and I spent most of our time playing Pokémon on his Nintendo DS, I rushed back to my dorm. Sam walked in a few minutes later to find me standing in front of our closet, looking lost.

“What’s up?” he said too loudly. Over his head was a huge pair of headphones, straining against his wild blond curls.

I motioned for him to take off the headphones, and he slid them onto his shoulders. “I’ve got a wardrobe crisis.”

“You going somewhere?”

“Remember Rachael?”

Sam smiled wickedly. “How could I forget? She was pretty cute.” I nodded in agreement.

“Well, we’re going to see Wicked tonight.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Score!” He clapped me on the back. “Congrats, man. First date in, what, four years?”

I shoved him playfully. “Just help me. What do you wear to a Broadway show?”

Sam pulled out his phone. “Google.”

We searched a couple of websites, and the general consensus was semi-formal. Slacks, collared shirt, no tie. I picked out a clean white shirt and black pants. After some hesitation, I decided on a suit jacket as well.

Sam clapped my shoulder. “Good luck, man. Knowing you, you’ll need it.” His voice was grave and solemn. I pushed him, and he laughed as I walked out the door. “Seriously though, have fun!”

I walked to the park. The air felt humid and heavy. I stuck my hands in my pockets and watched as people hurried past me, swinging briefcases and talking loudly on cell phones. Honking taxis crawled by, their drivers leaning out the windows and shouting, shaking their fists. It was almost seven, but it still looked like daytime, what with the hundreds of glowing signs. This was New York.

I glanced at my watch. Still had ten minutes. I walked to the park, my fingers drumming against the side of my leg. I sat down on a park bench that gave me full view of the theater. People were already filing in: men dressed in smart suits with their beautiful wives in gossamer dresses and mink coats. It all looked very classy, and suddenly I felt underdressed.

I looked at my watch again. It was already 7:05. I wondered if she had forgotten…

“Boo!” I jumped, and I heard a familiar tinkle of a laugh behind me. Rachael appeared, wearing a casual green dress and black flats. She carried nothing else--no bag, no coat.

I stood and cleared my throat. “The, uh, the show is about to start, so we should probably buy tickets"”

“Oh, pah, the show. I don’t want to see it.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. I noticed that the dress matched her eyes. She took my hand. “Come on, let’s go do something more fun.”

I laughed, a little nervous. “Er, like what, exactly?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know! Let’s go to the playground.” She dragged me over to the swings. “Come on, loosen up. Live a little. Don’t look so stiff. Take off your jacket.”

I laughed again, then did what she said. I shrugged off my jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt. So much for semi-formal.

Rachael was already getting on a swing. She smoothed her dress out and began to pump her feet, swinging higher and higher. She looked down at me as she flew past. “Well, don’t be a ninny. Swing!”

I un-tucked my shirt and obliged, laughing. I pumped my legs, going higher and higher. I hadn’t been on a swing since elementary school, and I felt an exhilarating thrill. “Bet I can swing higher than you!” I shouted.

 Rachael smiled. “Is that a challenge? Competitive, aren’t we.” She began to swing even higher, and I matched her swing for swing. “Have you ever jumped off the swings?” she yelled as we flew past each other.

“No!” I shouted back. “Are you"”

Before I could finish my sentence, she flew off the swing and landed firmly on the ground. She turned, her eyes shining. “Dare you to do better.”

I chuckled to myself. One, two, three! I flew off the swing, did one somersault in the air, and landed on one foot and knee. I looked up; Rachael was gaping at me, her mouth wide. “How did you do that?”

I brushed the dirt from my hands and my pants. “Beginner’s luck.”

She punched me lightly on the arm, then skipped away. I followed, a little bewildered by her, but nonetheless intrigued.

“Stop.” She held out her arms suddenly. I stopped behind her, but she didn’t turn around. “Close your eyes,” she said, still not facing me. I did as she asked, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I could hear the cars honking, people chattering, the wind rustling the leaves and the grass underfoot. I waited, but Rachael seemed to be content leaving me oblivious. My eyes still closed, I cut through the noise. “Uh, Rachael"”

“Shhhh.” I shut up, feeling awkward. After a little while, I heard her say, “Open.”

I opened my eyes, my vision a little bleary at first. Rachael stood in front of me, still turned away. I wanted to ask her what that had all been about, but I was afraid of startling her.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she said finally, turning to face me. Her cheeks were flushed, and I felt blood rushing to my face involuntarily. “You stand still and you listen, and even though it’s so noisy, it’s so quiet.”

I nodded. “It’s like a cacophony of silence.”

Rachael gave me an amused look. “A cacophony of silence, huh? Did you come up with that?”

I faltered. “I"yeah, I guess, I"well,  I think I might have heard it someplace…” I trailed off, and Rachael laughed.

“Okay, well, it sounds like poetry. Do you like poetry?”

“Um, yeah, a little, I guess. I like Wordsworth.”

Rachael perked up, intrigued. “‘And then my heart with pleasure fills’…?”

I didn't miss a beat. “‘And dances with the daffodils.’ Yeah, that’s one of my favorites. You know a lot of poetry?”

Rachael closed her eyes again. “‘Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backwards.’ It’s E.E. Cummings.”

I laughed. “I should have known you were an E.E. fan,” I said, my tone hinting at mockery. Rachael punched me again.

“There’s nothing wrong with that! You quote Wordsworth. God, what a bore.” She fake-yawned. I tried to think of a comeback, but none came to mind.

“Fine, you win.” She smiled at me then, and I felt an electric thrill pulse all the way to my fingertips. “I thought you were an architecture major; I didn’t think you’d like poetry much.”

Rachael smiled. “Architecture is poetry, just poetry that you can see. Besides, I changed my major in my sophomore year. Originally I was going to major in English Literature, and there was this one class on Romantic Period poetry that I just absolutely loved.”

“Why’d you change majors?”

She turned to me, puzzled. “Why do you think? Name five jobs off the top of your head that an English major can apply for,” she said, challenging me.

I nodded, understanding. “By the way,” she piped up, “you never told me what it is you’re majoring in.”

“Oh. Right.” I was hesitant to tell her, but she had told me so much. “Well, I was undecided for my first two years, and when they asked me to pick a major, I just went with Art History.”

She nodded. “Why Art History?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t even taken that many classes for my major yet, which means I probably can’t graduate in four years. I guess I just looked through all the “A” majors and didn’t bother to keep looking.”

She frowned then. “So you just settled?”

She disapproves, I thought, my heart sinking. “Well, I guess"I didn’t really have anything in mind at the time, so"”

“What do you like?”

I stopped midsentence. “What?”

Rachael looked at me. I couldn’t fully read her expression, couldn’t tell if it was one of disdain or genuine curiosity.

“Um, well, I’ve considered majoring in physics, but considering the fact that I’m failing that class, that seems like a long shot. Um, I guess I like literature, too; I read a lot. But I don’t know what I want to study.” I shifted, a little uncomfortable under her gaze. “I like to dive.”

She looked up at me, interested. “Ooh, a diver. Aren’t divers supposed to be all toned and sexy?”

I shrugged. “Do I not fit the bill?”

She smiled coyly and wrapped her arms around my waist, running her hands over the dress shirt. “Hmm. You don’t seem like a diver.” She ran her hands through my hair. “Your hair’s not even bleached.”

“Well, I’m not always in the water. I’m not a swimmer.”

She let her hands drop and stared at me, as if she were looking for something. I looked back at her, my mind racing. Should I kiss her? Was I allowed to kiss her? Was it too soon? Would it be rushing? What if she thought I was a bad kisser? What if--

“You remind me of my dad, a little bit.” She looked away then, out at the silent park, where the few people around were either homeless or walking in pairs under the moonlight. She stared off in the distance for a moment. I followed her gaze to where a young girl was playing with a German shepherd about twice her size. “I’ve always wanted a dog,” Rachael said dreamily. “A beagle, maybe. My roommate has a beagle back home, and her name’s Sarah, and she’s absolutely adorable.” She turned to me again. “Have you ever wanted a pet?”

I cleared my throat. “My brother has a pet fish named Squishy.” Rachael burst out laughing. I laughed too, and soon the both of us were doubled over in hysterics.

“Named…named Squishy?” She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and tried in vain to regain some composure. “How old is your brother?”

Oh boy. “He’s turning thirty next April.”

As expected, Rachael began laughing again. “Wait, that’s so cool. Your brother sounds cool.”

I nodded in agreement. “He is cool. You should meet him sometime; I think he’d like you a lot.”

Rachael finally stopped laughing. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

I faltered again. “Oh. Well, I don’t know. I guess you’re pretty interesting, and Drew likes interesting people.”

Rachael smiled, her expression still unreadable. “You think I’m interesting?”

I cleared my throat, deliberating not making eye contact with her. “Well, yeah. I mean, you like Wright more than Gehry, you’re an architecture major who reads E.E. Cummings, and apparently, you’d rather hang out with in a park with a guy you barely know than go to a Broadway show.” The words tumbled out of me, uncontrollable.

I dared a glance over at Rachael, who was smiling coyly. “Well, I think you’re pretty interesting, too.” She began to rise on tiptoe, her eyes fluttering shut, and my heart began going double time. I closed my eyes, my brain whirling. She’s going to kiss me she’s going to kiss me she’s going to --

She pinched my nose and tugged. “Got your conk!” She ran off, laughing, and I chased after her. The wind rushed past me as I followed her down the grassy slopes of the park until we reached the edge, where nature melted back into the city.

I caught up to her, barely winded. She was breathing quickly, but not hard. She pressed her forehead to mine. “I like you,” she whispered.

“I like you too,” I said in a low voice. She giggled, and I leaned in to kiss her.

I grabbed her nose. “Got your conk.” She laughed softly. I could smell her sweet perfume and green apple shampoo and cucumber skin lotion, all mixed up into a scent that was Rachael. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me, softly. I took her up in my arms, and we danced the night away.

 

*                *                *

 

I walked back to the dorm room, opened the door as silently as I could, and crept into the bedroom. I was looking for Sam when a huge mass of tangled video game controllers and messy blond curls assaulted me from behind. “Whooaaaa!” I lost my balance and nearly fell over. After an awkwardly long bear hug, Sam untangled himself from me and asked excitedly, “How’d it go how’d it go how’d it go?”

I brushed the few clinging stalks of grass from my jacket and threw it in the dirty clothes pile on the floor. “She’s amazing.” I unbuttoned my white shirt, now covered in green grass stains and dark brown smudges of dirt, and threw it in after the jacket.

“Dude, what happened to you? What did you guys do? Weren’t you going to see a Broadway show?”

I sat down tiredly on my bed and kicked my shoes off. I glanced at my watch. “Look, Sam, it’s past two. I’m tired; I have class tomorrow " today " and you should probably be getting to sleep, because you have class too.” Sam groaned like a child who didn’t get that last scoop of ice cream.

“Just one little detail?”

I shook my head, too tired to protest verbally. I had barely gotten out of my pants when I fell back on the pillow and conked out, completely unconscious.

Author's Note

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