A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends
“I still can’t believe you’re okay with all this,” I said to Whitley, resisting the urge to turn my head to look at her when I spoke. Justine had instructed me not to move an inch while she filled my hair with curlers. I still wasn’t sure it was going to work, but she insisted that my hair was no match for her brand new hot rollers.
From somewhere outside my peripheral vision, Whitley replied, “Well I’m still upset about the way it all happened. But he’s being honest with me now. I can forgive just about anyone for anything if they’re truthful about it.”
“So is he gay, then? I mean, I just don’t get it,” Justine said.
“I don’t know. He’s still figuring it out. And he says it wouldn’t be fair for him to be with me while he’s figuring it out,” Whitley replied.
“But he can be with Joseph?” I asked, picking at one of my freshly painted fingernails.
Whitley groaned. “Ugh, I don’t know. He isn’t really with Joseph. I mean, I guess they are together. It’s weird. For what it’s worth, I think he’s totally gay.”
I winced as Justine touched one of the very hot rollers to my scalp. She didn’t seem to notice at all, which was pretty typical Justine behavior. Bracing myself against the pain, I said, “Well, he doesn’t have to pick. Maybe he’s just a four or five on the Kinsey scale. And that’s perfectly alright.”
“Oh, totally. I’m not saying I have a problem with him being gay. I just wish he could figure it out so I’d know how hopeless my crush on him is,” Whitley replied. She finally came into view, walking toward my desk to dig through the shoebox of nail polish sitting on top of it.
Justine pinned another curler into my hair and said, “Crush?”
“Yeah,” Whitley replied. “Maybe that’s why I’m not stressing so much about this all. Because I realized that it is still just kind of a crush. It’s not like I’m in love with him. We went from acquaintances to practically lovers, and now we’re figuring out how to be friends. And I think we’re probably better off just as friends. I can lust after him from afar once I know where that line is drawn, you know?”
I am so not the one to talk to about lusting after friends, I thought. But I didn’t dare say that out loud. I’m sure Justine knew I was thinking it, though. Instead, I only said, “It doesn’t sound like it’s ever gonna be a really solid line, though. Can you deal with that?”
“I guess I’ll have to,” Whitley replied. She might have said something else, but her phone began to ring and drowned her out. She ran to my bed and cried out, “Ooh, I’ve got to answer this. Be right back.”
She ran out in the hallway with her phone still ringing and I wondered who could have been calling that was so urgent. Justine soon finished up with the curlers and for that I was grateful. I needed to stand and stretch my legs; it felt as though I had been stuck in that chair for hours. I readjusted the tie on my bathrobe and grabbed my razor and shave gel, hoping to give my legs a quick shave at the bathroom sink.
I opened the door to my room and strode out into the hall without looking to see if it was clear. I had noticed other girls doing that, but it rarely occurred to me to check if anyone were coming. Even if they were, it wouldn’t really give me pause. I wasn’t that self-conscious about my body.
“Be over here by 7, okay?” Whitley said, her voice strangely low. “I told you already, it’s fuchsia. Yes, like hot pink. Yes.”
When I walked by her, she looked as though she had seen a ghost. I offered her a smile and a wave, and she returned it with her own very weak wave and a forced smile. I figured that my footsteps in my shower sandals must have been quieter than I realized, and didn’t think much else about it, continuing on to the bathroom and hoping there was a free sink.
Several minutes later, I hobbled back to my room, nursing a rather nasty cut on my left ankle. I had lost my balance just as I brought the razor down on that tricky side of my ankle, and my leg came crashing down off the sink, causing my razor to clip off a hunk of skin. Luckily I was planning on wearing pumps, not sandals, so my bandage would mostly be covered. Once I had made it back to my room, I cleaned the wound and slapped a band-aid on it, then set about to fix the polish on the toenail that I had also chipped during my little slip-up.
Other than that little misadventure, the rest of our preparations for the dance went rather smoothly. The three of us took turns crouching or sitting in front of the full length mirror to put our makeup on, and once that was all done, I sat down again for Justine to finish my hair.
“Alright, alright. Can I see how it looks? See how badly you’ve fucked it up?” I joked, practically ready to jump out of my chair. I didn’t know why I was so excited; I was the only one of us without a date and I knew I would just spend the night feeling like a very awkward fifth wheel.
Justine poked me with a bobby pin, this time on purpose. “I didn’t fuck it up. It looks great, I swear. Go check it out, I’m finished.”
She gave the ‘do one last spritz of hairspray and nudged me out of the chair. I hopped up and hurried to the mirror, which Whitley had just vacated after finishing her own hair. When I saw Justine’s creation in the mirror, I actually let out a tiny squeal of joy. The curls that I hadn’t believed she could create were all piled up on top of my head in a giant, messy mass. The most impressive part of it all was that the entire thing was held up only by bobby pins, which was what gave it such a loose and carefree sort of look. A few strands hung loose and dangled around my face in small ringlets. It was perfect.
Feeling much better about the whole hair situation, I walked over to the closet and retrieved my dress. I wiggled my way into it while Justine and Whitley did the same with theirs. One last check of my makeup and I was ready to go.
“Okay, the boys should be here any minute,” Whitley said, checking the time on her cell phone before squeezing it into her tiny gold clutch.
With perfect theatrical timing, a knock came at the door. Justine rushed over to answer it, finding that, naturally, it was Taylor and Joseph. They were both impeccably dressed, and I had expected no less of them. Joseph wore a pair of slim fitting pinstripe pants and a white dress shirt with just a few buttons undone – no tie, of course. Taylor wore black slacks that were even more slim fitting than Joseph’s – a feat I was surprised was even possible – and a baby blue dress shirt, unbuttoned a little to reveal a white wife beater underneath. It wasn’t very dressy, really, but the look suited him. And of course, those damn necklaces that he always wore. Both boys came bearing flowers, which they handed to their “dates.”
Justine and Whitley made small talk with the boys while attempting to pin the corsages around their wrists. Both matched their dresses perfectly. Justine’s was a mixture of coral and creamy white roses, and Whitley’s was light pinks that contrasted nicely with her dress.
I did my best to ignore them and finish gathering up my keys, wallet and such into the black satin clutch I had bought a few years ago for a high school homecoming dance. It had a huge matching satin flower on the front and had cost far too much, but I begged my mother to buy it for me. She conceded finally, but swore it was the only such purse I’d ever own. I’d gotten plenty of use out of it, so I figured it was worth the hassle.
I didn’t really notice any of what the four of them were chattering about; my mind seemed to be buzzing and drowning them out. So it came as a surprise when another knock at the door sounded, snapping me back to earth. I looked around the room at everyone’s faces, wondering who it could possibly be. Whitley and Taylor looked at each other, then back at me, like they were keeping some sort of secret.
When it seemed no one else was going to answer it, I finally walked over the door and opened it, too impatient to bother with the peephole. What I saw standing there took my breath away. Zac stood inches in front of me, in black slacks and matching jacket, with a gray button up shirt underneath. The dirty black chucks on his feet kept him from looking too perfect, even though I was pretty sure he had even taken the time to brush his hair. His right hand was still poised in the air to knock again and his left held a florist’s box containing what appeared to be a deep pink corsage very near to the shade of my dress.
“Can I come in or would you prefer I stay out here?”
I stared at him in disbelief and moved aside, allowing him to walk into the room. My mind refused to process the situation other than to think how crowded the tiny dorm room had become. When I looked around at everyone else, I realized quickly that they all knew something about the situation that I didn’t. None of them looked surprised to see Zac.
Finally finding my voice again, I manged to croak out, “Okay, someone tell me what the hell is going on here and why I wasn’t informed.”
Zac looked deeply hurt, his big brown eyes searching mine to see if I were truly angry at him. I wasn’t. Just confused.
He took a step toward me. “Well, I knew you didn’t have a date. So… here I am. Your date.”
“My date,” I repeated, slowly. The words tasted strange in my mouth.
He nodded.
“I want to be really, really upset with you right now. I broke up with the other boy who just assumed he knew what I wanted, you know,” I said.
“I’m sorry?” Zac said, the words much more a question than a statement. He looked as though he were ready to walk back out of the room and pretend he’d never been there.
I took a step toward him and put my hand on his trembling arm. “But the difference is, I wouldn’t have said no if you had just asked me.”
At that, he broke into a smile that overtook his entire face. His eyes twinkled as he fumbled to open the florist’s box and remove the corsage. I offered him a hand to help fasten it around my wrist. Our hands brushed against each other and it felt like a jolt of electricity between them. Not like a static charge, the kind that makes you jump back and feel all jittery and wrong. But the kind that tingles and sends your hairs on end and makes your stomach turn somersaults.
I could tell that Zac felt it too, but neither of us had a chance to say anything before Taylor’s voice burst in.
“Alright guys, let’s go. Unless we want to wait and arrive after the punch has been spiked.”
The others laughed, but Zac and I were stuck in our own little world. Just he and I. Our eyes were locked together. I didn’t know what to say to him at all but maybe that was okay. Maybe my hand still holding his, the roses on my corsage crushed against his wrist and tickling mine, maybe that said it all.
We followed the other two couples – for lack of a better word for them – out of the dorm room and down the elevator, not speaking until we reached the outside and the cool, mid-October air. I felt a chill run up my back and I stopped walking. Zac did the same and looked at me with concern.
“Are you cold, babe?” He asked, and I felt another chill, but of a different sort, at his word choice.
I nodded. “I had a little shawl I meant to grab in case it was cold, but I forgot.”
“That’s no problem. Just wear my jacket,” he replied.
He shrugged out of his jacket, holding it out toward me. I made no move to take it from him, so he laid it over my shoulders and enveloped me in his arms, pulling me tight to his side. I hoped he wouldn’t get cold, but the warmth we shared between us then seemed like it would be enough to keep out any chill or anything at all the world could throw at us.
We reached the dance around ten minutes later. It was held in the smaller of the college’s gymnasiums, which was really more than enough room for the crowd gathered there. I supposed most of the people who were really planning to party that night hadn’t bothered with the formality of the dance. The place had been given a few decorations – some streamers to walk through in the doorway, a mirrored overlay covering the wooden gym floor, and gigantic balls of paper flowers in the school colors hanging from the ceiling. Banners cheering on the football team hung on the farthest wall behind the table of refreshments and I thought that looked a bit tacky, but I appreciated the effort at school spirit.
Whitley drug Taylor, Justine and Joseph onto the dance floor nearly as soon as we arrived, but Zac and I were able to escape her and we found a nice secluded table away from most of the flurry of the room.
“Zac, why did you do it?” I asked during the short pause between songs.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I do lots of things. Which one in particular are we referring to?”
“Tonight with the corsage and the date. Two nights ago with the song. All of that stuff,” I replied, hoping that the words I left unsaid would fill in the gaps.
“Because I wanted to. Simple as that. Isn’t that the best reason to do anything? Because it’s the thing you want more than anything else.”
The next song began, a jarring cacophony of synthesizer and bad vocals that drowned out any reply I might have made. But I hadn’t planned, couldn’t even begin to plan, any reply. No words would come. Like me, he had left the big things unsaid. Then again, he hadn’t. He had said exactly what he meant and exactly what I had hoped to hear.
The thing you want more than anything else.
I looked over at the dance floor and saw Whitley and Taylor engaged in what looked like nothing so much as a cross between dirty dancing and the macarena. Nearby, Justine and Joseph looked on in amusement, dancing more sedately, and, truth be told, with a bit more skill. To their left, I noticed Isaac and a pretty blonde in a red dress who I assumed must be his wife. I thought Zac had told me her name was Melissa, but I didn’t recall for certain.
Zac and I sat in a rather comfortable silence for the rest of that song, since it was difficult to really talk over the music without shouting. We would occasionally point discretely and laugh or make knowing faces at certain people’s clothing or dance moves. When the song ended, the party of six all walked back to our table. Isaac picked up two chairs from a nearby table and swung them around to ours.
“Toria, you met Isaac the other night, kinda,” Zac said, then gestured to the petite blonde at his arm. “This is his wife Melissa. This is my– my Victoria.”
I don’t think his hesitation went unnoticed by anyone at the table, but thankfully no one spoke up about it. Isaac smiled and nodded his recognition of me, and his wife gave me a sweet smile and offered her hand to me.
“I’m glad they let us sneak in here. I don’t think the dance was technically supposed to be open to alumni,” Isaac said.
The conversation moved on to small talk about the boys’ performance at the open mic and it was all to much for me to bear. Everything seemed to be happening too fast, yet the most important things were still going unsaid. I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I’m going to go get some punch, I think. Zac, do you want anything? Or anyone else, would any of you guys like anything?”
“Some punch would be good,” Zac looked up at me and replied with a smile.
Everyone else shook their heads or mumbled something in the negative, so I set off alone for the long table of refreshments that lined the back wall of the gym. I headed for the punch first, wondering if Taylor had been joking about someone spiking it. Surely that was only the sort of thing that happened in those cheesy college movies. I dipped out a cup of punch and continued on down the line of snacks, in the reverse direction, against the current of hungry and thirsty students.
Nothing on display really caught my appetite, however. I picked up a small sandwich and took a small bite of it. When my stomach didn’t decide to stage a revolt, I figured I would be able to finish the thing. I was in no hurry to make it back to our table, though. I could already hear all the questions Isaac and Melissa would have for me, like “How did you and Zac meet?” or “Oh, how long have you two been together?” And then there was the gigantic purple elephant in the room with Taylor’s name written on it’s side in big glittery letters. Altogether a lot of potential awkward moments awaited me at that table and I wanted no part of it.
A lingering warmth at my side caught my attention and I turned to see Donovan standing there, a plate of cookies and chocolate covered strawberries in his hand.
“Don’t. Just don’t,” I said, swallowing a bite of my ham on white bread. “I can promise you I won’t listen.”
“You lied to me.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Not really.”
Not with my words, I thought to myself.
Donovan forged on, obviously choosing not to believe me. “You’re here with him. And you said you wouldn’t be.”
“What I said was true when I said it,” I replied. The slithering syllables caught in my mouth and I realized the punch I was sipping had quite a telling bite to it. Maybe Taylor wasn’t joking after all. Another sip and I was certain I could taste vodka. Donovan was speaking again and I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on his words.
“But then he asked you? And you just couldn’t turn him down like you did me. He had the better proposition, did he?”
“He had the more honest one. I can’t explain it. He doesn’t make assumptions and demands of me like you do,” I said, the words of Zac’s song floating back into my head.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Donovan replied and turned to walk away.
“For once, that’s my plan,” I said to his retreating figure.
Once Donovan was out of sight and I was sure my feet were functioning again, I wandered back to the punch bowl to refill my cup and grab a second one for Zac. When I returned to our table I saw that everyone else had gone back to the dance floor, leaving him alone and looking a bit sad and out of place. I slipped into the seat next to him and offered him a smile as I held out his plastic cup.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup from me. “What took ya so long?”
I rolled my eyes. “Darling, you really don’t want to know.”
“Ooh, is this…” he trailed off, staring down into his cup.
“I think so,” I replied. “Bottoms up, eh?”
“Now I know why you called me darling,” Zac replied, taking another sip of the most certainly spiked punch.
I grinned. “Please, I’d call you darling anyway. If I started calling you sweetcheeks or babycakes, then you’d have reason to worry.”
“What if I wanted you to call me babycakes?” Zac asked, giving me the goofiest puppy dog eyes and batting his long dark eyelashes at me.
“Then you should ask nicely, of course,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face, but quickly collapsing into laughter that threatened to shake the cup of punch clear out of my hand. Luckily I had nearly emptied it, so I managed not to spill any.
The song that had been playing – some pop remix I thought I had heard on the radio, but couldn’t have recalled the name or singer — faded away into “Truly Madly Deeply.” I briefly wondered if a rip in the space time continuum had transported us back to a middle school dance, but I figured that wasn’t likely. I downed the rest of my punch and felt the vodka that had settled to the bottom of the cup tickle my throat as it went down.
I set my empty cup down on the table and watched Zac do the same. As soon as his hands were empty, I took both of them in mine and said, “We’re dancing. I don’t care if you don’t dance, we’re dancing.”
“It’s not that I don’t dance. It’s that I can’t dance.”
I stood up, tugging on his arms until he stood as well. “It’s a slow song, Zac. All you have to do is sway back and forth a little and subtly molest me.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” Zac said, grinning widely. “I think I might have the skills required after all.”
“I had a feeling you might,” I replied, dragging him toward the dance floor.
We found an open spot near Isaac and Melissa on the edge of the crowd and I pulled Zac close to me, wrapping his arms around my back. He didn’t really need much guidance there, his arms naturally fell into place, resting gently on my hips and sending a shiver down my spine. Our chests were pressed close together, just enough for me to feeling his heart beating. I wrapped my hands around his neck and tangled one of them in the short hairs on the back of his neck. He made a face at first, like I had tickled him, but soon he relaxed under my touch. I imagined, from the look on his face, that he would be purring like a contented kitten if he could. I rested my face against his chest so he wouldn’t see the goofy smile threatening to overtake my face.
Zac’s pulled me closer to him and began to sing softly against my hair. “I wanna stand with you on a mountain… I wanna bath with you in the sea… I want to live like this forever, until the stars fall down on me…”
I wanted to ask him if that was a promise, but I wasn’t sure I could believe in that kind of promise anyway. He probably couldn’t have answered, if I had. I knew how ridiculous of a question it was. But spending forever in that moment, our bodies pressed against each other and his soft voice singing just for me, sounded like the most wonderful proposition I had ever imagined. To repeat that for the rest of my life was a version of groundhog day that I wouldn’t mind at all.
Naturally, the song ended far too soon. The last notes blended abruptly into Britney Spears and Zac pulled away from me reluctantly.
“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet,” I replied, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back to me.
He began shaking his head, vigorously. “No. No. Absolutely no, no fucking way. I can sway and molest, but I can’t dance to this.”
“It’s easy,” I said, sliding my hands onto his hips. I started to move my own and used my hands to make him imitate my movements as best I could. “Pretend you’re making love to me. That shouldn’t take much imagination.”
“Putting those kind of thoughts in my head is not going to make this easier,” he replied, and I could feel his back tensing a little as he struggled to pull away from me. I tightened my grip and inched myself closer to him.
“Come on, Zacky… I’m having fun, here. Dance with me,” I replied.
He finally conceded and loosened his muscles to follow my lead, more or less. He wasn’t much of a dancer; he hadn’t been lying about that. But it would certainly do.
“Alright,” he replied, “But I think these moves would be more fun elsewhere… say, somewhere a little more private than the middle of the gym, in front of my brothers.”
I leaned my head back and laughed. This moment wasn’t quite as perfect as the one before, but I was enjoying it too. Then a scream rang out, loud enough to be heard even over the music and all the noise.