Monday, October 24
(Kate)
Classes were canceled today. The snow was out of control this morning. Everyone's calling it an unseasonably early storm.
I'm calling it Mother Nature on steroids. And she's uncompromising when she's like this.
Now I understand what all the fuss is about. Luckily, it's letting up now, but early this morning when I strapped my boots on and trudged through the fresh snow to Grounds, that shit was coming down. It was worth the trip to spend the morning here drinking coffee and reading, though.
The bell thunders and I ignore it in favor of the book perched in my lap. I've got the good spot on the loveseat in front of the fire, and nothing can distract me from my blissful morning.
Except maybe the low, rumbling voice next to my ear. "Is this seat taken?"
I turn my head slightly to the left and Keller's face is right there. Like an-inch-from-my-face right there. He's crouched over the back of the loveseat, chin resting on folded arms. His face is clean-shaven. It's been awhile since I've seen him like this. He looks so much younger with his baby face revealed. "Hey. Of course not. Sit." I move my bag to the floor to make room.
He drops in next to me after removing his coat, hat, and gloves. "Damn, you'd think we live in Minnesota with all the snow outside."
I roll my eyes. "Don't remind me."
He laughs and elbows my arm gently while he takes a wax paper-wrapped sandwich out of a brown paper sack. "Ah, it's not so bad. Look at it. It's beautiful out there." He sounds so sincere that I hold back a second eye roll and take a look out the big picture window behind us.
It's overcast and looks almost like early evening even though it's only late morning. Snowflakes are falling sporadically again. The streets are deserted. And since I'm inside in front of a fire, dry and warm, it is beautiful. "How'd you get a flight out of Chicago this morning," I ask, gesturing outside, "with all this beauty?"
"I caught an early flight last night before the snow started. They said it was going to be bad. I guess they were right for once." He elbows me again. "You want half my sandwich, Katie? It's turkey."
"No, thanks." I always try to avoid the "No, I'm a vegetarian" answer because it freaks some people out. I don't know why, but sometimes people look at you like you just told them you something unfathomable. They get all uncomfortable. So, I only offer an explanation if it's forced.
He insists and is still trying to hand it to me. "No, really, this thing is gigantic. I feel rude eating in front of you. Take half."
I've just been forced. "Don't feel bad, dude, I'm a vegetarian. And I'm not really hungry anyway; I had a muffin a little while ago."
He blinks a few times. "So...is it okay if I eat this in front of you? I mean, does it gross you out? Because I can wait or...or go sit over there." He nods his head sideways to indicate a seat across the room.
I look at him for a few seconds too long before I answer because the offer was so considerate. "No. Go ahead and eat. Thanks for asking, though. That was...that was nice."
He smiles and takes a bite, mayo and mustard squishing out of the sandwich onto the corners of his mouth. He talks between bites. "So, why vegetarianism? Health reasons, religious reasons, animal rights reasons?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I've just never liked the idea of an animal being born, raised, and killed just so I would have something to eat. There are a lot of other options out there for sustenance."
His eyebrows rise as though he's never thought of it that way. He nods. "Fair enough." After he finishes his sandwich, he crumples up the paper wrap and deposits it in the paper bag and claps his hands. "We should go out driving this afternoon. There's a good eighteen inches on the ground now."
I glance back over my shoulder and judging by the snow on the car parked across the street, he's right. This is as good a time as any to learn how to drive in snow. "Sure, how about one o'clock? I have to work at three today."
"Sounds good."
I shift the book I was reading from my lap to the coffee table in front of us, so I can unzip my bag on the floor. "I'll pick you up at your place?"
He nods distractedly as he picks up my book. "Is this any good?" He asks in reference to the book.
"You've never read it?" I'm shocked.
He shakes his head. "No, I've always wanted to."
I think back to his reaction when I told him I'd never read A Tale of Two Cities and throw it back at him. "What high school graduate hasn't read To Kill a Mockingbird?"
His grin widens. "I deserve that."
"Yeah, you do. I read it every year or so. It's one of those books that even though you like it, it manages to get better each time, and you find yourself falling in love with it all over again."
He smiles, and I know he can relate having shared with me that he's read A Tale of Two Cities several times.
"Besides, one of the characters is a hero of mine. You know that saying, 'What would Jesus do?'"
He nods.
"Well, my version is, 'What would Atticus do?' He's got his shit together. He always knows what to do." I stand up, slipping my arms into my wool coat and pulling my gloves from the pockets. I sling my bag over my shoulder and salute Keller. "See you at one o'clock."
He salutes back. "One o'clock. I'd drive you to the dorms, but Dunc's got the Green Machine."
"No worries. It's a goddamn winter wonderland out there." I widen my eyes for effect. "I can't wait to get out in it."
He laughs at my sarcasm.
My gloved hand on the door handle, I hear Keller call out, "Katie, you forgot your book."
I smile because I left it intentionally. "It's yours. Someone else should get to love it." It's my favorite book. I feel good knowing I'm leaving it with someone who will appreciate it.
"But you haven't finished reading it." He's holding up the book pointing to the bookmark.
I tap my temple. "I already know how it ends. You don't." I wink and smile, but the honesty and simplicity of the words hits me. He doesn't know. He doesn't know my story. And that's how it needs to stay, because I've always preferred happy endings. "You should meet Atticus Finch. He's a badass lawyer."
I pull up to Keller's door at 1:15 pm and before I can honk he's out the door as if he's been listening or watching for me. He's shaking his head.
"Christ, woman, are you ever on time?" He's teasing, but I know it's one of his pet peeves. "No. Another bad habit. Chronic at this point, incurable." I shrug, because it's who I am. And in the grand scheme, there are worse things than tardiness. "On top of that, I had all this beauty to contend with. It slowed me down."
He grins. "Well, you made it. That's a good start."
Keller was born to be a winter driving instructor. His patience is saint-like. He talks me through the deserted, plowed, but icy streets to the auditorium parking lot. I'm glad no one's out because I feel like rolling manslaughter waiting to happen. At least when I mess up, no one's in harm's way. Keller never raises his voice above its usual low, practiced, calm, soothing level. It's the voice that guides me safely through icy roads reminding me to loosen the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and to slow down, and to tap my brakes, and not to hold my breath. It relaxes me. It's a steady, constant, comfort. I've grown to love comfort.