Page 27 of You've Got a Place Here, Too

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Melody squeezed my hand then let go. “And I’m a TA.

So, you wouldn’t have seen me because we teach on the balcony.”

Two whole weeks I’d been watching

for this girl, but had never taken a moment to look up.

Anytime I went to class, I got ready like I was going on a date.

Because even though I was on the ground, and she was on the balcony,

I wanted to make sure if we ever had a reason to speak

I looked good, smelled good, everything good.

I showered before class, pat-patted on cologne, popped a mint.

I checked myself out in the hall mirror and left with enough time

so I could walk slowly to class; I didn’t want to rush and arrive

sweaty. Any break we had in the simulation room, I glanced up.

She was always in her TA’s uniform. Her voice clipped and

stern, but clearly she wasn’t all business because her students

were often smiling. I pretended she was talking to me, her husky voice

brushing against my skin, blooming goose bumps in the aftermath.

After class, if she got out early, sometimes I’d catch her

downstairs writing up her notes. And she’d smile

and I had to bite back every single corny thing I’d ever

wanted to say, like:All of me is an invitation reaching toward you,or

my fingertips ache where they haven’t touched your skinor

I hear the promise of us in the crescendo of every ballad

and maybe I was supposed to be a bachatero instead of a pilot

because all I had were torch songs for a girl I barely knew.

Which is why, when it was the end of the semester, and I was

in Carnegie Library, where I should have been studying, I didn’t take her

“So, what’s up with all the lip pointing?” personally.

The arrival of her was like a craving being fed.

I had been FaceTiming my moms, and was trying to show her

how to navigate her doctor’s online portal from her phone,

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