Page 18 of Through Quick and Quinn
…Q
Quick:
A Bogus Vow
The initial REED meeting was a disaster. A nightmare. A horror story. It was a fiasco of epic proportions. But it was also spectacular in its own way. It started out pretty great before torpedoing straight to hell, but then it bounced back in the most unexpected way.
Quinn and I were the only two to show up. In my mind, that was the best possible scenario. I didn’t want to spend any afternoons with a huge group of people, and I also knew that the sanctity of the club and its purpose would be best preserved with only a few of us who were actually serious about research. Quinn and I already worked well together, which was icing on the very small cake for two.
We started out by brainstorming research topics, and that’s when the meeting hopped right into a handbasket headed straight for the underworld. In five minutes flat, not only did I completely clam up when the issue of kidnapping was mentioned, but she also showed her cards when she started crying over infant deaths. As I sat there basically gawking at her, my list of things I wondered about was growing. Exponentially.
She’s the reason we climbed out of hell. She tried to change the subject to something light that lacked vulnerability by asking about my nickname. Little did she know that that subject was just as touchy as the ones we escaped a moment before. Surely she sensed my unwillingness to discuss, which led her to nervously share a series of evidential opinions regarding the appropriateness of the nickname Quick.
I left that meeting not thinking about kidnappings or SIDS. Not thinking about the club or the next session. I left thinking about how Quinn revealed something that I was almost positive she regretted. All those reasons she came up with for my nickname? All that evidence? It all pointed to one very plain fact: Quinn noticed me. What I gathered from that entire awkward debacle was quite simple.
I was not the only one wondering.
That evening, I promised myself that I would be brave enough to suggest some real topics at our next meeting. It needed to happen sooner or later, so I vowed to mention the controversial things I was actually fascinated by. If it scared her away, so be it.
Deep down, though, I didn’t think Quinn would be daunted and quit the club. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made the vow.
Quinn:
Sudden Liberation
The day after our initial club meeting—which I secretly dubbed, “The Day My Nervous Mouth Betrayed Me” —was a Wednesday, and I was surprised to find Quick waiting for me outside of the classroom door that morning before first period.
“Hey.” He gestured with a wave and made direct eye contact to smile at me. I was utterly shocked. Did he not think yesterday’s meeting was beyond a particularly uncomfortable series of incidents? I was convinced it was a train wreck, and I went to school that morning fully prepared to accept the death of the club.
“Uh, hi?” I blinked three times as I tried to avoid his gaze and ended up looking at the “Live Inspired” poster near his head.
Quick adjusted his backpack on his right shoulder, and I noticed how nondescript it was. While everyone else in the school seemed to have a minimum of seven keychains, some of which were full-blown stuffed animals dangling from the zippers and bouncing with each step against all of the patches that adorned the backpacks, his was entirely bare. Completely featureless, his navy-blue backpack was oddly enough the most unique one on campus.
“So I was thinking we could meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Is that cool with you? Are you good with twice a week?” There was a new and earnest sound to his voice, and he seemed genuinely zealous about moving forward with what we had started the previous day.
“Sure, sounds great. Shall we talk with Mr. Erickson after class?” I asked, to which Quick’s reply was a simple nod and a smile as he opened the door for us to enter the room. Fifty minutes later, Mr. Erickson was exceptionally thrilled to learn that we wanted to meet for The REED Club twice a week, instead of just once. We also requested that he abandon his promise regarding snacks, but his smirk revealed that he would probably bring us treats in bulk. He looked at us with such pride as his face contorted into a broad smile that seemed much too large for his head. He was unmistakably delighted that he had not only found students who did not need bribes or gimmicks to start this club, but that we seemed to value its potential as much as he did.
I arrived home that day with a bit of a bounce, I suspected from edgy and anxious butterflies who suddenly resided in my stomach. Immediately removing my labradorite crystal from its designated spot on my bedroom shelf and holding it in my left hand, I meditated with the intention of enhancing inner awareness. Why was I nervous? Why was I excited? Was it the club? The potential friendship? The potential ache that comes with the demise of a friendship? Was I worried that this friendship would rise and fall as it did with Mandy? Did my nerves have anything to do with Quick at all?
That night, as I lay in my bedroom unable to fall asleep, I stared at the stars outside my window until they became blurry and started fusing together. I tried to lose myself in the noise of waves crashing, imagining that I was relaxing on a beach in Maui rather than hearing them through the sound machine that was plugged in at my bedside in the desert. Honing in on the scent of palo santo, I breathed in deeply and accepted the simple truth that my current task on the journey of self-awareness was undoubtedly going to require more than one meditation. I was a bit befuddled by my thoughts and emotions, but I also recognized that I found amusement in it all. There was no denying that this year was going to bring much newness—new people, new experiences, new ideas—and I was ready for it.
As I meandered across the campus the next afternoon, I was keenly aware of the weather. It struck me as perfect, and as I attended to it fully, I appreciated the soft breeze mingling with the warm sun. The leaves of the trees shimmered in the light and their rustling whispers provided a flawless undertone for the birds housed within, chirping their songs of gratitude for such an impeccable day. I was so grossly captivated by blessings around me that I nearly collided with a familiar navy-blue backpack, narrowly avoiding impact.
“Hi Quick, uh, it’s really nice outside so I was thinking maybe we could meet out here today? Maybe on the grass or under the tree?” My words once again came bumbling out, I assumed because our encounter was unexpected. He flashed me a toothy grin and wholeheartedly agreed, which instantaneously resulted in the simmering of my nerves. I mindfully took a few deep breaths as I followed him to the lawn, and internally reminded myself to be authentic. I just needed to be me and the rest would fall into place.
As we settled on the grass, I decided to bravely take the first conscious step to overcoming the awkward loop in which I felt stuck. “So, Quick, where are you from? Did you move here from out of town?” I was pleased to hear my own voice, calm and even, and I noticed that it was no longer betraying me. He must have sensed the difference, too, because he did not even try to conceal his dumbfounded look.
“Uh, yeah, I guess. I moved here for high school. Why do you ask?” He picked at a blade of grass as he added, “How did you know?”
“I noticed that you don’t seem particularly attached to any friends here, like ones from your childhood or whatever. I don’t mean that in a bad way; I hope it isn’t coming out that way.”
“No, you’re right. I kinda keep to myself.” There was that twinge of sadness in his voice again, and I instantly felt sorry for mentioning what I thought was a casual topic but realized perhaps it was not.
I knew I needed to pivot. As my brain scrambled to change the subject somehow, he quickly followed up with, “You do, too.”
“Keep to myself? Yeah. Let’s just say that I put all of my eggs in one basket back in the day and it backfired. Big time. But at least you’re well-liked. That’s awesome.” I smiled at him so he would know that I meant it genuinely, that my tone was absent of any snarkiness or judgment. He looked up at me, once again making me feel like he was studying something about me, like he was regarding me as a puzzle he needed to solve.
After several moments of silence, Quick shared through a mutter, “I’m from the next town over.”
