Page 30 of Intermission
“So, Old-Friend-That-I-Just-Met,” he says, and although his smile seems true, it still holds the tiniest hint of caution, “beyond the required hours we’ll spend upon the Leopold stage, are you willing to be seen ’round about with an old man like me?”
“I think I can manage.”
“Good.” Noah lets go of my hand and begins packing the sandwich wrappers, thermos, and mugs into his backpack. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Do you think you can keep up with me,old man?”
He laughs. “I think I can manage.”
A sudden wind rustles the branches of the overhead trees, and their leafless arms creak in muted, arthritic pops of applause that swell as the breeze gains strength. A light, swirly feeling of almost-deific approval stirs within me.
“What time should I have you back home?”
A corner of my stomach twinges, and a bit of its warm comfort escapes.
Noah hasn’t said anything about dating since he found out I was sixteen. Neither have I. We’ve mentioned friendship. So... we’re just friends, right?
“Let’s make our way back here by about three-thirty,” I say. “That way we can both get out of here in the daylight.”
“Still worried about me getting lost, eh?” Noah arches an eyebrow, and his smile tilts the same direction. “Don’t worry. I can make it out on my own in the daylight. But I’d be happy to drive you home.”
“Nah.” I look away. “It’s actually shorter if I walk.”
“Really?”
“Really. From here I can be home before you even get back to your car.”And you won’t have to meet my parents. Not that it should matter, if we’re just friends, anyway.
“No wonder you come here so often. It’s like having a waterfall in your back yard.”
“Yeah, it is. That’s why I’ve always kind of claimed it as my own. Discovering its acoustical awesomeness was by accident, though.” I chuckle. “This was my first, and remains my most frequently used, stage.” I gesture to the waterfall ledge. “And these,” I spread my arms and turn a circle, encompassing the banks, the weeds, the rocks, the trees, “make for a rather captive audience.”
“It’s pretty perfect for that.” He gazes around my “stage,” and a gently bemused smile reveals his dimple.
He probably had a pretend stage or two of his own as a kid.
I whistle for Janey, and we set off, hiking upstream.
A little bit later, when I realize my hand has found its way into Noah’s, I have to wonder what sort of “friendship” we’re embarking on.
The first official day of winter break finds me up in my room, listening to an online playlist of Christmas music Noah shared with me and texting back and forth when he’s between customers.
Noah:
A kid just squirted ketchup in his chocolate milk and drank it.
Faith:
Gross.
Noah:
He drained the cup. With a straw. Time for a refill.
We text all the time, and I suppose we’ve been spending a lot of time together, but most of it is either during rehearsals at the Opera House or on our way to and from on the nights we share a ride. Since I’m in more scenes, I have more rehearsals, so I don’t always see him, but considering how much we text, he never seems too far away.
Noah:
What’s your favorite Christmas song?
