Page 8 of Beautiful Beginning

“So, 55 to 7 isn’t completely destroyed?”

“They gave them 7.”

“Are you coming out to…” I couldn’t saycelebratebecause what were we celebrating? A loss? “To the party?”

“Not my thing.”

What is your thing? Textbooks at football games?“Oh. Too bad. Was hoping I could bump into you again.”

He laughed. And it was deep. Didn’t last long but felt good to hear. His laugh was like the rest of his personality. Mysterious. “I doubt you want to bump into me anywhere. Unless you have an endless dry-cleaning budget. Then, maybe.”

“No.” I assured him, “I don’t. But seeing you would be worth it.” In case it wasn’t abundantly obvious from the way I stared him down at the game.

“What’s your party pre-game look like?”

I finalized my outfit choice and threw it on the bed as I moved to the bathroom. “A couple of shots with my roommates. Nothing too serious.”

“Feel like skipping shots in favor of another coffee?”

“Coffee? Before the club?” My nose crinkled. “I mean, I guess it would have me energized. But—”

“It’s cool. We could go some other time.”

His words felt final. Like, he was about to find an excuse to get off the phone. Before he could offer one, I said, “If partying isn’t your thing, what is?”

I ran warm water over my washcloth and anticipated his response. I imagined his response would be like, “The library, or watching historical documentaries.” By no means did he look like he did either of those things. But he also didn’t look like he’d hang out with his homeboys playing video games.

“Would you believe it if I said I like to chill at Speak Out?”

And there it was. The surprise I wouldn’t have guessed. “The poetry lounge?”

“Yup. They do book readings. Have open mic. Pretty dope.”

Dwayne and Whitley didn’t have a ton of things in common. My parents also had different hobbies. I always hoped I’d be more like Quincy and Monica though, sharing a love of something with the man I shared my life with.

“Everything I learn about you surprises me.”

He challenged, “Everything?” And his voice sounded like a low growl.

“A political science major, who doesn’t party, reads textbooks at games, and enjoys open mic.” I watched my head nod in the mirror. A loose curl falling into my face. “Everything.”

“When you combine it all together, I guess it does paint an interesting picture of me.” Then he said, “What does your picture look like?”

I wiped the corners of my eyes, ran the towel down my cheek, and thought.What does my picture look like?“A finance major, with a love for the community, who cheers.”

“Okay, so something a little abstract.”

“Time for shots,” Lauren yelled as she banged on my door.

“Before you go… join me this week at Speak Out?”

“Will you be reciting a poem?”

“Let’s go…” Lauren’s voice made me close my eyes.

I wanted to hear his response, extend our conversation. If he would have offered I would have skipped the club to stay on the phone all night with him.

“I haven’t before, but I could have found some inspiration recently.”

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