“It’s amazing,” he said. “That’s why I brought it along. I wanted to tell you all about it. I thought you might like to borrow it after I’m done.”
I studied the cover, a black and white photograph of a man. At first sight, I thought it was a JFK biography, the resemblance was uncanny.A Beautiful Mind, the title read. By Sylvia Nasar.
“What’s it about?” I asked, genuinely interested.
“It’s a true story,” he said excitedly, “It’s the autobiography of John Nash, a Nobel winning mathematician with schizophrenia. It’s really good.”
“Sounds fascinating,” I replied. “I love anything psychology related,” I told him truthfully. What I didn’t mention was the fact that I buried my head in psychology and self-help books in an effort to try to fix myself.
He smiled. “I knew you would be into it. Most of the other girls I dated… there’s no way, but you, you’re different.”
I smiled. I knew what he meant. I knew he liked me not only because I was cute, but also because I was smart.
Was this really the same boy? The rocker who strummed his electric guitar, and screamed the lyrics of his songs about love, hate and life. This was a whole other side of him, and I loved it.
He handed me the book, and I read the back blurb and quickly flipped through it. The story intrigued me, and I liked the idea of sharing something with him, an interesting subject we could discuss. “Yeah, I’d like to borrow it when you’re done.”
His face lit up. “That’s great.”
“You read a lot?” I asked.
He reached for his glass of Coke. “Yes, I love biographies and crime fiction. How ‘bout you?”
“I love literary women’s fiction mostly,” I told him, but I wasn’t interested in talking about myself. I wanted to learn more about him. “What do you study at U of Chicago?”
“Liberal arts, taking a few language classes,” he explained. “Hoping to get into teacher’s college and teach.”
“Wow.” I admired that. There was no way I could ever be a teacher. I didn’t have the patience or social skills required. “I could never imagine being in charge of a bunch of kids,” I said. “I couldn’t handle it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could,” he said. “You should give yourself more credit.”
My thoughts drifted back to just a few years before. There had only been three children, and I couldn’t even handle that. I ruined the poor girl’s life. Because of my stupid neuroses, I made the gravest mistake of my life.
I shook my head. “What do you want to teach?” I asked, desperately wanting to change the direction of my thoughts.
He smiled. “High school. English, History, Philosophy… Social Studies.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And what about you?” he asked.
I bit my bottom lip. I was only sixteen and I didn’t really have a clue yet. I knew I worked best alone, and in calm orderly environments. “I like numbers… order.”
He studied me for a beat. “You could be an accountant,” he quipped. “The cutest accountant on the planet.”
I blushed, closed my eyes for a second, reached for my cup of coffee, and tapped it three times before taking a sip. I considered his observation for a moment — it wasn’t a terrible idea.
He smiled. “Why do you do that thing?” he asked, tilting his head in my coffee mug’s direction. I was hoping he hadn’t noticed — most people didn’t.
“What do you mean?” I asked, downplaying it.
“The tapping on the cup, just before, every time you take a drink,” he said. “You did it with your iced tea too. And the rearranging of your plate and silverware.”
Oh crap.Yes, three taps before every sip.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must be nervous. It’s just a silly thing I do sometimes.”
He grinned. “You don’t need to be nervous.” He took my hand in his, and it sent shivers down my spine. I studied our hands because I couldn’t quite look up at him. My skin was so pale next to his. “I like you… a lot, Mischa.”
