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As we drove, I followed a bead of sweat dripping down Jules’ neck. It was starting to stifle inside the cab. It was an unusually warm day in September and my truck had no air conditioning, so we rolled down the windows and I stared as her long hair lifted and dove with the breath of the wind. Smiles were the only form of communication we held and if my dashboard had been a confessional, it would have known we were promised to be thick as thieves.
Thatcher’s seemed pretty busy. I hopped out and ran to the other side of the truck to open her door for her. I took her hand and the cindery flash shot up both our arms. I let go and she looked at me, paralyzed. It was warmer, brighter. When I smiled, she caught it and I could see all the muscles in her body relax at once as she took the same hand I had previously offered yet again.
When her hand cupped with mine, there it was, that same shocking voltage, but this time, it was no longer alarming. The spirited force ignited the muscles in our fingers, hands, and arms. It continued through our shoulders and necks. I felt it in my ears, eyes and even tasted it on my tongue. Its bitter alkaline smacked of one of the best flavors that had ever passed my lips, at the time, because I had yet to kiss Jules. We stood with our hands locked for at least five minutes, enjoying the current, not wanting to let go, ever.
“Bizarre,” she giggled.
I nodded once and began to lead her toward the door.
“I blame it on this fickle southern weather,” I teased over my shoulder.
We walked into Thatcher’s and as I had previously guessed, a bunch of students were already there. It made us feel volumes more comfortable in choosing a somewhat private booth.
Truthfully, it wasn’t the students we worried about gossiping. We could handle them. As a matter of fact, it was the adults but because we were under the protective mask of pre-game day students we picked the dark unwanted booth way back in the corner without difficulty. She slid in and I clumsily tumbled in opposite her. We knew the menu.
Thatcher came up and took our orders. He acted quite annoyed for it being such a winning sales day. There was nothing surprising about that, he was such a grumpy old man but we loved the old crab anyway.
“What do you want?” he barked.
“The usual,” we both said in unison, tossing our menus aside.
He eyed us carefully.
“Keep your gum out from underneath my table.”
“Yes sir,” said Jules with a wink and a salute.
Thatcher turned and mumbled something under his breath.
“We’re not even chewin’ gum,” I said with a shrug.
“I know. He’s so kooky.”
We laughed but it got uncomfortably quiet and Jules pretended to stare out the window at a street she could probably navigate in her sleep. I couldn’t help but stare too, but at her. She was breathtaking. She fiddled with a long curl, twisting it in her fingers while her elbow rested on the table. She sighed and bit her bottom lip crookedly, trying to think of something else to say. The sun shone through Thatcher’s windows and it brought bits of gold out in her green eyes. She caught me glaring and I failed to play it off. I actually think I made her a little uncomfortable.
“Jules?” I asked.
She turned her stare from out the window and her eyes met mine. I felt a tiny jolt to my stomach.
“Yes Elliott?”
I loved the way she said my name. Her mouth distracted me and for a moment made me forget what I intended to ask her.
“The lightning bolt,” she guessed.
“Exactly,” was all I could rally up.
“Outside Mrs. Kitt’s class, that first day and every time after that, when I feel it, the hair stands on the back of my neck. I can even feel a tingle underneath my fingernails,” she said.
“Me too,” was all I could reply, swallowing the thrill her words gave me.
I was too afraid to say anything else. Frankly, the feeling thrilled me and scared me to death. A wide grin began to spread across her face.
“Hey,” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood, “Have you ever read Plato’s Symposium?”
I chuckled on the inside.
“What are you trying to say?” I asked. “We were once, together, a hermaphrodite?”
