Page 3 of Big Man on Campus

I nod, trying to hold back the hope, the excitement, the possibility of being together again, of having him again.

“It’ll be great to have you on campus.” He sounds unsure, like he doesn’t believe it’s true, or maybe like he doesn’t want me crashing into the new world he’s created for himself, the one without reminders of tragic loss looming around every corner.

“You’re lucky,” Charlie says. “I’m stuck going to Harrisburg Area Community College.”

I smile at him even though the last thing I feel like is lucky. But maybe I should. Maybe I should start feeling grateful for what I have instead of what I lost. But that’s not my issue, is it? It’s the guilty conscience over the fact that I don’t deserve what I have. Gratitude is the exact slap in the face of my guilt that I can’t allow. That I have to allow because it hurts too much not to.

“We’ll have a reunion,” I say to Kace. The break in my voice is a hairline fracture, but it represents the letting go of guilt, just enough to allow me to be with my lost love.

If I can have one more chance for a life with Kace, I swear I’ll never—

“Reunion. I like the sound of that.” He clears his throat and looks into his empty beer mug. “My Glory Rose.” He almost whispers the words and my heart jumps like a gold medalist and my hand goes to my chest as if to keep my heart in place, to protect it from another crushing blow.

“Well, it looks like you two have lots of catching up, so I’ll be going. You can start your reunion now without a third wheel.” Charlie swigs down his beer and Kace doesn’t try to talk his friend into staying.

“Good to see you, Charlie,” Kace says. “I expect you to come up and spend a few weekends. There’ll be a pair of hockey tickets waiting for you.”

They embrace in one of those man hugs that always get to me, make me feel warm by association. It’s been a good long while since I’ve witnessed Kace and his buddies engaging and my heart weeps with joy and sadness at all that I’ve missed. But I promised myself to quit the self-pity. No self-respecting penance-doer has a right to feel sorry for their penance. I have to take it like a grown-up.

Only problem is knowing when the penance is over, when enough is enough. But that’s been decided by the world at large, hasn’t it? PSU decided to let me back in, to re-award me the scholarship they’d withdrawn three years ago. My court-ordered probation is over, community service served—though I still go back to read nursery rhymes to the babies at the day care and visit with the ladies. They embraced me when others treated me like a worthless piece of crap and worse.

Charlie throws down a twenty and Kace shoves it back at him, winning the war of who-pays-the-bill, a macho ritual I’ve missed for its amusement value. You’d think I’ve been on Pluto for three years, I’ve been so far out of the social swing.

Charlie gives me a quick hug and we watch him walk away, leaving me and Kace to our now awkward reunion, now that we’ve declared it a reunion. Before it was catching up with someone I used to know. Now, so much more seems possible. Some dormant repressed urge in me to jump at challenges rises up like Jack’s beanstalk and takes over. It’s go-for-the-brass-ring time.

“I’d love to have you show me around campus,” I say, “introduce me to people.”

The way he looks at me then makes my breathing stop. The profound sadness, the begging in his eyes for relief make me want to hug him as if no time has passed, as if I wasn’t the cause of his tragedy. I keep my arms at my side, but I can’t keep the longing look from my eyes, waiting for his answer. It’s his move.

“I’d love to have you in my bed every night,” he whispers.

Shock widens my eyes and I suck in a breath. Then he leans toward me, bends his head, and touches his lips to mine. Flames shoot from my soul and I can’t tell if the excruciating feeling is pain or bliss, saving me or killing me. My lips tremble under his. My whole body vibrates with desperate need and I don’t care if this is an end or a beginning—or so I tell myself—as long as the moment never ends. I steep myself in it, gather up every nuance of his heat, the scent and taste of him, spicy maple and man. His energy, as powerful as his body strung with tight, sinewy muscle, buzzes through me.

The kiss doesn’t last long, but it’s long enough for my wounded heart to feel revived and beat wildly with joy rather than anxiety, long enough for my soul to leap with hope. Long enough for me to be breathless and gasping for more of him. But I hold myself together because it can’t be real, it’s too close to what I’ve dreamed for too long. An impossible dream. A snatch from our past to taunt me.

He cups my cheek and stares, studies my face, and I want to hold my breath. But I’m breathing too fast, so I take one deep breath to calm myself. Don’t lose it, Glory. It was just a kiss. Just an admission that he still lusts for you.

“Say something,” he says, his voice raw.

“I want you in my bed every night, too. We’ll have to flip a coin.”

He smiles, then chuckles, the tension dispelled, and I’m glad and sad because I want that intensity back, but I don’t know if I can stand it. It’s been so long since I’ve let myself really feel anything but hurt and despair.

“Truthfully? Things haven’t been the same without you,” he says.

“Hockey is going well.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe I don’t want to think about him as lost, hurting the way I’ve been.

“I’m lost, Glory. I want things to be right between us, to make up for deserting you—”

“Don’t be crazy. I don’t need you to be a martyr. You were right to leave, to escape and get on with your life.”

“Except that I left you behind, stuck in hell.”

“A hell of my own making.” It’s true. I squash the resentment against the heavens and the universe that led to my decision that night three years ago, because it was still my decision no matter what lens I look through. Twenty years from now it’ll be distant and blurry, but it’ll still be the same. Maybe, hopefully, the stab of guilt less painful though.

He sighs. “You were young and you… were trying to help. Your intentions were—”

“Don’t bother.” I wave a hand. But I shouldn’t be arguing with him because I want him back, don’t I? Only we have to be clear eyed about it, no glossing over the facts. His forgiveness has to be real and complete.