Turning Point

Classes at Della turned out to be everything I never expected. Nothing like a high school course, or even a college course, they were held in spare bedrooms and each class worked for an extracurricular activity. My creative writing class submitted stories to the Literary Magazine; photography for the newspaper. Current Events class reports were polished until they could be submitted to the school website.

Most of the “classes” I took ended up being journalism, mainly spending time in a bedroom a few doors down from mine and working on individual layouts for pages. It was reality, but since we didn’t actually write most of the stories, (there was a specified upper level class, journalism, that wrote up our stories) the stress was toned down. The only time you could see us running around like crazy was deadline day.

I loved it, it suited me perfectly.

Since the fiasco in New Orleans, Austin’s attitude towards me slowly changed, but in a dramatic way. We dubbed it a fiasco sitting on the little dock on the bayou, after we’d finished a case of beer and a bottle of liquor between us. Total honesty was made much easier with alcohol in our bloodstreams.

“Katie…Kay Tee! Ha… I want to kiss you.”

I kicked water at him. “I know, but you can’t kiss me, I can’t let you kiss me.” Leaning forward, I planted a kiss on his knee.

“But I like you.” His eyes were an even darker blue. The only light hitting us came from a far off florescent, so the shadows emphasized everything he said.

“So?”

“So? I don’t like everyone I kiss. Or fuck, for that matter.”

I shoved him. “Watch your language, there’s a lady present.” He snorted. “Why do you kiss them if you don’t like them?”

“Cause I have a reptatio…reputation! Reputation to uphold.”

“That’s why you can’t kiss me. Or fuck me.”

“Hey, watch out for the lady being present.”

I picked up the last of my beer and stood, wavering a little. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

“To your bed? Hell yeah.”

I went up to my room, half expecting him to show up expecting a place to sleep. But it turns out he didn’t make it that far and crashed on the sofa in the living room. Neither of us made it to class in the morning, but it was overlooked. I suppose teachers assumed getting drunk was a rite of passage that couldn’t be helped no matter what school was attended.

I remembered the night clearly, and he did too. The flirting continued, but in a much less serious manner. We spent real time together, doing stupid stuff and staying up late to talk. He, in a matter of weeks, became the best friend I’d ever had. He showed me his faults, told me his stories, and I did my best to do the same.

Don’t go believing we were serious and philosophical all the time… We mainly goofed around planning elaborate schemes to tease each other. We helped each other on the paper, were it had quickly become obvious that even as a freshman I had more skill at layouts that most of the others, and cooked meals together. He was so respectful sometimes, holding the door for me or stopping by my room to say goodnight. Even when he was trying to torture me, he would do it a nice way.

Austin came with me and held my hand when I got my first tattoo, Pablo Picasso’s Dove of Peace on my right shoulder blade. He iced it and told me that it looked amazing despite the swelling grotesqueness. When I complained, he placed little kisses all around the mess and convinced me I was better now.

I knew he liked me, I remembered him telling me. But I didn’t know how to handle it… The few times I saw the overworked editor, Mandy, she would scowl at me and warn me about Austin’s Casanova ways. I never saw them, though… even she admitted that he wasn’t acting like himself. When I was with him, I was sure that he was honestly as good as it seemed he was. It was the nights I spent awake and stubbornly stuck on that stupid issue that I began to doubt my judgment.

The winter musical came and went. I was an obvious choice for lighting director; no one else could competently work a board. Austin tried out for the set designer against an art student but was given the Audio job instead. It ended up being me, Austin, and a timid girl who made eyes at Austin and could handle a spotlight. We had so much time to prepare that we over prepared and spent the actual performance nights on a couch we’d dragged up into the booth playing poker. He cheated, but I could never prove it.

Christmas break was approaching way too quickly. It seemed, in the final push to kill ourselves before finals, that the first semester had never happened. I’d met so many people and befriended the most unexpected types. Finals went as well as could be expected, then it was time for us to scatter for two weeks.

My parents, my loving kind parents, decided that Christmas was a perfect time for a trip to Texas to visit a distant cousin. They sent me so many presents, citing their recent influx of money since I’d left their care. Most of the gifts were things to decorate my dorm with. They’d also provided a room for me in New Orleans for New Years.

At least they’d been listening during my monthly phone calls.

Austin left for his house in California with a bittersweet, “Bye, Kid. Have fun.” He’s a romantic at heart, really. Actually, everyone in the Lafayette house left. Christmas day was spent at the entrance house with the fourteen people who’d chosen to stay as well.

]New Years was an ordeal, I convinced an Art student and a graphic designer to stay with me in the city. They both got too drunk to stay out hours before midnight so I sliced a stool out in a little bar and befriended the gay bartender. He kissed me at midnight, taking a few instant pictures for us to remember the night by.

The last days of break were spent in utter boredom. The house that seemed so impressive when I’d moved in was small and my room seemed too big for me. Austin’s nightly calls were the only true event of the day. I met all his friends when they’d show up to hang out and he turned on the speakerphone. He acted exactly the same way around them as he did around me, which relieved me. The not-so-quiet whispers of “is this her?” also helped calm my nerves.

Not that I had any idea of what I was going to do.

Sunday came about and people started trickling back in. We got two new mid-year transfers in the journalism department; they looked as scared as I felt on my first day.

Austin showed up later on in the afternoon, carrying a jean jacket covered in patches and wearing his uniform dark jeans with a black t-shirt. His lip ring was new, and I could see a hint of a tattoo sticking out of his shirtsleeve.

“You got one without me,” was the first thing I could think of.

“Yeah. Missed you.”

“Ditto.” His eyes seemed riveted to my lips, and for a second I thought he would kiss me. He even leaned in close but instead pulled me in for a bone-cracking hug, lifting me off the ground.

“Oomph… Geez, do you ever get human contact or is it just with me?”

He laughed then presented me with a bag of beignets from the city. I went and made coffee for us and we sat around the rest of the day being lazy.

That night I had trouble sleeping again. I couldn’t help thinking that he’d almost kissed me. And, for a brief second, I think I might’ve let him.