A Love Story

Part I

So, in order to celebrate our engagement anniversary (6 years as of February '14!  Woot!), I decided to write out the beginning of my love story with Steve, romantic-historical-fiction style.  Here's the first part--enjoy!

A Perfect Beginning

Not-So-Loosely Based on True Events

 “So, Jewel, what do you think of Steve Busch?”

I was surprised at the question, coming as it was from my roommate, Heather.  I considered the question carefully as I shot a sideways glance at her, sitting cross-legged on her bed across the room she and I shared.

“Well, I know what you told me from when you liked him last semester, and he’s really fun to hang out with in acting class, but I haven’t really thought of him other than that,” I answered, not sure what she was getting at.

“I think you two would be good together,” she said casually, turning a page in her book.

“What?  Nah, I’m pretty sure he just talks to me in class because there’s no one else he knows.  Besides, he knows I’m going on a mission, so I’m as safe as can be.  He’s funny, and I like flirting with him, but…” I shrugged.

“So?  You should go for it.  I think he likes you,” she smiled knowingly.

“Wishful thinking!” I laughed.  “Honestly, since word’s gotten out that I’m putting my papers in, I’ve been asked on more dates in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years combined!  I’m safe to flirt with now.  Nothing more.”

“If he asked you on a date, would you go with him?” She was more serious now, genuinely wanting an answer from me.

“Sure.  If he asked me, I’d go with him.  But I really don’t see it going anywhere.” I reiterated.

“Okay.  That’s all I needed to know!” She then went back to her studying, still smiling secretively, as I followed her example and turned back to my biology book, shaking my head incredulously.

Seriously?  Why would my roommate want to set me up with someone (whom she had previously sort-of dumped, nonetheless) when she knew that I was specifically not focusing on boys?  In fact, I was more than done with boys for now—after some rough and very confusing experiences with guys in the previous semesters, I had set two goals for myself.  The first was not to kiss anyone until after my 21^stbirthday—an easy enough accomplishment, seeing as how my birthday was just over a month away and I didn’t have any interesting prospects….or, at least, prospects interested in me. 

Either way, I knew it wasn’t going to be a temptation to break that goal.

The second was more permanent—I was for sure not going to marry anyone I had met at Eastern Arizona College.  It was a small school, and with this being my third year at a two-year college, I felt as though I had already scouted all of the available options and decided against them for one valid reason or another; the biggest reason, of course, being the fact that I was genuinely committed to the idea of going on a mission.  I had received some strong answers that this was what I needed to do come May, when the semester ended, and was in the midst of working on my papers as we spoke.

An image of Steve flashed through my mind as I considered the idea of dating him.  Tall (a couple of inches taller than my 5’11” frame, in fact), slender, spiked blonde hair, clear blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled—he was good-looking, I’d give him that, but not my type.  And I was pretty sure I wasn’t his type at all—he was smart, quick-witted, interesting, and creative.  Me, I was just a tall, klutzy Molly Mormon who liked to laugh at his jokes but who could never come up with something clever in response.  Definitely not his type.  He was fun to flirt with, nothing more.

I shook my head again, ridding my mind of his image, and tried to focus once again on my biology homework.

The next day as I walked into Acting 101, Steve was already there, smiling at me mischievously.  Trying not to feel awkward about the fact that I had been talking about him with my roommate the night before, I struggled to remain casual.

“Hey,” I shrugged as I sat down in my normal seat next to him.

“Hey,” he responded, his smile widening.

“What?” The look on his face made me suddenly feel awkward and unsure of myself—something I wasn’t used to experiencing around a guy I usually was so comfortable with (which in itself was nothing less than a miracle for me, the most consistently awkward female I knew).

“Nothing.”  He was positively grinning now.

“I don’t believe you.  What’s up?” I insisted.

“Okay--don’t be mad, but…”

“What?” I was starting to get curious.

“You have a wilted flower stuck in your hair.” He reached behind my ear and pulled out the remnants of an orange daisy.  One that I had stuck behind my ear earlier in the day and forgotten about until now.

My face flushed.  “Oh, that.  I saw it and thought it was pretty earlier and, well…”

He laughed—not a mocking laugh, just a genuine expression of humor.  “It’s okay.  No worries.”

I smiled at him in relief.  “Don’t think I’m dumb,” I warned.

He smiled in return.  “Of course not!  It’s refreshing.”

I flushed again, realizing that if he had known that I had turned a very enthusiastic cartwheel just before picking said flower, he might think otherwise.  I started to say something to try to change the subject away from my cartwheel-turning and flower-picking tendencies, but class started then, and aside from our typical whispered remarks about what we were learning, we didn’t get the chance for more conversation until class was over. 

As I stood up and picked up my books he came closer to me.  “So,” he began casually, “Young Ambassadors are coming this Friday.”

I grimaced.  “Don’t remind me.  I got asked to go on a date to it.”

“Oh.” Steve looked a little flustered.  “Who asked you?”

“Jarom Mason* (*Name has been changed to protect the innocent).  My old roommate has a major crush on him, and I know he knows it, so I’m not sure why he asked me in the first place, except to get to her.  I personally find him super creepy.” I made a face as Steve held the door open for me.

“So why’d you say yes?” He was genuinely curious, I could tell.

“Well, I didn’t want to be rude.  Besides, any time a guy talks to me, my brain pretty much shuts down all except for the most basic mental functions.”  I grinned up at him as we began walking to our next class together.

“What about me?” He acted affronted.

“Oh, you don’t count.  I’ve always been comfortable around you!” I nudged him with my shoulder.

“Gee, thanks a lot!”

“Oh, come on.  You know what I mean!” I laughed, but he stopped walking suddenly.

“No, really—you don’t think I count?  What if I took you on a date on Saturday night? Would you be uncomfortable then?”  He insisted.

I stopped, surprised.  “Oh!  Well, I’d love to go on a date with you….if you wanted….I mean…” I stammered.

“Okay, then.  Saturday night it is.  And don’t act like you’re not just going for the free dinner.” He winked at me.

Relieved that he wasn’t genuinely offended by my remarks, I laughed. As we continued on our way to our next class, I reflected on how unusual it was for me to feel so absolutely comfortable conversing with a guy like this; Steve would make witty remarks in his typical fashion, and although I always felt that my wit in response was usually lacking, he still brought out the best sides of my conversational skills.  It would definitely be interesting to see what our conversation was like on our date, that was for sure.

Part II: First Dates

Saturday evening, as we settled into our seats at La Casita, a little Mexican restaurant just down the street from my apartment, Steve grinned.  “So, tell me about yourself.  I know what I’ve learned about you from class, as well as from what Heather’s told me…”

“Wait—you and Heather have been talking about me?”  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new information.

“Sure.  I mean, nothing much.”  He squirmed a little, then changed the subject.  “So what are your goals?  Your plans?  What makes Jewel Flake tick?”

I laughed lightly.  “How do you put it in a nutshell?  Well, this is my third year at EA—no judging—and while I already graduated with my degree in Music Education, I’m working on a degree in Sociology right now.  After school ends in May, I want to go on a mission—I’m working on my papers now, in fact.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, I thought I’d heard something about that.  Tell me about it.”

He seemed genuinely interested, so I did.  I told him how it had always been my dream to serve a mission since I had been a young girl but how I didn’t know if it would be possible fiscally after two years of supporting myself through college.  Then, how I had been a counselor at EFY and had some incredibly strong promptings that I needed to serve a mission after going back to EA for another year. And how, at my darkest time, when I was doubting the call to serve a mission the most and praying desperately for answers, I had come across a scripture that literally answered my prayers.

“What did it say?” His eyes were on mine.

“’Lift up your head and rejoice, for the hour of your mission is come,’” I quoted reverently.

“Wow.  That is pretty straightforward.”  His voice was soft, but his eyes were still intently studying me, and I was suddenly inexplicably nervous again.

“How about you?  Heather told me you'd been on a mission--where’d you go?”  I asked, suddenly wanting the attention off of myself.

He leaned back in his chair.  “Canada, Edmonton.”

“So, where is that exactly?  I’m afraid I don’t know Canada very well.”

He grinned, then began telling me mission stories, once again knowing exactly how to phrase something in the best way to make me laugh.  As I listened, I reflected that I had never had such a smooth conversation on a date before, as one topic slipped easily to the next.

“So, if you were to live in any era of time, when would you want to live?” He asked as I sipped my water.

I considered the question.  “Well, I love the idea of living back in Jane Austen’s time, but I’m afraid that I’m kind of addicted to running water and central AC…” He laughed pleasantly as I continued, “…so, I’d probably want to live in the 50’s.  You know, a simpler time. I love the fashions, yet I still get electricity and hot showers.  How about you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up.  “I’d probably want to live in Jane Austen’s time, too.  I find it fascinating.”

Sure he was making fun of me, I stared.  “You’re joking.”

His face was innocent—too innocent, in fact.  “Why do you say that?”

“Because….I mean…I guess…” I didn’t have an answer, but he waited.  “I guess I just thought you were copying my answer.”

“Nah.  I’m too original to do that.”  He smiled at me, and I smiled back. 

The conversation continued to flow easily, and after the waitress had come with the check and we were getting up to go, Steve held the door open for me as we walked out of the tiny restaurant.  I thanked him, impressed that he was such a gentleman, and he grinned.

“Hey, I heard the newest Pride and Prejudice movie just came out on DVD.  Do you want to go rent it and watch it?” He offered casually.

I studied him, watching to see if he was sincere.  “Are you sure you want to?  I’ve been wanting to see it since it was in theatres, but if you’d be bored…”

“Nah.  It’ll be fun!”  He seemed to mean it, so I agreed to the plan.

After getting back to my apartment with the movie, I took charge.  Dates were one thing, but hanging out and watching a movie?  After three years of college with lots of platonic guy friends, this was familiar territory to me.  “Okay, you’re in charge of getting the movie started, I’ll get some popcorn,” I suggested.

Steve grinned, and I went into the kitchen.  When I came out with the popcorn, he was sitting on the couch adjacent to the television, remote in hand.  I sat on the other couch, wanting to have a better view of the movie and set the popcorn down in between the couches so he could reach it more easily.

Three-quarters through the movie, Jen, another roommate, walked in.  “Umm…this is awkward!”

“Huh?”  I was still focused on the movie, but tore my eyes away to look at her in confusion.  “What are you talking about?”

She laughed.  “Aren’t you guys supposed to be on a date?”

“Well, yeah, we were…” I was still lost.

“So why are you two on separate couches?” She spoke slowly, in the same way one would if explaining something to a young child.

I glanced at Steve, who was refusing to look my way and was instead looking intently at the television.

“Oh.  Well, I wanted to see the movie better…” I trailed off, not sure what I had done wrong.

Jen scoffed.  “Oh, you’re hopeless.”  She walked back to her room, leaving me feeling once again awkward and confused. 

Great.  He probably thought I hated him.  I glanced at him surreptitiously only to see that he was still focused on the movie. 

Maybe he didn’t care—he probably just asked me on this date as a friend, anyway…yeah, that was it.  I’m sure he didn’t mind the fact that I didn’t sit on the same couch as him, in fact, I bet he was just relieved that it removed the whole hand-holding question from the entire situation.

Yeah.  He was fine. 

I settled back into my spot and sighed, falling quickly back into the magic of the drama between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy.  Here was romance right where I was most comfortable with it—on a book or on a screen, but not in real life, and definitely not in my life.

***********

“What did you do?!?!  Steve told me that he thought the date was a hopeless failure!”  Heather looked at me accusingly.

I felt suddenly defensive.  “I didn’t do anything!  I thought it was fun!”

“Oh yeah?  What did you guys talk about at dinner?”  She folded her arms across her chest as if she already knew the answer.

“Well, my mission plans…” I trailed off as it dawned on me that my upcoming mission was probably not the best conversation topic for a first date.

“Yeah?  And Jen told me that when she came in that you two were sitting on completely different couches!  What’s that about?  Do you know how to give off any of the right signals?” 

“I wanted to see the movie…” I started, then relented.  “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point.  I didn’t realize I was giving off the wrong signals.  I guess I came across as a little stand-offish.”

Heather rolled her eyes.  “You think?”

I suddenly felt concerned.  “Does he think I don’t like him?”

“Well, it took a little convincing from me, but I think he’s willing to ask you out again.  Only this time, you have to figure out how to give the right signals!!”  She glared at me, but I knew my theatrical roommate too well to take her too seriously when she looked at me like that.

“Okay, okay.  If he asks me out again, I promise to give him some more encouragement this time.”  I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes as I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.  Her response was muffled by the door, but still clear enough for me to hear it.

“You’d better!”

************

“How many times do they have to reprise ‘Some Enchanted Evening?’” I complained to no one in particular.  I was taking a break during a particularly long South Pacific rehearsal, sitting on the floor of the left wing with my back against a wall when my friend Clinton sat next to me, extending his long legs and leaning over them to stretch.

I began scratching his back absentmindedly as he groaned.  “Aw, man—you can do that forever!” He grinned at me, and I smirked back at him. 

“No problem!” I scratched harder, and he began squirming a little under the pressure of my nails.

“Okay, okay…you can do it gentler again….gentler…ouch!” He yelped dramatically, and I snickered. 

“Just kidding.” I resumed a gentler touch, and he sighed in relief, just as Steve walked by.  I glanced up at his face and was surprised to see a look of—what?  Frustration?  Irritation?—on his face.  He kept walking, and as I watched him talk to Heather for a bit, he suddenly turned around and headed back towards where Clinton and I were seated.

“Hey, Clinton—that’s my spot!”  He grabbed Clinton’s hand and helped him up, ignoring his protestations, then plopped down next to me, leaning forward so I could reach his back easily.

 Us in full stage makeup for South Pacific--I was a nurse, Steve was a soldier (who actually had lines and solos, but at this point I don't recall any of his characters' names...)

I quietly chuckled, then began scratching his back.   I suppose this is what Heather meant by telling me to give off the right signals, I thought, and peeked over at her, only to see her giving me two enthusiastic thumbs up.  Feeling embarrassed, I could tell my face was turning red as I uncomfortably turned my attention back towards Steve.  He glanced back at me, and suddenly, what had been a perfectly innocent exchange between two friends felt like something much more as I ran my hand up and down his shoulders, following his spine up to his neck, feeling the different muscles in his back.

I was acutely aware of the difference, but I didn’t stop and I didn’t pull away.  Rather, I leaned forward instinctively, enjoying the feel of my hand on his back, enjoying the nearness of his body to mine, and especially enjoying the look in his eyes as he watched me carefully.  It was a look I couldn’t quite define, but I loved the feeling I got when I saw it—I felt heady, powerful, beautiful, desirable.  I had never felt quite this way before, but while it was new, it wasn’t alarming—in fact, I didn’t want the moment to stop.

“Okay!  All nurses, on the stage in five!” The director’s voice was jarring, and I jumped.  The spell was broken.

“I guess I’d better go,” I mumbled, getting up, when Steve’s hand caught my wrist and held it.

“Wait--” he stopped me.  I turned, still trying to figure out what had just happened.  His eyes were captivating in their intensity.  “Do you want to go on another date with me?  After Spring Break is over?”

I didn’t hesitate.  “Of course!”  I flushed, realizing suddenly how desperate I probably sounded.  “I mean, yeah, sure.  That sounds like fun.”

He smiled and dropped my wrist, and I turned to catch up with the flurry of other nurses lining up to go onstage to the strains of “Nothing Like a Dame.”  I willed myself to focus, then got in line.  Trust South Pacific to take one’s mind off of confusingly romantic interactions.