Triangle Pt.2

So, here's the next installment of the Triangle series. Read the first one here to catch up. Comment and critiques are always welcome.

Gabrielle

A week later…

I decide that I might as well get the situation at hand over with. I slowly walk out of my car, dreading the moment I am voluntarily walking into. I mean, I can try to front like I’m not nervous about seeing Gabrielle again, after such a long time. I can pretend like my heart isn’t about to exit my chest in a particularly bloody fashion. But we all know that I’m about to shit a brick.

I don’t even know what I’m so freaked out about. I mean, I haven’t seen Gabrielle in about a year, so I don’t really know what to expect. We’ve been talking on the phone, and we done one of those webcam conference things, but there’s a difference in seeing a person face to face. That, and, well, the fact that I’ve been in love with this girl since the 2^nd grade.

Yeah.

I reach the front door of her house, and as I knock, I want to turn tail and run. It was one of those moments that you regret the minute you do it. And I didn’t even do anything wrong; I just wanted to go back home and jump in my bed. Maybe give Mya a call or something. I guess I just hit upon a moment of extreme nuttiness.

A face peeks out of a window next to the door I’m in front of. I hear the clanking of the locks of the door and a few seconds later, the door swings open.

A cheery elderly voice calls out, “Hey Brian! How’s it going, baby?”

“Hi, Sis. Starr. How are you doing?”

A woman steps out of the house and snatches me in a bear hug that really threw me off guard, despite her petite size. “Oh, I’m fine now, honey. I haven’t seen you in a long time! How’s college treating you?”

I’ve noticed that everyone likes asking me that same question. And quite frankly, I get tired of trying to come up with a new response, so I’ve come up with one that should satisfy everyone’s thirst.

“Oh, y’know. It’s...different.”

She smiles knowingly. “Oh, don’t worry baby. Don’t worry about it. Just rely on God, honey.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She continues to ask me about other little aspects of my life, and I start to get really comfortable on her porch until Gabrielle steps outside in a big grey Tupac t-shirt and really, really, really short shorts.

“Hey Brian. Whassup?”

I don’t know if Sis. Starr noticed that her granddaughter was outside in her nighties. She smiled at both of us and said to me, “I’m gonna leave you kids alone. Ya’ll probably have a lot to talk about.” And she walks in the house, leaving us alone on her front porch. I could be slightly paranoid, but I think she winked at me before she departed.

Feeling increasingly awkward, I respond to Gabrielle’s original comment. “Hey G, what’s up with you?”

“Oh. Nothing much.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

I’ve known Gabrielle ever since we were kids. I remember her being the outspoken one in Sunday School, but I was always aware of this part of her. Ever since she’s been able to speak, she would always do this thing where something would be obviously bothering her, but she’d try to silence me by saying in a nonchalant manner, “Nothing.” It would piss me off to no end. The part that really ticked me off was the fact that I always knew that something was going on with her, without fail.

This time was no exception.

Obviously trying to thwart me and my inquisition, she says, “You haven’t changed much. You look healthy.”

“Healthy? What, is that code for, ‘Hey Brian, you’re turning into Al Roker’? You know how hungry I get...”

“Right, I know…I just…yeah…”

“Yeah.”

A moment of silence passes by. She says she has to run inside to get something to drink, which I suspect is a tactic of hers to buy more time to come up with another pacifying tale. She comes back out with a glass of pink lemonade.

I’ve never been one for beating around the bush, so I decide to stop the game playing and just dive in. “So, Gabby. Does he still hit you?”

She looks at me with the eyes of a trapped animal. Defenses high, she slowly relaxes with a heavy sigh.

“Not any more. I left Joe last week. I was starting getting tired of it, tired of getting pushed around like a doll. I finally told him to f*ck off. I was sick of it. It’s done.”

Beat of silence. I respond, “Well, that’s good. It’s about time.”

Out of nowhere, she blurts out, “I’ve really missed you, Brian.”

Gabby and I have a very long history together, regardless if we were in relationships with other people at the time or not. As a matter of fact, one of the first times we met was in the 3^th grade. Ironically enough, there was this little punk of a kid that was messing with her.

Stanley Fisher. 120 pounds of youthful malevolence.

Without even knowing how to spell bravado, I displayed it when he started pushing her around. I think it was over the last carton of chocolate milk, or something of the sort. I retaliated by throwing one of those red rubber balls that they use in dodge-ball at him.

His nose bled for twenty minutes.

Over time, Gabrielle have formed one of those “beneficial friendships”. As the years passed, we’ve been through quite a few things. We’ve always been close, but in the recent years we’ve gotten closer. A lot closer.

“I’ve missed you too.” Stopping to reflect on my thoughts, I continue. “A lot more than you know.”

“How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much have you missed me?”

“A lot. You really don’t know how much you’ve been on my mind.”

“Try me.”

She looks at me with half a smile on her face, as if she didn’t know if she should believe my denial of the notion that I actually thought about her a hell of a lot more than I should.

Motioning to her to sit with me on the porch hammock, I let it all out.

“You are like…the rhyme for that poem that I stay searching for. I know how corny that may sound, but its like a truth that I can’t shake. Like, too many times, I’ve woken up in the morning with you being the first thing on my mind. The very first thing that enters my consciousness! Who does that? I don’t know about you, that’s pretty freakin’ scary!”

She avoids looking at me, so I continue.

“I’ve tried to get you out, but it’s like God doesn’t want you out of my head. And I don’t understand it. I know that you and that douche bag are, or used to be a couple, but that didn’t stop me from…thinking about you. You own a good portion of my head, and it doesn’t look like you’re planning on moving. I just…I don’t get it.”

Wiping off the thin layer of sweat that formed on my forehead during my brief tirade, I say, “How was that?”

She says nothing.

Then, she grabs her glass of pink lemonade and slowly sips. She leans towards me with caution, although none is needed. I’m feeling a little more than vulnerable at this point, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t intrigued.

I decide to meet her halfway and I move toward her. When we are no less than an inch apart, we both stop at the same time. Staring into each other’s eyes, we mouth two words that are known all throughout the world, refined in that moment.

“Only you.”

She reaches one hand out to take mine. We draw closer, never removing our glance from the other. When our faces are about to meet, I take my other hand and trace the outlines of her eyes, her nose and her mouth. It’s this little thing we’ve been doing. It started out as a line in a poem I wrote to her.

I finally move in. My lips reach hers in a moment of timelessness. The flavor of tangy-sweet citrus fruit is full on her lips and tongue. She holds my face, as if drinking from the coolest fountain.

It’s a little hard to describe this without getting a little too descriptive and graphic, but I’ll try to do my best. We were making out, like two hungry lions. I know it was nothing but a bunch of lips and tongue and whatnot, but there was nothing you could do to convince me that it was anything short of divine.

This was something that felt like what I had been waiting my whole life for. Ever since I had known this girl, I had dreamed about kissing her, which was the strongest way I could show her what I felt for her.

And believe it or not, this was the first time we have actually kissed. I mean, there were a few times in the past where we came pretty close, but there was always some kind of deterrent. Either somebody decided to walk in the room at that precise moment, or she started to sober up.

Just kidding.

Finally we release, and for a few extra moments, we stare into each other’s eyes, lingering, as if waiting for other to propose. When I finally turn to leave, she grabs onto my hand. I know what she’s thinking before she says it.

“Stay. Please. I…I need you now.”

I want to. I want to stay. I want to hold her and caress her and kiss away all her worries and cares and fears. I want to love her all over, from the bottom to the top. I want to whisper love ballads in her ears and watch her sleep at night. I want all of this and more. But I can’t. Because duty calls. I’m actually running late for work, and I can’t afford any more of those…

There’s actually more than that. I don’t really trust myself alone with her for long. I’m not saying that I can’t control myself, but it gets really hard (no pun intended). I mean, we just made out. Her house is right here. There is no way that my emotions were ready to deal something of that magnitude.

Giving her one more kiss, I whisper into her ear the same thing I begin to write in her palm:

“LOVE.”

Without looking back, I let go of her hand, turn around and head towards my car.

At this point, I don’t think I need to say it, but I will anyway.

I love her.