Chrisonomicon

Saturday, February 10, 2001

Gracie turned when I called her name. Locks of chestnut hair bounced and settled on her right breast as she looked for me, expectantly. The disorienting bustle of students swirled around us in a haze of movement and noise.

"Over here," I waved. She smiled and skipped over to me, wrapping her arms about my broad shoulders in one sweeping movement. The air she swept up in her arms between us smelled clean and summery.

"Whatcha up to, baby?" She grabbed my hand and guided me lightly across the courtyard of the school. We were floating, and no one even noticed. Wanting visible acknowledgement of her question, she glanced over her shoulder at me, and I winked.

"Usual mischief, I see," she giggled.

Our standard hangout under the courtyard stairwell was occupied, so we detoured the autoshop and crossed the street to an abandoned, Victorian church where we sat on the bench under a giant ash. She slipped off her backpack and unzipped it, shuffling around inside.

"So?" I asked her, expectantly. "What was the verdict?" Gracie dug through her bag, and shrugged her shoulders. I reached into my pocket and handed her a stick of gum.

"Thanks, babe." Setting her bag on the bench next to her, she swung her arm around my shoulder.

"Verdict, verdict, verdict," she sighed. "Well, I didn?t really get to talk to him about it at much detail..." She trailed off. Suddenly, she looked at me. "What would you do if he said, ?Yes??" Dramatic effect insisted I pause for a few seconds before answering that.

I would probably throw up all over myself, came out as, "I?m not sure." She chomped on her gum for a moment, and squinted at me from the corner of her eyes.

"Uh huh. I know what you would do," she said in a southern drawl. I chuckled, looking away. The wind shifted leaves filtering green light above us, and windchimes on the porch across the street sang indifferntly to the breeze. The warm air stirred up emotions with unfamiliar flavors. We sat like that for some time, her arm around me, my tongue in my head trying to sort out a mess of entangled feelings.

"Yeah," she said, distractedly. "Well anyways, he said ?Yes.?" She tossed the comment lightly over her shoulder as she glanced at students walking by the park. I sat silent, motionlessly supressing the bleeding exhilaration that swiftly flooded my senses. In--haleEx--hale. I watched her watch people passing, an air of feigned disinterest tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Did you hear me?" she finally smiled.

I took her hand in both of mine, and squeezing gently, smiled at the ground. She squeezed back and giggled. I mouthed a silent "Thank you."

The windchimes stirred again. This time, I imagined them thanking the wind for giving them a voice, for giving them life. In the distance, the school bell called us back with a quietly insistent tone, but we ignored it. We chose to listen to the windchimes, instead.