NOVEMBER

Sam (Gabe’s brother)

“Where am I?” Gabe asks, sitting up on the floor, mildly breathless.

“You’re in my bedroom,” I tell him.

He looks over at me and rubs his eyes. “Holy shit, what happened last night?”

“You drank copiously, talked to everyone on Earth except for the girl you like, told multiple people that Jason Bateman was hands down the best Teen Wolf, and then you passed out on my bedroom floor around four in the morning.”

He leans his elbows on his knees. “I don’t remember much of that.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I really didn’t talk to Lea?”

“Nope.”

“What’s the point of becoming mind-numbingly drunk if it doesn’t even give you the balls to talk to the girl you like?” he asks as I get up to grab water bottles out of the minifridge in my room.

“You waved bashfully at her several times.”

He gives me a dirty look. “Where’s Casey?”

“In the shower.”

“Oh, man, I want to do that, too.”

“He probably doesn’t want to share his private time with you that way.”

I get another dirty look. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

“How did I sleep for eight hours on the floor?”

“I don’t know, but you were seriously loving up that beanbag chair.”

He stares at it like it just popped out of thin air. Then he looks back at me. “All right. So.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“You okay?”

“Yup. A little spinny. And starving.”

“You want to go to the diner?”

“Yes. As soon I shower and unseal my contacts from my eyes.”

Casey comes in then.

“Dude,” Casey says as they pass, tapping Gabe on the shoulder. “You were wasted last night, without a doubt the most drunk I have ever seen you.”

Gabe shakes his head. “I was somewhere beyond wasted I think.”

After all of us have showered the drunken night off us, we head out to the diner, where Lea and her friends are sitting three booths over. I would go so far as to call it serendipitous.

I raise my eyebrows at Gabe, and Casey lets out a low wolf whistle as we’re seated.

“Please do not embarrass me,” Gabe hisses.

“No promises,” I say as I flip through the menu.

Maxine (a waitress)

Saturdays can be a real bitch. Depends on the time of year, but it can be packed in here from morning til night. And today’s the day after Halloween, so we have all the usual hangovers and a football game. It’s quite the mix of folks.

The girl and the boy from a few weeks ago are back and with just a little bit of eavesdropping I’ve learned their names, Gabe and Lea. Good names; I like the way they sound together.

Of course the manager is here, so I can’t make up my own seating arrangements. Instead, one of the times I’m over by the boys refilling coffee, I tell them they should go over and chat the girls up if they’re going to keep looking at them like that.

Gabe’s eyes go wide in fear. “No, no. That’s okay. No, thank you.”

I let it rest; some men just have to do things in their own time. Gabe is apparently one of them. But if he takes too long, believe you me, I will take matters into my own hands someday and send her a delicious, fresh-squeezed glass of orange juice, courtesy of that cutie pie.

Maribel (Lea’s roommate)

“So, what are they doing now?” Lea whispers to me.

I’m the only one with a visual on Gabe’s group, thanks to the fact that I’m the only one of us facing the mirrored wall in the back of the diner.

“They’re working out the check.…” I say.

“So, Danny,” Bianca says, narrowing her eyes. “Lea says you think Gabe is gay. But would a gay guy really dress like that?”

“Gay men come in a variety of shapes and fashion sense,” he says with a grin. “What’s the plural of fashion sense?”

“Fashions sense?” I offer.

“Fashion senses?” Bianca suggests.

“Senses of fashion,” Lea says.

Bianca sighs. “And I know they come in a variety of senses of fashion. I guess I just want him and Lea to get together. But it’s silly to root for them if there’s no point.”

“There really is no point,” Lea says. “Even if he does like girls, he’s totally into this girl Hillary in creative writing.”

“Sounds like Hillary is a skank queen of Cockblock-ville,” Danny says in a singsong voice.

“That’s not nice,” Lea says, trying not to laugh.

Bianca and I don’t bother holding our giggles in.

“What are they doing now?” Lea asks.

“I think they’re having trouble with the math,” I say. “Maybe I should go offer to help them.”

“Don’t you dare!” Lea says.

I do love teasing her.

“His friends are cute,” Bianca says, pointedly ignoring Lea.

“Guys,” Lea pleads.

“Oh, Lea, calm down. I’m not going over there. But I was talking to the one guy last night, Sam? He’s Gabe’s brother. I bet he would be able to tell us whether or not Gabe is gay.”

“You girls need to learn to trust me! I will not steer you wrong,” Danny says.

Bianca tips her head in thought. “If you say so.”

“Oh, I say so,” he responds knowingly. I can already tell that I’m going to love Danny with all my heart, but I think he’s wrong on this one. I just don’t know him well enough to tell him how wrong I think he is.

I was watching the way Gabe was watching Lea during the party last night and I think he really likes her. I just don’t know how to say that to Danny without hurting his feelings.

The group of boys walks out past us.

“I should have talked to him,” Lea says, chin in hand, watching them go. “Or at least waved. As it stands now the last thing I said to him was ‘thank you’ the other day in class when he handed my paper back to me.”

“At least you were polite,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Danny chimes in. “We’ll still invite you to the wedding.”

Inga (creative writing professor)

Cole and I meet once a week to go over what’s been happening in office hours and to discuss general class-related business. I feel like I need to touch base with him and make sure there’s nothing going on that he can’t handle. But he’s a pretty serious and responsible guy, so it hasn’t been an issue.

I think he assumed these were going to be extremely thoughtful and erudite meetings regarding assignments and grading rubrics. And sometimes things of that nature come up. But more often than not it devolves into me telling him ridiculous stories about the weekend trips I take with Pam and him goading me on as I talk shit about all the students in the class.

He’s aware of how much I like Gabe and Lea.

“You’ve gotten so in my head about that!” he tells me. “They came to see me one after another at office hours a week or two ago and I forgot that they’re not actually dating. I told her not to keep her boyfriend waiting.”

I sit up straight and at attention. “What happened?”

“Well, they both looked absolutely mortified and I awkwardly tried to cover up my mistake, and if it was embarrassing for me, I can’t even imagine how they felt.”

“Yikes.”

He nods.

“I just can’t believe that Hillary snagged him to work with,” I say, shaking my head. My dislike for Hillary grows on a daily basis. I mean, half the reason I give these kinds of assignments is so my couple du jour will have a chance to interact. How much more can I do? I’m going to have to trick them into going on a date with each other. Tell them it’s mandatory office hours and then reveal a well-appointed table with the world’s most romantic foods and then sneak out the door.

“Yeah, that was quite the coup.”

I shake my head. “I wish I could make them realize they’re meant for each other. Time’s a-wasting! The semester will not last forever!”

“We could try to convince them to take creative writing part two,” Cole suggests.

I look at him appraisingly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I knew there was a reason you were my TA.”

He smiles.

“You’re like a genius at this, Cole. Who knew you had such a knack for classroom romance?”

“I definitely had no clue,” he says. “You think I could put that on my résumé?”

“I’ll be sure to mention it in every reference letter I write for you.”

“Thanks,” he says.

“Now, we have one more issue at hand.”

He looks at me like I’m about to say something very serious.

“How do we keep Hillary out of the second part of creative writing?”

Bob (a bus driver)

Look at these two. On alone, off alone, walking alone. I wish they could be together. No one so young should be so alone all the time.

And I suppose they have friends in other places, and that I’m only seeing a tiny sliver of their lives, but it seems to me if they’re moving in the same direction, why not move in the same direction together? I’m not talking about undying love, but I wish they would at least become friends. That wouldn’t be too hard.

I have to admit that they kind of, sort of remind me of me and my wife, Margie, back in the day. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but I was also a tall gangly kid, so maybe that’s a start.

Makes me wish I was a matchmaker, or knew some way to make them talk to each other. Maybe one day the bus will be really crowded and they’ll be standing next to each other and I’ll stop short and she could fall into his arms.

I’m obviously getting sappy in my old age. Maybe I’ll take the wife away to the Poconos for Thanksgiving weekend or something.

Squirrel!

The girl has come back to me!

Hooray!

I race over to her where she’s sitting on the bench. I preen for her, fluffing my tail. I hope she recognizes me. I hope she has more peanuts.

“Hey there, little guy,” she says.

I scamper closer.

“Are you the same squirrel I always talk to?”

I don’t know what you’re saying but I’m sure I love you!

We are going to be best friends. Maybe she has a house she will take me to and she will let me roam around and sleep in her bed. I’ve heard about beds and I think they sound magnificent.

“Do you like bagels?” she asks.

I stand up straight and look her in the eye. I have no idea what a bagel is. But it sounds like a type of nut to me.

She tosses me a crumb.

It’s not a nut. It’s like bread.

This is disappointing but only for a minute because it’s also delicious.

She tosses me another crumb.

“I’m waiting for my friend,” she says. “Do you have friends? Or a family? What’s life like for a little squirrel such as yourself?”

She tosses me one more crumb and brushes off her hands.

“There he is! See you next time,” she says to me.

What a wonderful person.

Danny (Lea’s friend)

“Hello, Azalea Fong!”

“Hey, Danny!” she says, popping off the bench. “You’re the only person I would let get away with calling me Azalea. Besides my mom. But she so rarely gets in touch lately that it’s probably not worth mentioning.”

I make a frowny face.

“Enough about suckiness. What’s up with you?” she asks.

“First of all, were you just talking to that squirrel?”

She turns to look over her shoulder. “He’s my friend.”

“Okey dokey,” I say with a nod.

“I like squirrels,” she says with a shrug.

“Moving on, I would like to complain about the weather.”

“Proceed,” she says, her face serious.

“It is freaking cold outside today! Wasn’t it summer like last Tuesday?”

“I know you’re saying that as hyperbole, but seriously, last Tuesday it was seventy-five degrees outside and today it’s barely forty. So, it’s true, last Tuesday was essentially summer compared to this.”

“Thank you, my favorite literal person.”

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“Well, considering how much luck I always have seeing Gabe when I’m with you, I thought perhaps today would be a perfect time for another round of stalking him.”

“Delightful,” she says, pausing at the fork in the path. “Though you realize I can’t actually make him appear.”

“Yes. I need to check my school PO box. How about we start there?”

“Sounds like a plan, man,” she says. She’s quiet for a few minutes while we walk.

“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask.

She sighs. “I’m just jealous that Gabe is working with this girl in creative writing. And I want to work with him.”

“I understand. How does he act around her?”

“Like Gabe,” she says with a shrug. “Quiet and nice and he smiles a lot at her.”

“That does sound quite Gabe-ish,” I say, as we walk into the post office. “Holy crap. It’s like invoking his name makes him appear!”

She smiles and watches as Gabe gets a couple of envelopes out of his mailbox. He must feel us looking at him because he glances over and waves.

“I suppose I could try being friends with him, at least talking to him in class and stuff. He’s cute and quiet and I like how … he behaves, all polite.”

“He’s so cute,” I mumble.

“Totally,” she agrees. “Would it be wrong to use the word ‘dreamy’?”

“Definitely not.”

He heads off in a different direction, and Lea and I turn back toward the bus stop.

“We could have stalked him longer,” she says.

“No, it’s cool, sometimes I just need a taste.”

I know she gets it, even if she does look really sad.

I can admit, there’s a small chance that I’m deluding myself about his sexual preference. But really, there aren’t that many straight guys who compliment other guys’ jeans.

Inga (creative writing professor)

Part of me always feels bad when I make the kids read their stories or essays aloud in class. But another part of me knows that it’s a great habit to get into. Reading your work aloud makes you see all different nuances. There’s a big difference in the way we write compared to the way we speak, and the only way to learn that is to hear it. The best way to do that is to read everything you write out loud.

I recommend they start by reading aloud to something inanimate, and then move on to their friend or their mom. And then it’s time to read in front of the class. Nearly every class period someone has shared their work, if not multiple someones. Everyone except Gabe.

He talked to both Cole and me about how nervous he is to share anything with the class. He and I worked to get his childhood memory essay just right, and to the point where sharing it with other people doesn’t make him want to hide under his desk.

He came to see me after Hillary critiqued it and said that he wanted to drop the class. She had told him that he wasn’t an interesting writer. I said that I feel like he’s a talented writer, with a different style that not everyone can appreciate. I was proud of myself because what I wanted to say was something more along the lines of disparaging Hillary and everything she stands for.

I walk over to his desk and smile at him before class starts.

“Listen, if you don’t want to read it, I’ll read it for you,” I offer, even though I shouldn’t. It’s already the week before Thanksgiving and he’s gone almost the entire semester without reading anything to the class.

“No, no,” he says, picking at the edge of the desk. “I’ll do it. I need to man up.”

“It’s a great story. Your use of metaphor is spot-on.”

“If I throw up, just try not to make a big deal of it, okay?”

“How have you made it this far in life without having to give so many presentations that you aren’t at least a little bit desensitized?”

“Honestly? I’ve had to give a lot, but it’s like it gets worse every time instead of better.”

I make a sympathetic face and then call the class to order.

“Gabe’s going to share his assignment from a couple of weeks ago, about a childhood memory, so give him your attention.”

I grab a seat in the first row and I hear Victor mutter behind me, “About damn time.”

Gabe stands in front of the class, trying so hard to make himself small, which somehow manages to make him seem even taller and more gangly. He cracks his knuckles and then smiles at the class. I can see the paper waver in his hands. But he pushes through his nerves and he starts to read.

There’s a picture on the Internet of a tree that’s grown around a bicycle. The story goes that a boy left his bike leaning against the tree and then forgot all about it when he was called off to war. That’s not really the true story, but if you’ve never seen this picture, you should go home and Google it. It’s fascinating.

It always makes me think of this one time that my mom and I were at the food store when I was about six years old. It was memorable in part because it was so rare that my mom took me anywhere all by myself. My older brother was almost always there, or one of my younger sisters. But I don’t know if I was home from school sick, or if maybe my dad was watching the other kids, but this day sticks out because it was her and me.

An old man started talking to my mom and then he turned to me and asked me my name. I hid behind my mom because I was really scared of strangers. I think we may have watched too many stranger-danger videos in kindergarten, so that on top of my innate shyness made talking to people I didn’t know almost impossible.

This old man was one of those scary old men, at least to six-year-old me. He looked like his skin was melting off his face and he smelled weird. What was left of his hair was long and scraggly, and his shirt was misbuttoned.

In the car on the way home, my mom asked me why I was so scared, and said that I didn’t have to be. She knew the old man and he was her neighbor when she was little like me. I explained about his skin and his hair and his disheveled nature as well as I could with my limited six-year-old vocabulary.

She said, “Oh, that’s okay, Gabe. You’ll grow out of that. You won’t always feel so scared and shy around grown-ups.”

I remember thinking that day that I’ll always be scared, that I don’t understand how not to be scared. As I got older I thought about that day all the time. It was only very recently that I realized my mom was right, but not in the way she thought.

I did lose some of my wariness and my fear as I matured, but I’ve never quite shaken my shyness. When I think about it, it’s like I would have never been able to grow out of it. It’s like the tree and the bicycle. I grew around it and it became part of me.

When he’s done he glances at the classroom through his eyelashes and slinks back to his seat. I keep myself from giving him a standing ovation. When I glance over at Lea, she’s literally grinning into her hands and I can see hearts coming out of her eyes. She is the picture of a girl falling in love. There’s no way they’re not getting together now.

Sam (Gabe’s brother)

I’m standing outside the English building waiting for Gabe to emerge so we can finally go home for Thanksgiving. I pleaded with him to skip this class so we could leave before rush hour but he insisted he needed to see Lea.

She comes out ahead of him and I smile at her.

“Hey,” she says, her voice more a question than a greeting.

“Hi,” I respond with a smile.

Gabe comes out the door right behind her and he looks stricken at our passing words.

“Yo,” I say to him, as I glance over my shoulder at Lea walking away.

“Were you talking to her?”

“She said hey, I said hi. We’re not exactly best friends.”

He exhales the obvious breath he’d been holding and we head in the direction of the parking lot.

“Do you need to stop by your building?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t really want to drag all my crap with me to class.”

“Understandable. But the longer we sit in traffic, the longer you’re going to have to listen to my musical choices. And you’re not going to complain.”

He rolls his eyes as we get in the car.

“We should have offered to give Lea a ride to your building.”

“I can’t even imagine how painful that car ride would be. With me saying nothing and her…” He squeezes his eyes shut like the world is far too terrible.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask as I start the car.

He shakes his head. “I read this assignment out loud in class today, about how shy I am. She probably thinks I’m a complete loser now.”

“Nah, girls dig that crap.”

“Seriously? You think so?”

“Yeah, they love all that sensitive, sentimental stuff.”

“I don’t think there’s a single woman on Earth who would appreciate you lumping them together that way. Except maybe Hillary. That girl is a ridiculous caricature of everything that’s wrong with the world.”

“I’m impressed, Gabe.”

“With what?”

“I had no idea you were a feminist, or that you used words like ‘caricature.’”

He punches my arm.

“Hey, hands off the driver,” I joke, laughing.

His face goes ashen.

“Gabe. It’s a joke. No big deal.”

“I know, I know.” He chews his thumbnail and looks out the window, watching the buildings pass while I curse myself for making a driving joke. “Just … be careful.”