A Beginning

Grace preferred to be driving. She knew she was a control freak, and she wanted to be at the wheel. But she was the guest, the add-on, the afterthought. So she was in the backseat, trying not to make it too obvious that she was holding herself up against the door to avoid making any physical contact with Bo. Bo, who had already this evening tried to put an arm around her like they were fifteen and going steady. Bo, who was an artist in the sense that he slept all day and partied all night. Bo, who smelled of PBR and even cheaper grass, and had the teeth of a eighty-year-old though he was only twenty-five. Jen said he was brilliant, a mixed media sculptor teetering on the brink of fame and fortune. Grace figured he was simultaneously teetering on the brink of failure and oblivion. Should be ideal for this toolbox, she thought, glancing over at Bo; no one really cares what you smell like in oblivion. Well, unless you’re pressed up too close against someone else in the backseat of a purple Dodge Neon with the windows rolled up.

Grace could feel a headache forming behind her eyes, and her right side was starting to cramp from being held so rigidly off the seat. She glanced up at the sound of Jen’s laugh — a laugh that could either warm your soul or cut glass — but Jen was still flirting with Peter, the driver, and Grace quickly lost interest. She knew Peter was gay; had known it from the first day she met him in staff meeting. He was driving a purple Neon, for crying out loud; a flaming stereotype. Grace knew she should have told Jen, should have brought it up, but it was Jen’s fault she was going to this stupid party — and it was Jen’s fault that Bo had her cell number. So Jen went on flirting with Peter, and Grace set her jaw. Oh, I hate Seattle. Two and a half months to go…

*** *** ***

The house was crowded. Couples were making out in the hallways, on the stairs, on the porch. It was a nice night, so a number of people had moved out onto the lawn. Ben came into the kitchen looking for batteries, and possibly food. Instead of food, though, he found Guinness. Artsy people and their artsy ale. Too bad 360 controllers couldn’t run off alcohol; he’d be set. When they arrived at the shindig, Matt had pointed him toward the 360 and the plasma TV and disappeared, likely to get all cuddly with his flavor of the month — some violinist named Amy. Which was fine; Ben had his niche; he had Halo to play. Except that his controller was now out of juice. Ben started going through drawers. He didn't know whose house it was, but he figured no one would notice; everyone was too busy macking. At least the music didn’t suck too bad. He opened a drawer, rifling through candles and flashlights and — Glory be, double AA's. He took a handful, slammed the drawer shut, and spun on his heel to —

Knock his elbow right into this girl and her drink. Rum and Coke all over everything. All over her. Looking at her, his first thought should have been remorse. But his very first thought was: She is the most beautiful being God has ever put on this earth. And following pretty quickly after that: “Oh, man, I am so sorry. I didn’t — Wow. I’m such a klutz. I mean — I really am sorry.”

She hadn’t really seen him yet, too caught up in looking down at her Coke-soaked blouse and skirt. Shaking her fingers away from her body as if she had just finished washing the dishes. “No, it’s all right. It’s just — ”

“Paper towels,” Ben said, turning back to the counter to grab a roll of Bounty. “We need paper towels. Here we go — ”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry. You have to let me help you. I can’t just let you — ”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I promise.”

He looked at her for a moment. He could hear something familiar in her voice: tears and disappointment. Story of his life.

“No you’re not. You’re going to — Please don’t cry. Oh, man. Please don’t. I’ve got too much guilt already. If you cry, it’ll kill me, I swear.” Instinctively he took her hand.

The music stopped then. At least, it did in Ben’s head. Her hand fit into his so perfectly, it was like — He couldn’t think of how to describe it. Like those little Lego bricks that snap together and stay until you take them apart. He guessed there was probably a prettier way to say it, but none was quite so true. She looked up at him then, and her eyes held worlds in them.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Ben.”

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Grace.”

“Hi,” he repeated. Before his brain could plan it his mouth said, “What do you say, we get out of here?”

He meant to hold his breath, but she nodded before he could. “Yes, please.”

Still holding his hand, she turned and made her way to the door.