Potentially You and Me (Two Truths and a Lie)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: CONCLUSION

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: CONCLUSION

I catch the door from the person in front of me before walking out of the science building. The laces of my black converse flop around as I take the three steps down to the cement pathway before I look up. I look up because I'm determined to not always cast my gaze on the pavement. I might as well attempt to enjoy the scenery while I'm here. All the white oaks and dogwoods. The green grass that always seems to be cut to perfection. The pockets of black woodchips and bushes. A mix of both man and nature.

But today my steps falter not because of the geese poop dotting the cement, but because I catch a bright green gaze opposed to leaves.

I stop in my tracks right there on the pavement, but at least people also move around Trent as he stands on the edge of the grass. His notebook is poised in one hand as he pulls his pen out of his mouth.

My backpack strap almost slips off my shoulder while my arms tighten around the earth science textbook I have hugged to my chest. I slowly lift my right hand. I don't twist my wrist, and my fingertips don't move, but it's still some form of a greeting that Trent even reciprocates before we both continue walking in opposite directions.

More grass, more cement, and dogwood trees.

This pattern repeats for a few days each week. It's the same time every day and only when I step out of that building. I could opt for a different exit. Maybe I even should.

Instead, I take the three steps down and out before my hand lifts. Sometimes I take the three steps, and then four or five steps before we cross paths. Other times I barely get down the steps before Trent lifts his hand.

I always catch him in transit, or just as he swerves onto the pathway and falls into step with everyone else. I always catch him without even trying.

There's no box of cake mix to knock me on the shoulder, or pen taping to steal my attention. My eyes just zoom right in the same way my legs always fall into step.

That tree is dogwood, and today those jeans are Trent's. Those shorts are Trent's. Those socks are Trent's.

I get it right enough times that the hand lift becomes paired with a closed mouth I'm-not-sure-if-I-should-smile-or-not-so-I'll-give-you-something-that-resembles-frog-lips. Thankfully, somehow, Trent mimics the expression. I like to believe he even looks funnier doing it.

Then one day the pattern breaks.

Trent's a few steps and people ahead of me but still decides to hold the door when he sees we are walking into the same building. I speed up my pace to catch the gesture.

"How are you?" the question seems rhetorical, but his smile is gentle.

"Good. You?"

The space between us widens as he heads for the stairs while my sneaker squeaks as I keep walking right.

"Good." He nods.

And then we keep going only this time the smiles have changed. The pleasantries allowed for more real smiles to break out across our lips when we happen to pass each other by, and sometimes even more words leave our mouths if greetings come up.

"Hey." He nods.

"Hey." I nod back.

"Hi." I smile.

"Hi." He smiles back.

Zack has also popped up a few times, but that's nothing new. Zack may have been the one to hit me on the head with a box of cake mix, but on campus I'm always playing Whack-a-Zack.