Prudence 2

* * *

As we became closer, I became increasingly more bothered by the fact that she already had a boyfriend. Part of the annoyance was no doubt against myself, as I desperately and confusedly tried to wrangle with conflicting thoughts and personal internal guidelines that I had ingrained in my mind at the time.

There was no denying that I liked her – everything about her.

Well, except for the fact that she had a boyfriend.

And even a fool could see that she liked me also.

How could I have been so rigid? Why wouldn't I allow "it" to happen?

So what about her boyfriend? Yeah. So what?

At that point in my life, idealism was made out of steel and concrete, and it was carefully poured into the little opening in my personality that actually opened to real life. This had solidified into a non-yielding robot that was I. And thus far, this robot had convinced itself that getting together with her or going out with her was something sinfully and morally unacceptable.

Now that I think about this, didn't this robot have a middle name called Hypocrisy? Or perhaps I should not be so cruel; perhaps it simply lacked emotional maturity. It simply did not know how to sort out or to handle the different conflicting emotions that seemed so foreign and complicated, with so many gray areas, while its mind would want only to deal with an oversimplified world painted in black and white.

* * *


The Escort Service


UCLA had its share of campus crimes, just like any other campuses, I guess. The escort service was useful for women studying late at night. A fellow student in uniform, usually a male, but not necessarily burly (but somehow the women usually were), with a walkie-talkie, can walk one to a bus stop, the dorms, or even nearby apartment complexes. All it took was a phone call ahead of time.

Did I ever volunteer for this job?

No.

Then why did she always want me to walk her back to the dorm at night? Didn't she know that I had to study? And usually later than she?

But I loved walking her to the dorm, or to the library, or anywhere...

No you don't...

"Yes I do..." "No I don't..." "Yes you do..." "Oh shut up! She's got a boyfriend... Don't you get it? Leave her alone... But why doesn't she leave me alone? Why, do you want her to leave you alone?"

No. I don't. No. I. Do. Not.



* * *



Up to that point, I still could not allow the possibility of, and take responsibility for, her break-up to happen.

My rules were strict, my principles rigid. Idealism as I had known it was unrealistically mechanical. And my emotional dealings and experience were woefully inadequate and immature.

My denial of my liking her, and my difficulty in dealing with the boyfriend factor wrestled with the simple fact that I was falling in love with her. Something had to yield, and soon, before this seemingly simple yet schizophrenia-inducing emotional struggle destabilized me any further.

"Why do you always follow me?" I blurted out bluntly one time.

One time among the many when I had been poorly coping with the many conflicting emotions regarding her; and my own emotional insecurity externalized as a poorly adapted escape mechanism.

She was hurt. Her face told me so.

She never answered. Why would she? She should have slapped me. I could have slapped myself, now that I think about it.

That evening at dinner, I apologized.

"Why?" She asked, "Why did you say that?"

"Because..."

"That's not an answer."

I knew that. Who did she think she was anyway?

She kept pressing for an answer, because she already knew the answer.

It was because I like her – Alvin had told her so.

She knew it, and she also knew that I was doing every opposite to try to tell her that I did not like her. And the more confusion I showed by my pretension of not liking her, the more the indirect proof she found of my fondness of her.

One time, "Strawberry Fields Forever" was playing from the overhead speakers in the cafeteria.

"...Living is easy with eyes closed..."
She appeared pensive, and said, "It's a beautiful song."

I said without a pause, "It's a stupid song."

"Stupid? You don't mean that. I know that you love the Beatles. You only said it because I like it."

Bingo! I could not offer anything in defense of myself, except a wry smile.

"See! And I'm right, too! Aren't I?" She pressed. "Aren't I?"

Okay! So, she was right. Stop basking in the glory!

And stop looking at me like that!

Gosh! How pretty she was.

I like her.

That's what she wanted me to say, to confess, to admit, to confront, to accept. If only she could get through to me that one point... She couldn't do anything otherwise, not until I was ready to accept her.

But I didn't. I just apologized, not offering the reason why I said it.

…

She already has a boyfriend.



* * *



One evening several days later, I was meditating DNA replication in my favorite cubicle in the Periodical Room, the one facing the window. I really must have been studying hard (no, I was not asleep – I swear. I shouldn't swear – she never liked it), because when I looked up, she was several feet in front of me, reading a magazine from one of the shelves.

Her back was toward me, of course.

And I never saw her, even when I did see her, of course.

And she just happened to turn around and saw me, of course.

And I was surprised to see her, of course.

And oh-by-the-way, could I walk her home tonight?

"No." I said without even thinking about it, "Why don't you call the escort service?"

Her face was unchanged; she must have tried very hard.

But she forgot to keep trying at the last minute, just before she said goodbye, because I noticed her whole face darkened, eclipsed. Or did it shrink? It was hard to tell.

I never walked her to the dorm that night.

Did I feel good?

I don't even feel good right now as I rethink about it.



* * *



Having found out that she could not always rely on me to walk her back from the library at night, she stopped accompanying me to the library in the evening. She still would stay for the afternoon, walk back with me for dinner, and then stay at the dorm for the evening. Occasionally, when she really wanted to study in the library in the evening, she would ask me well ahead of time whether I would be willing to walk her back.

One time at dinner, she let me know that she needed to study for an upcoming midterm exam. The dorm was not exactly an ideal place to cram for an exam… Could she have the assurance of my escorting her back that night? She asked me with all earnestness.

Suddenly, I had flashbacks of those incredibly uneasy feelings from that evening of studying with her in the cafeteria when her boyfriend showed up. The emotional extremes that I couldn’t bear. I felt bitter and selfishly placed the blame on her.

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend to walk you back?"

"Because he lives in an off-campus apartment, and he doesn't like to study in the library."

I shrugged my shoulders to that perfectly legitimate answer, knowing that she did not make it up. I guess what was in her mind, and what she should have told me, or more accurately, what I wanted to hear, was that she would prefer me to walk her back than she would her boyfriend – or was I being too presumptuous?

But what was I to do if she did tell me that anyway? The truth was already so painfully obvious – I just could not handle it. Here I was, not wanting to admit that I liked her, and expecting her to tell me that she liked me? And what would I do with that knowledge? With that truth?

She was still looking at me expectantly from across the dinner table, waiting for an answer. I avoided her eyes and continued my cold silence, stubbornly refusing to change my stand on the issue.

It did not take her long to correctly interpret my silence.

She glanced away from me, her face sunken. Too many eclipses on the beautiful moon this past short week.

Bitterness was in the air I inhaled – and exhaled.

Why couldn't I make up my mind?

Why couldn't she??



* * *



Despite all the schizophrenic and conflicting emotional dilemma, mostly and most notably of mine, but probably of hers as well, we somehow found a steady state where our interaction was most pleasant and enjoyable. Meal time was the most treasured of all; and our interaction at meals more than made up for the outbursts of my frustration and confusion, as well as my occasionally deliberate rudeness and unfriendliness which were part of my pretension of my not liking her.

I always looked forward to seeing her or being with her at meal times, and she seemed genuinely pleased to either see me or be with me likewise. If "our spot" in the corner of Dykstra Hall cafeteria was taken, and one of us had to sit at some other table before the other one came, then the later-comer would always walk toward that corner with the periscope up and scouting around, looking for the other periscope which would also be up and scouting. Then she would beam a shy smile of relief when our eyes met, and I would feel my heart melt inside my chest.

Meal times were our best times that quarter. It was when we spent the most time together, most often alone, and face to face, and talking, and laughing, and forgetting that she ever had a boyfriend.

And in between the talking, and the laughing, we would catch ourselves eyeing each other secretly. And we found ourselves shying coyly away the first few times we caught each other; but then slowly, the eyeing became a form of communication, especially when other people or acquaintances were there at the same table.

We eyed each other not only because we missed seeing each other's face, but also because we wanted to see each other's reaction to a particular situation or comment made at the table.

Even, and especially, when we were alone at a table, when a conversation halted, and the laughter temporarily stopped, gazing at each other was practiced to the level of an art.

We started it subtly by first becoming thirsty, and we reached for our respective glasses of whatever drinks – I was usually the starter. We took sips from our glasses, our eyes intently piercing each other's pupils – with the glasses covering the rest of our faces – trying to see beyond each other's retina, to see each other's thoughts, to enter each other’s soul.

I to read her mind and admire her beauty, she to read my mind and force me to confront my feelings.

Silence was a requirement. The secret and magical communication was direct through our line of sight. We seemed not only to see, but to listen, to hear, to speak, to shout, to whisper, to touch, all through that line of sight, which always seemed to draw us physically closer together; everything and everybody else around us seemed to have receded and dissipated into walls of unimportance.

One time, an old thought came across my mind while I was gazing into her eyes, and it brought a spontaneous smile to my face as I was lowering my glass. She saw this, and would not let it pass.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing!" I was a bad liar. Coyly. Feeling myself blushing.

"Come on! You were smiling about something. Now, please tell me."

She really would not let it go now, now that she saw my blushing, and my coyness.

"Nothing. Really. Nothing important."

"But I'd like to know anyway. Come on, please tell me." She pleaded.

I hesitated; I really honestly did not want to tell her. I was still painfully conscious about not openly displaying any of my affection for her to her. But this was meal time, and I was happy, and she was happy; and we were – I was – just becoming drunk from indulging on each other's sight.

And this was a happy thought that had crossed my mind.

It couldn't hurt anyone.

My subconscience took its turn on the podium then.

"Do you really want me to tell you?"

"Yes! Of course! Oh! Come on!"

"No, really. You really really want me to tell you?" I was beginning to play the part a little by this time; my subconscience was really taking over by now.

"Yes!" She said with a firm resolution.

"Are you sure?" (Oh, come on, myself!) "Ready?"

She nodded both times.

I delivered the first four words slowly, deliberately, while savoring the latter half of the statement.

" I. Was. Thinking. About...how pretty you are."

Blank. Stunned. Blushed. More blush.

And smiled. Even more blush now, and coyly looking away.

That was the first time I complimented on her beauty.

She was beautiful.

She had a pony-tail that day.

My smile in return was audible from the satisfaction of having expressed my thought, and of being able to give light, and color, and radiance to her pretty face.

Of undoing the eclipses.


* * *


The Confrontation


In a way, I did not miss walking her back at night, because every time we shared Bruin Walk back to the dorm in the past, I always had mixed feelings, which gnawed on me for hours afterwards until bedtime. We still walked to the campus or to the library together after breakfasts and lunches whenever our schedules permitted, which was most of the time.

One afternoon, in the same tradition of not wanting to walk her back at night, I even tried to avoid having to walk with her onto campus after lunch, thereby breaking our routine of always leaving together after meals.

That day, I knew that she had a one o'clock class, and she knew that I usually walked back to the library around that time, as we always did in past weeks. But after lunch, I decided to hang around and chat with some friends who were sharing our table.

It was getting late, and she was still sitting there; and I knew that she was getting more anxious to leave – with me. Any minute now she would be late to class, and she was the on-time type.

I guess asking me to leave with her would have been too much stress for her, especially with my unpredictability, and especially with all the acquaintances there, who knew that she had a boyfriend – and he wasn’t I.

Finally, she got up and left with some hastiness, which somehow I thought was not purely out of the time factor, but out of some mild anger as well.

The evil plan of my distorted mind seemed to work, but as she left, I felt empty, not relieved. My conversation with the acquaintances fell into a vacuum.

She was no longer there to listen to us. To me.

I briefly stayed for a few more minutes and then left to chase after her, literally.

From the hill top on the west end of Bruin Walk, just across Circle Drive West from Dykstra Hall, I could see her at the foothill.

I yelled out, "Hey! You!"

A couple of huge jocks just ahead of me turned around looking irritated and intimidating. I smartly avoided their angry eyes. She kept on walking, seemingly faster. I quickened my pace and was just about to catch up with her near Ackerman Union.

"Hey you!" I yelled again.

This time she turned around, somewhat upset, but somehow trying to conceal it, "Did you call me 'Hey you' back there?"

"Back where?"

She lost her cool, "How dare you calling me 'hey you'!"

I tried to save the situation, "Hey! I just want you to know that you dropped something back there."

Her answer was quick, somewhat snappy, "Hey! I didn't DROP it – I deliberately LEFT it there!"

I totally lost my straight face at that point, and broke up laughing loudly, instantly replaying her gesture, her facial expression, and her angry voice in my mind.

That must have hit a sweet spot in her, and she too gave up her angry facies and broke up laughing. We both startled some people around us.

We walked off together to her class, laughing out loud.

It felt good.



* * *



Later that afternoon, I ran into her again in between classes in the hallway of Powell Library. She was on her way to another class, and I was just back from one. We saw each other from each end of the long hallway, and both continued to walk straight down in the middle of it.

We blocked each other's path somewhere in the middle.

"Excuse me, but you are in my way." I said, feigning politeness.

Some guy who just then walked past me turned to see the rudeness he just overheard; he must have noticed that she was pretty. I ignored him, continuing to look intently at her.

"Hey! You're in my way!" She frowned.

"No. No. You're in my way." I continued to play my part, knowing that I had the advantage of her having to go to a class.

"Oh, come on! I've got to go to class!" She pleaded, more so than what I had expected.

I really wanted to give in then, but somehow managed to continue my line, saying nonchalantly, "No problem. Just step aside, and you're on your way."

She gave in. She probably thought it was hopeless, but maybe she did not want to stoop so low as to argue with me.

She started to step aside, but I had anticipated this and bolted out of her way before she even started to move. I then gave her a bow befitting a salute to a queen and drew a wide arc with one of my outstretched hand to show the way, the other hand clinching tightly onto my backpack so that it would not flip over my head because I was bowing so deeply.

She nodded satisfactorily with half a smile in acknowledgment and indignantly walked past me.

She must have been thinking about that little incident, and the "Hey You" earlier, all the way to her class, and maybe even during class.

We were back to normal that evening at dinner, whatever that meant.



* * *


The next day, she visited me in the Periodical Room. We chatted casually, and pleasantly for a change, and at one point, after we both paused and briefly kept to ourselves, she sadly said, lowering her eyes,

"It's sad to belong to someone else."

I immediately retorted, "You don't belong to anybody."

How I wish now that I knew exactly what she was talking about, and the exact meaning of my own statement.

She drew a heavy sigh, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

I knew I was right, or as much as my microcosm allowed me to know at that point.



* * *


And then one day... Yes, here comes that phrase, andthenonedaysomethinghappened...

Something did happen.

She had another midterm coming, and she would like to study late at the library. Would I be kind enough to walk her back?

She asked me this over lunch in the cafeteria. I took advantage of the situation to kid her, seemingly having learned from my past lessons not to say no automatically.

"Fifty bucks," I said, "but for you, twenty five."

She was amused at first, but then grew impatient. I guess she really needed to study late at the library.

I did not promise her anything, nor did I say yes, and I don't recall her asking me again at dinner time. Nevertheless, we walked to the library together afterwards.

She seemed happy. It had been a while since we walked together in the evening. And as for me, I was in my usual schizophrenic self, half feeling happy, and half knowing that this wouldn’t last.

We came to that corner in the first floor reading room in Powell. She found a seat somewhere behind me.

Studied. Snoozed. Studied. Snoozed. Studied. And finally, tap-tap on my shoulder. A smile and an earnest look on that pretty face greeted me.

"Would you walk me back to the dorm, please?" The earnestness persisted, along with all concern and sincerity.

This time, I was not so quick to say no.

I really thought about it. And then I said, "No. Why don't you call the escort service?"

It was a Saturday, and there was no escort service.

This time, she didn't even try to maintain her composure. The twinkling in those dark eyes burned out instantly. The serene smile framed by those soft, unadorned lips was buried alive when the lips closed in on themselves.

The sun just set in my eyes, and there was darkness, which exerted its thousand-ton weight on my chest.

She got up from a slightly bending position from my sitting height and walked away without a word. Packing up silently, and somewhat hastily, she walked out of the library. Darkness followed her; and Heaviness lingered on me, somewhere on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe, although, I don’t think I was even breathing since I uttered those nasty words.

I sat there and stared at the damned textbook, whose lines on that page read, "Protein synthesis....you brute dumbshit asshole jerk why don't you walk her back to the dorm what if somebody follows her what if she gets hurt on the way back you dumbshit asshole jerk goddamn you..."

And the words became alive and transformed themselves into the Little Red Riding Hood walking hastily through the woods while being followed by a drooling monstrous wolf. And there was my Little Pony Tail walking hastily on Bruin Walk with her head down, being followed by shadows in the bushes and in empty buildings along the way.

I got up, or rather, I ejected up from the seat, grabbed my jacket, and flew down the stairs. Each of my feet probably landed only once during each of those ten-step stairs. The side door on the ground floor of Powell Library leading to Bruin Walk probably flew opened before my outstretched hand touched it due to the force of the compressed air in between.

I dashed down the hill trying not to make much noise, and caught up with her as she approached the east end of Pauley Pavillion, which was about four-tenths of the way back from the library to the dorm. There was no wolf and no monster and no shadow, except mine and hers.

I continued to keep silence and followed along side with her, but sneaking along the Pavillion's somewhat dark walkway. She never knew that I was following her.

At the west end of the Pavillion, I ran out of structures to hide myself. Bruin Walk started uphill again toward Circle Drive West, beyond which were the dorms.

I revealed myself, and that startled her. I couldn't really tell whether she was glad to see me or whether she was still angry.

"What are you doing here?" She snapped.

I could not find the right answer. "I... just want to make sure that... you're OK." My voice dropped off toward the end.

"How long have you been following me?"

"From over there." I pointed back to the other end of Pauley Pavillion.

"How come I didn't see you?" Her tone softened.

"Well... I was.. on the.. side." I stammered, pointing again toward Pauley.

"You didn't want me to know?"

I kept silent. What was I to say?

"How sly of you!" An ease came to her face. Her eyes sparkled again.

It was a cold night. And I felt as if the moon that night had reflected all of its brightness straight down to the spot where we stood… The water vapor from our breaths was condensing and was glistening in this column of light.

We started walking again slowly uphill toward Dykstra. We kept silent, and I could hear her breathing. She was mildly hyperventilating, and so was I. It was a fairly steep hill, or was it the only reason?

I left her at the dorm's well lit front entrance, which was in full view of the night student-clerk and of a few people in the lobby.

We parted after a sincerely grateful "Thanks" by her, and an equally sincere "You're welcome" by me.

Walking back down the hill in my faster than usual pace I felt inexplicably hot. It was not from the fast pace. It couldn't have been, because it really wasn't all that fast, and it was downhill anyway, and furthermore, it was quite cold that night. I yanked off my jacket and held it in my hand.

Reaching half-way through the length of Pauley Pavillion, I thought I heard my name called faintly from afar. A few more hasty steps, and there it was again, "Mike!"

I stopped and turned around. She was at the bottom of the hill, near the west end of Pauley. She picked up her pace to a trot just as I was turning around.

We found each other hyperventilating again, face to face, with clouds of water vapor coming from our breaths. That column of moonlight left everything else in darkness to encase just us one more time. Nothing else really mattered, or existed.

There was a lot more twinkling in her eyes this time.

And I noticed why.

Those pretty eyes were welled up with tears, but not enough for them to roll down her cheeks, which were echoing the trembling motion of her lips. She looked so pale, but so beautiful.

"My Gosh! Jenny!" I screamed silently in my mind.

And I wanted so much to reach out and embrace her, to lock her in my arm, to let the tears roll from her eyes so they could dissipate. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was so close to her, but I continued to keep myself an ocean of attitude away.

"Are you hot?" She managed to smile with her trembling lips, glancing at the jacket in my hand.

"Yes." I sensed something significant was about to happen.

"You didn't hear me calling you?"

"No, not really. Until just now." I answered mechanically but truthfully.

"I started from way up there." She pointed back at the hill top.

A slight pause. The smile disappeared, and her voice lowered, "Can we talk?"

Another pause. I really didn't expect this, and I was far from being ready for it. "Alright. You'll talk, and I'll listen."

Her smile did not come back. "It doesn't work that way." she said with a soft sigh.

"Can we go somewhere?" She added.

Silently and together, as if pre-planned, we headed toward the northwest corner of Pauley Pavillion, where there was a staircase leading down to the ground floor, the main foyer, of Pauley.

A few yellow night lights nearby casted a dim light upon us, just enough for me to continue seeing her teary eyes as we were walking.

We sat on the top step, looking down into the darkened stairwell below.

Silence...

… uncomfortably amplified by the darkened stairwell and the cold night

… and by the unknown thoughts and emotions awaiting

We seemed to have kept our thoughts to ourselves.

I waited. She probably waited, too. Finally, she sighed, softly but audibly.

"I'm about to do something that I never believed in before." She finally said, then paused, and sighed again.

"Do you like me?" She asked, slowly; each word deliberately.

My mind yelled an immediate "YES!", but my mouth was shut; my lip muscles were never allowed to move by yet another part of my brain. In its struggle against the tide of multitude of other thoughts which were competing to suppress it, my “yes” answer was muffled, beaten back, and finally drowned. It never made it out of my lips into her ears.

One big bully thought that said, "She's got a boyfriend. Leave her alone." succeeded in taking over my vocal cords. And I finally said, after what seemed like an eternal silence, "Let's just leave things the way they are."

I did not look at her – was I ashamed of myself? of that statement? of my uncertainty? and confusion? and hypocrisy?

I could not see her face, but I felt an incredible heaviness from her presence on my right side. I felt the condensation of frustration and disappointment into a tangible, living human sitting right next to me.

The coldness of the night suddenly revealed itself somewhere inside of me, and I shivered.

I wanted so much to reach out and touch her, now that I managed to glance in her direction, and now that a part of me knew that she was the warmth that I needed and wished for for so long.

But I did not move. My mind froze. It had reached its boundary; it was not capable of comprehending and thinking beyond any of this.

She sat there with her head slightly down, staring into the darkness below. She stared into the darkness to search for my answer, which was as incomprehensible as darkness itself. And I could no longer see her eyes; the lights were at our backs. Maybe it was a good thing that it was too dark to see her face and her eyes, because surely there were bitter tears on her cheeks that she did not want me to see.

I am not certain how long we stayed there, and neither am I sure who finally proposed to go back.

Maybe I did. Maybe the robot did.



* * *


I missed my bus stop on the way home that night. And I left it to my feet to find their way back to the apartment, because there was no more space, no more electrical power, no more synaptic connection in my mind for direction. And my head felt much heavier than my book-filled backpack.

Finally in my bed, I lay staring at the dark ceiling, not needing to blink for long intervals.

"You did the right thing." I heard myself trying to convince myself.

I kept chanting that thought silently, trying to quench the numerous other thoughts racing through my head that night.

I probably felt asleep from mental and emotional exhaustion before my eyelids gave out.