On a Wednesday (One Week 2)
“Or else what?”
“I’ll think of the punishment later.” He smiled.
“Wait,” I said. “I think it’s best if we meet here or in one of the lecture buildings so people won’t think…”
He crossed his arms. “So that they won’t think what?”
“You know…”
“No.” He was still smiling. “I don’t.”
“Dating, Kyle. I don’t want people to think that I’m dating you.”
“I highly doubt that anyone will ever think I’m dating, Courtney,” he said. “They’ll think you’re a hookup.”
What the hell? “Isn’t that worse?”
“No, just means that you should go ahead and consider the idea at some point, since everyone will think it anyway.” He winked. “See you next Wednesday.”
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
Subject: Next Wednesday?
Hey, Courtney,
Something came up, so I can’t meet you today. Does any other day this week work?
I want to make sure you have enough of me for that thesis thing.
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: Next Wednesday
Hey, Kyle.
Not really.
I’m taking over for two sick staff writers.
“That thesis thing” is my GRADE. I’m pulling an all-nighter at The Pitt News offices tonight. Can you show up to answer a few questions?
Courtney
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Next Wednesday?
Shit.
I didn’t see your email until after I finished my midnight drills.
I’m in the office now and don’t see you.
Next Wednesday, then?
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Next Wednesday?
Because you showed up to the office at NOON.
*side-eye emoji*
Yes, NEXT Wednesday.
7:00 p.m. Fuel & Fuddle.
Please set your alarm.
Courtney
* * *
Subject: After Wednesday
Question: Are you going to be formal with me the entire time?
I mean, I’d be more willing to open up and be conversational, if it’s more like a chill thing than an interview.
(Can you please unblock me on Facebook?)
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: After Wednesday
You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?
(Why did you block me on Twitter, too?)
Kyle S.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
A week later, I walked into Coach Whitten’s office, armed with my notes on our game against Utah.
“Hey there, Coach,” I said.
“Don’t you dare ‘Hey there, Coach,’ me today.” He seethed, holding up a blue folder. “What the hell is this?”
“That’s my report on The Vagina Monologues. It’s on the inside.”
“It’s four sentences long.”
“I know.” I smiled. “You told me to summarize what I learned, so I made sure to be as concise as possible.”
He opened the folder, glaring at me as he read. “Women have vaginas. Vaginas experience feelings. Men need to respect these feelings. The next time I’m buried deep inside of one, I will make sure that I respect those feelings.”
He let out a breath. “Really, son?”
“Would you like me to write four more?”
“You’re going to write a ton more.” He gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat.”
“Wait.” I looked at my watch. “I have an important meeting with someone in twenty minutes. Can I come back after that for my next dose of punishment?”
“Kyle fucking Stanton.” He looked like he was seconds away from losing his shit. “Your next hookup can wait.”
“This girl isn’t a hookup, Coach,” I said. “I mean, did you not catch a word of what I said a few weeks ago? Granted, she’s sexy as hell, but she’s not into me.” I tapped my chin—envisioning her pink lips and deep brown eyes, the way her latest violet-colored dress clung to her curves. “I don’t think she’ll ever sleep with me, though.”
“Sit down, Kyle.” His head looked like it was about to explode. “Now.”
I didn’t dare risk seeing what the next stage of his anger might be, so I reluctantly gave in and took a seat. I pulled out my phone to let Courtney know that I would be late, but Coach snatched it from my hands and tossed it into his drawer.
“That can wait, too.” He picked up his desk phone. “You can bring Professor Kline in for us, Coach George. Kyle is ready to listen and take notes on the theme of the play now.”
Five essays and three long lectures later, Coach finally returned my phone.
I started to message Courtney to apologize for missing another Wednesday, but she’d already sent me a slew of emails.
* * *
Subject: Today’s Session.
Subject: We’re still on, right? It’s seven-thirty.
Subject: SERIOUSLY? It’s TEN o’clock.
* * *
Shit.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
I should’ve known …
I drafted a second email to Miss Hopewell, taking out all the curse words and “I refuse” lines in my previous version.
She’d called me twice this week, saying, “I can’t wait to read what you find on Kyle!” And “Ask him if he’d be willing to sit for a photoshoot with The New York Times at the end of this. I’d love to have his picture on my wall.”
She’d also sent me several texts a day asking how the process was going, as if I’d been doing this for longer than a month. She was honestly making me choose her as my honorary guest advisor.
Kyle Stanton is not a topic worthy of my thesis, and I’m not sure what type of strange, older woman, younger man fantasy you’re trying to re-live through my work, but …