In the Dawn of Love

When she first took an interest in me, I thought it was too good to be true.

I was a loner, would never aspire to anything, at least in the eyes of my father. I didn’t much care what Father said, or what his friends or their families thought. He rode my ass relentlessly, but it didn’t do much good. My interests were music and little else.

At first, he didn’t mind so much. When mother gave me the little wooden flute and I picked it up with ease, Father saw a prodigy. He had me in music lessons every day of the week. That was when I still aimed to please. As with the flute, I picked up  instruments with relative ease and he had plenty to brag to his friends about.

Once I was old enough to tire of the classical music, recitals and endless lessons, my stubborn streak came out. I’d skip classes, purposely screw up during concerts and eventually whittled down the lessons to the flute and guitar. Guitar, because I wanted to learn different techniques and styles, the flute because my mother loved it, and because there were so many different flutes to learn. I could always find a new teacher, a new challenge. Mother love the bansuri best, but I enjoyed learning to play different varieties from different regions of the world.

So, one evening, while the social elites that our parents were, were networking and sipping wine, Roxie found me on the porch, tooling around with a small flute I kept in my backpack. I felt her approach, but she paused, listening, rather than interrupt my playing. I decided to wait her out, but she just stood there. She didn’t leave, didn’t say a word. Finally, after I was sure she would have been bored out of her mind, I turned.

“Still there?”

Her arms were folded over her chest, her thick, dark hair hanging loose around her face. She quirked up one side of her mouth in a half smile. “As boring as hell in there,” she gestured with her chin at the door behind her.

I laughed, surprised to hear her curse. “Oh, and standing here listening to me tweedle away isn’t?”

Her face blossomed into a full smile. “Well, it is better than listening to those gossiping old farts or kids fighting over the game consols in the basement.”

“Aren’t you worried about your reputation? Good girls shouldn’t be caught talking to the likes of me.”

She laughed and planted her hand on her hip. “You, Rand are hardly a bad influence. Your dad’s just an asshole.” She looked out over the garden and nodded with her head at the dark expanse. “Want to go for a walk?

 I shrugged, putting my flute in my bag and shouldering the light back pack. “Sure.”

She nodded and reached down to pick up a pair of bottles by the door. Straightening, she handed me one. Examining the label, I laughed when I realized that it was hard cider. “Looks like you’re the bad influence,”  I chuckled.

She rolled her eyes and twists off the top. “Hard cider hardly even counts as alcohol. I’m sure if you asked inside they’d hand you one without a thought. Wine is worse.”

Of course, I’d had my share of both, and more. Hanging out with musicians, even at my public school on the upper side of town still led to plenty of experimentation,  considering these kids’ folks had plenty of cash and bad habits of their own. Still, I was usually the sober one of the bunch. All my years of yoga and meditation with my mother had taught me restraint, to respect my body. It was yet another social circle in which I didn't quite fit in. 

We walked along the gravel path, lit by small solar lights along the ground. There was a comfortable silence between us, and I rather enjoyed it. I was a loner by nature, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy company. It was nice to just walk, side by side, sipping our sweet, apple drinks and listening to the crickets in this well tended garden. Somewhere in the distance, sirens blared and when we reached a small clearing, the glow of the city lights shone over the edge of the trees. This sanctuary couldn’t hide the fact that we were still in the middle of civilization.

I sighed and sat on a rock, finishing my drink and staring up at the sky. “It’s a shame we can’t see the stars. You can barely make out a single constellation with all this light pollution.”

She glanced at me, then at the sky, as if not even realizing there was anything of interest there. “Oh? I never really thought about it.”

With the usual cloud cover and light pollution, I suppose I couldn’t blame her.  “My mother is a nature lover. We spend every summer at this great cabin, up in the mountains. The stars are amazing up there.”

 “Oh...” she said again, staring at me this time. Silence stretched between us and she spoke up again. “I had no idea. Your dad talks as if your only ambition is to become a street bum.”

 I laughed. “Anything other than a highly ambitious businessman and socialite is a street bum to him.  I don’t mind the idea of having some normal, run of the mill job, as long as I have time to tool around with music and hang out with my mom.”

 She smiled, somewhat sadly. “Mama’s boy, eh? Can’t say I blame you. She’s so sweet.”

 I shrugged. “What about you? You go to that elite school, from what I hear, you’ve got all top marks, gearing up for a great future.”

 She wandered over to a tree and pulled down a branch to smell a flower. “I don’t know about that. What I want to do and what I’m being told I should do don’t exactly match.” She turned back to me, her hands behind her back.

 I raised an eyebrow and said, “Oh?”

 She rolled her eyes again. “Yes. I want to be an artist, but I’m not nearly talented enough. I’m not dumb enough to pursue something I'm sure to fail at, but I think I can still work in the arts. I think I’d like to own a gallery, or at least work for one.” She sighed and came to settle one of the rocks next to me. “But you know, my parents expect so much more, doctor, lawyer, all that crap. I don’t want a high pressure job just for money and bragging rights. I want to do something I love.”

 We were so much alike in that way that I had to smile. I took her hand, and we talked through the night. Eventually we remembered that our parents would come looking for us at some point, and made our way back.

 We met up many a time after that, quickly falling into more than friendship. I’d go with her to all the art shows she could find, and she’d come with me to the oddball concerts I loved. It was hard for her to get away from school and responsibilities, but more often than not, she managed it.

 We were soon inseparable. With my encouragement, she convinced her parents to let her attend an arts college. With hers, I actually applied and got accepted to the same college. I didn’t much care to pursue music as a career, but my parents were thrilled. My father once again entertained the notion that his son was a prodigy.  

 Her parents were less thrilled than mine with our relationship. Eventually, they saw that I wasn’t the terrible influence they'd heard about. I soon realized, though, that she was a bit more trouble than I had expected. Sure, I’d seen just about everything, but she wanted to actually do the things I watched others do. By that, I mean, she wanted to hang out with my loser musician friends at their parties and dabble in the drugs they often had on hand.  

 I was protective, finding ways to avoid such outings, but I didn’t always succeed. I knew if I shielded her too much, she’d find a way to experiment on her own. I’d rather she did it with me, with someone to watch out for her, to keep her from trying anything too risky.

 It was on one of these nights that judgement failed us both. It was most certainly my fault, and I took full responsibility. Neither of us were heavily into drugs, but we dabbled. So when the ecstasy was passed around one evening, we both partook. I’d tried it once before, and when she pressured me to do with with her, a few drinks already loosening my inhibitions, I said yes to those gorgeous, large, dark lashed eyes.

 We awoke the next morning, sharing the tiny twin bed in her dorm. She had a single, so this wasn’t much of an issue, nor was it out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until I dressed and checked my pockets for my wallet that I realized the condom was still in its wrapper.

 “Roxie...” I whispered, remembering with blissful way we’d awoken: limbs entwined, so comfortably warm, smelling of sweat, alcohol and sex. I held up the little package.

 Her eyes widened, and she glanced around the room, searching for the tell-tale torn wrapper. Pale, long limbed, her dark hair mussed from the evening’s events, she climbed out of bed to pull loose the covers, searching, futilely. I checked the trash can and her pile of discarded clothes. She sighed and gathered up her things for the shower, shrugging.

 “Well, maybe we did it at the party? Or maybe we didn’t?” she offered. Though we both knew we had certainly done something.

 I nodded and found my backpack. “I’ll meet you for lunch, okay? I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” I tried. Though the tired, sad look in her eyes told me she was worrying, and would worry until she knew.

Though Roxie had dabbled and played and partied through high school and on into college, she was still a serious student, and an exceptional girl. The moment she knew there was a possibility, she buckled down. Our evenings no longer included questionable characters and wild parties. Not even wine passed her lips. Yet, it wasn’t until I got the phone call one Saturday afternoon that I truly accepted the possibility of our imploding future.

“Rand, I need you to meet me at the cafe. We need to talk.” Her voice came through shakily, and I couldn’t tell if was excitement or fear.

“Sure, sure,” I told her, quickly dressing and rushing out the door.

The cafe was a favorite of hers, little black metal tables lined the small seating area outside on the sidewalk. There was a forest-like array of potted plants that made it feel secluded. I found her at an end table, chewing on a pencil, her sketch pad open, the pages blank.

 “What’s up, Rox?” I reached out and tousled her hair. She had taken time to style it,dark, long and so perfectly smooth. I couldn’t help it, it was demanding a good mussing.

 She glared up at me, smoothing it down as best she could with her hands. “You’re such a brat.”  The waitress brought us water, and a basket of bread. I happily dug in while Roxie waited for the woman to leave. “Well, Rand. I’ve got news. I don’t know if its good or not. But you’ve always said you wanted to be a dad, right?”

 Though I’d had a feeling this was coming, I choked on the bread, spraying crumbs across her note book. She laughed and brushed the wet bits off the paper. I took a sip of water, and nodded. “Yeah, but... wow.”

 She laughed, and I was relieved that she seemed so at ease with this. “Well, I took a home test, went into the doctors and got another confirmation. So, I think there’s a pretty good chance you will be, come June.”

 I nodded, stunned. My mind was whirring. I had the better part of a year to get things in order. This was no longer a frightening maybe. This was reality. “Are you going to tell your parents?” I know I sure as hell didn’t want to explain this to Father.

 She shook her head, “Not yet. Not till I’m further along. Not until it’s a sure thing.”

 “Sure thing?” I echoed.

 “Yeah, there’s always a chance of miscarriage and all that.”

 “Oh...” another three months of waiting and wondering? Did I have that luxury? Wouldn’t I need to get a job, get things in order now? My panic must have shown. She reached out and took my hand.

 “It’ll be fine, Rand. I could have taken a morning after pill, I could still deal with it now, but I don’t want to. Do you?”

 I smiled then. “No, no. Not like that.” I laughed. “I just think I’d better get a decent job so I can support you and the baby. I’m not going to let your parents or mine support us.”

 She positively glowed. “Really?”

I nodded, and she leaned across the table to kiss me. “Well, I suppose we should have some lunch to celebrate and figure out the rest, right?”

 And we did.