For now, he’s done being serious and he’s back to his joking, self-deprecating self. “Dude, you’re supposed to be the antidote to my out-of-control ego. Stop stroking.”
I laugh. I sense that the conversation is about to run out and I’m glad it’s ending on a good note. I feel like myself again, like just Kate and Gus again.
But then his voice turns serious again, almost nervous. “Bright Side?”
Which makes me nervous. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you one last thing? And then I won’t bring it up again.”
“Sure.” It comes out halfway between a question and a statement. Sure? Sure. Apprehensive.
He lets out one of his nervous laughs. “I’m not asking for anymore ego stroking,” he says calmly. “But I just have to know, to bring closure to this whole, you know, to this whole thing.” I cringe because I thought this was behind us. “How was it for you? I mean I know you’ve been with other guys and everything … but was it, you know, was it different with me?”
I pause and smile because this isn’t going down the road I thought it was going to. Gus is a guy and he does need his ego stroked. And like I said, I don’t just hand out compliments freely. They’re heartfelt and real, so I answer honestly, “You rocked my world.”
“Dude, don’t patronize me.” He thinks I’m twisting his cheesy but sincere phrase into something mocking.
“I’m not! That’s it; I’m downloading Skype the minute I get off this phone. Listen to me Gus; it was probably the best night of my life.”
“Hmm.” I can hear the smile in his voice. His ego has been sufficiently stroked.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I tease.
“Too late. I love you, Bright Side.”
“Love you, too, Gus.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
With renewed peace of mind, I fire up my laptop and do a Google-search for Skype. I’m going to find out exactly how it works, down to the very last detail. After that, I’ll sleep.
Wednesday, August 24
(Kate)
I sleep until 9:00am and Maddie is already at work when I emerge from my hibernation chamber. Damn, do lawyers pump pure oxygen into their homes? Because I sleep like the dead here. I feel like such a lazy ass. I know that Dr. Ridley said I need to get more sleep, but I’ve had more sleep these past two days than I usually get in a week. I decide to take Princess for a walk and then go downstairs to the gym and pound out a few miles on the treadmill before I quit. I can’t surf, so I run. I remind myself the pain in my exhausted muscles isn’t pain, it’s life. And life feels divine. Every day, every minute, every second.
I shower and run a comb through my wet hair and brush my teeth. I’m dressed and ready to go in ten minutes. Gus has never been able to figure how a girl can shower and be out-the-door ready in that short amount of time. It takes his primping ass forty-five minutes to get ready to go anywhere. I guess society does dictate certain expectations where woman are concerned, I’ve just never bothered with them. Time is precious. And I don’t waste it. Growing up, mornings were always rushed and I had to learn to fine-tune my routine. I’ve never worn makeup and I don’t own a blow dryer or straightening iron. Truth be told, I wouldn’t even know what to do with any of it even if I did. Junior year in high school a friend decided I needed a makeover and put make up on me and straightened my hair. It felt like I was wearing a mask with that shit all over my face. I don’t like looking in the mirror and seeing someone else. I like looking in the mirror and seeing plain old Kate. The only thing I’m picky about is my clothes. I hate anything unoriginal. I mean, I wear jeans most of the time, but as far as tops go I don’t wear anything straight off the rack. I scour thrift shops, always looking for shirts with interesting patterns. I cut them up and salvage the best parts to combine with T-shirts Gus is always buying me. Gus calls it “rocker-bohemian.” Whatever. I like it. As I zip up my duffle bag, I unfold the “I heart San Diego” T-shirt Gus gave me before I left. My fingers are itching to make something unique out of it.
I grab my sunglasses and head out to my car wearing my “surf or die” modified tank top. It’s warm and humid today. It reminds me of home, so I dress for it. I’m happy as hell. And I need to check out my future home, so I’m ready to make the fifteen mile drive to Grant and the college campus. I have no idea what to expect. I’ve only seen the campus in pamphlet photos and online.
Maddie’s apartment is on the western edge of the Minneapolis city limits, just off the highway. Grant is due west of her place. I find the on-ramp and pull onto the highway, and within seconds I’ve passed every car in sight. Ten of them. I counted. With that few cars on the highway it feels eerie as hell. Is the apocalypse coming and no one told me? Where is everyone? I’m used to traffic jams and honking horns or people driving 90 miles an hour on the highway. What the hell? People actually drive the speed limit here? I feel like some sort of criminal as I blaze past them, speeding through 15 miles and rolling into Grant in only 10 minutes. I slow down along the residential streets, and soon Grant College comes into view.
Grant is pretty, picturesque even. The campus is small and the buildings are old, but not old like shitty and rundown, they’re old like grand and well cared for. The dorms are old too. Four stories of brick, mortar, and ivy, but they’ve got character and look inviting. I sigh in relief. In a few days that building will be home, and it actually looks like a home. It hits me that this is really happening. I’m a college student in Minnesota. I’m also alone for the first time in my life. And even though alone is going to take some getting used to, at this moment it isn’t as scary as I thought it would be.