I'll Be Here

my mind plied into the secret, reactive state that I desired, I would begin the real thing. 
    There was a time when drawing had been, in a word, everything.  It kept me up late at night, my shoulders aching, and my fingers cramped from holding my pencil too tightly.  Sometimes I would bring out paints—watercolors and for a few months oils—but I always gave up and went back to the nakedness of white paper and the solid black-grey lines of my graphite pencils.  These filled the pages of a succession of sketchbooks I’d been keeping since I was twelve. 
    I remember the first time that Dustin looked through my sketchbooks.  We were in my room.  He was on the floor.  I was on the bed leaning against my pillows.  My feet dangled down beside him as I read aloud from a chapter in our chemistry book.  He reached under my bed and pulled one of the sketchbooks from the pile that I kept stowed there. 
    At first I’d protested but he’d insisted and trying not to feel like a self-conscious dolt, I’d gone back to reading the chemistry assignment.  Dustin flipped through the pages of the sketchbook too quickly as if it didn’t really hold his interest, but then he’d paused and cleared his throat.  When I looked up, he was grinning.  Blushing furiously, I realized why. 
    He’d found several sketches of himself that I’d drawn from memory.  There were two profile drawings from the shoulder up—me remembering the way he looked in class as he sat next to me.  They captured his angular nose, the masculine chin in contrast with the soft hair that curled into his collar. 
    There was only one full-body sketch and this one I’d drawn without him realizing that I was watching him.  In this one Dustin was leaning against a brick wall waiting for one of his friends after school.  I remember that I had watched him half-hidden by the shadow of the tree.  Here I’d let my mind trace the long lines of his legs, the shoulders wide and strong, his boyish smile peeking from a shadow.  This was the sketch that Dustin settled on.  The subject and pose were innocent enough but I had to admit that there was something raw and sexual about the way that I’d drawn it.  Dustin Rant may not have been an art critic but he felt it too.  He dropped the sketchbook on the floor.   
    I was mortified. 
    He was flattered. 
    Crawling up on the bed, he trapped me between his arms and thoroughly kissed my neck. 
    It was about a month later that Dustin made a comment about me taking the sketchbook everywhere. He’d said it in a joking way but I could hear the note of annoyance underneath his humor.  The next day I didn’t take my sketchbook to school.  And when it came time to choose our classes for the fall schedule I didn’t sign up for an art class.  I told myself that I needed to get serious about other things—an echo of my father’s words.  I told myself a lot of things but never the truth. 
     Now I look up, my eyes finding a focal point in the bright light.  I have sketched the crowd—shadowed silhouettes against an upturned bowl of blue sky.  When a woman in a too-bright yellow sundress moves, a boy about my age takes shape in the distance.  He leans with his back up against the pier railing.  Through dark, black-rimmed sunglasses he watches the crowd, his head moving back and forth as if he’s looking for someone.     
    There’s something about the way he stands—slouched, with his hands in his front pockets that’s familiar. 
    The boy tilts his head and raises his hand to his face.  Is he looking at me ?  One of the things that I like about a sketchpad is that you can be stealthy while you people watch.  No one ever seems sure if you are drawing them or the general scenery. 
    But this guy seems sure.  His stance changes abruptly and I wonder if he’ll come over here because he knows that I’ve been staring at him.  I duck my head and turn to a blank page.  I doodle a succession of concentric circles.  A quick glance back confirms my suspicions that the boy is still staring at me.  I wish Lance would get back here with our food or that I had just gone with Laney and Colleen to see the band on stage four when they asked.
    The boy is walking towards me!  My heart speeds up.
    And all at once I realize that the boy is actually Alex and the world drops away along with my stomach. 
    When he’s close enough that I can see the details that make him up, I stand because once I heard