The Between Years

character, so I can slip into their life for an hour or ten. I think that makes me gaze deeper into the people I meet, strangers, acquaintances, and the people I know best, to search for their deepest, darkest thoughts. Randy is the same kind of person, and as such he wound up taking the same major, which meant we would cross paths before long.

    And it happened, the first week of classes in our first year at Brock. Bingo! I would like to think the first thing that attracts me to a man is his mind, and that's still true to some point with Randy. But I must confess several other endearing qualities captured me as well. I first noticed his angelic face, dimpled chin, blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. The way the skin around his eyes creased when he smile, drawing the veil for two rows of creamy white teeth embodied a breathtaking magnificence. He wore sweaters with collared shirts beneath, black slacks and dress shoes to school every day-preppy, sure, but that's the kind of man I dig. Macho men can take a back seat, particularly when there's a suave book nerd for me to chase after.

    And so it happened that Randy and I were also in the same seminar for our Introduction to English Literature class. Randy sat just a few seats from me, always showing up to class with a book (sometimes literary, sometimes genre fiction), always scribbling notes, and always the first to raise his hand during discussion. Not that he was an apple-shiner by any means, but he knew his purpose in class. He was ambitious and meant to learn and advance himself. He understood concepts and constructs in literature that would have sailed over the heads of other eighteen-year-old guys in the room. But the way he strolled around with a book open, deep in thought, lost in a story, I found undeniably sexy. Scoff if you will, but I know what I like.

    Whether he'd known I existed or not was another matter. After the first two seminars, I strolled away with lingering thoughts of Randy, and feelings quite warm for someone I'd never spoken to. Romantic yes, very storybook-like, but I knew the scenario could become even more wonderful if I could bridge the gap between us. But how?

    By the third week, Randy chased me down the sidewalk after seminar. I'd sent him a few glances during class, nothing overt, just enough to grab his attention. First, he pretended that our eyes had met by chance, glanced the other way, and raised his hand to answer a question. But the second and third time we made eye contact, he knew how to read my body language. Yes, I might've made the first move, and still made him chase after me. Call me crazy, but I'm traditional (and shy!) and I was willing to risk what he and I could have just to have him approach me first.

    I turned, like I meant to go about my business, and hadn't yet noticed Randy, and listened to the soles of his shoes click and clack against the pavement. A huff of air escaped his mouth as he stopped by my side. His trusty paperback-this time a Margaret Atwood-was tucked under his arm.

    Randy held the paperback over his eyes to block the sun. “Not a bad presentation, eh?”

    “ No kidding,” I said. “You were the life of that seminar. And it's not just that you get Faulkner the way you do, it's that you see what's beyond . . . well, beyond everything.”

    Randy smiled, glanced away, like he wanted to dance around the compliment. Then we introduced ourselves formally, and shook hands as if we'd just inked a business deal. The conversation led to coffee at the Commons, and a stroll by the athletic complex. Naturally, the afternoon spent together led to us sitting together in lecture and seminar, eating lunches together and going out on Friday nights, until we finally admitted what each of us was feeling and decided to make a relationship of it.

    I'm not sure what you would say our official first date was, if we ever really had one. Every moment leading up to our becoming “official” seemed like a first date made better by finally sealing the deal. Before long, I sat at his parents' dinner table over meatloaf, where he seemed only too happy to show me off to his folks.

    The way I saw it, Randy and I were best friends, except we were a boy and girl, and that I knew I was falling hard for him from the start. That friendship laid the foundation for what we would become. Of course, that meant some awkwardness the first time we made love, and not just because it was the first time for both of us. Approaching that