That night after their first coffee in the school cafeteria, he entered his tiny studio apartment in the Mission District and immediately started to rehearse asking her for a date. Through dinner and afterwards, and for hours after he went to bed, he polished his lines.
The next day she was late for class, blowing away his poise. She finally did arrive, but he had to wait for the class to end, and when it did, she got up and left without acknowledging him. He caught up with her in the hall.
“Oh. . . h-hi. . .” he said as if he just happened to bump into her.
“Hi,” she said with a polite, distant smile.
She kept walking and he struggled on wobbly knees to keep up.
“Uh. . . I was wondering if. . . how are you?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
He felt like he was holding in a seizure, as if he might scream or explode or laugh hysterically. His tension arced onto her and she became nervous, not knowing why.
“Uh. . . could. . . do you wanna. . . would you like to go to a movie this weekend?”
“What? I don’t think so. No, I can’t. It’s my nephew’s birthday and we’re throwing a party for him.”
“Oh. O.k. Well, have a nice weekend. See ya next week.”
“Yeah. You too.”
He released a deep sigh. She went to her car and he to a bench in a nearby garden nook to calm down. It wasn’t until late in the weekend that he realized he didn’t have to worry about getting a date with her. They would be together an hour a day, five days a week, for months.
Something this important brought out in him the patient, meticulous strategist. Not only did he not ask her out again, he didn’t even try to strike up a conversation. He was friendly, and after class they occasionally exchanged quips on discussions or classmates or the teacher. Gradually, he made himself safe, familiar, comfortable. Within a few weeks they had started a habit of spending every afternoon sitting over coffee and talking, ravenously.
She was sassy and opinionated and quick-witted and all of it incongruously packed into an anemic-looking sparrow of a girl. He savored every flick of her boney wrists; every wry sidelong half grin; every one of the deft impersonations that illustrated her anecdotes. She obviously enjoyed their special rapport, but she was very troubled about her feelings for him. He noticed this and dismissed it as fear of getting hurt.
He waited three weeks before even attempting physical affection. Then he occasionally made his hand brush hers, sat so close they touched, and even several times lifted a stray strand of hair from her face. Each time he was rebuffed by a scowl. But he was determined, and he was sure this irregularity of hers could be overcome in time. It never entered his mind that she might actually be repulsed by him.
