Chapter 8: October to December 1985

Throughout the rest of the semester, I excel in classes and enjoy studying with Colin. Although I occasionally initiate a kiss or hold his hand, our largely platonic friendship provides a safe shelter, and he never asks for more.

It’s Wednesday night in early December as we sit on my bed, pillows propped against the wall, our drawing pads against our thighs.

He outlines his sketch and smiles. "You never showed me what you drew."

"When?" I ask, staring at the taunting cartridge paper.

"When I sketched you in class."

"Oh." I flip back several pages and hand him the pad. "This."

He takes it from me. "The fountain in the center of the quad."

"Good guess."

He side-eyes me. "You drew a water feature as your first assignment?"

I raise my eyebrows. "And?"

"Sketching water requires so many different skills. Look at these ripples, the drops, the spray. Ra'Shelle, this is magnificent."

I take the pad from him. "I don’t know about ‘magnificent’, but thanks." I set the pad back on my knees and tap my pencil.

"Artist’s block?"

"The last sketch of the portfolio has to be perfect."

"You really want to pressure yourself that much?"

I shrug. "What are you drawing?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"Tease."

"Me?" He grins at me.

I roll my eyes and tap on the pad before rotating it. "Okay, here we go."

"What are you going to draw?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

He grins again, a response I love to provoke. "Touché."

For the next hour, we sketch silently, peeking at one another, failing to be sly.

He finishes first. "What do you think?"

I knock my shoulder against his and look at the drawing. "A man and a woman pushing children on swings."

"Good guess."

I shake my head at him. "Look at those shadows. Their little shoes. Expressive eyes and wide smiles… You drew a very happy family."

"You think it needs more detail?"

"No. You know when to stop. It doesn’t require anything else." I push him gently. "Plus, don’t you have two other finals to study for?"

"What about yours?"

I defensively turn my pad toward the wall. "I’m still working."

He raises his hands. "Fine, fine, fine. Take your time." He walks over to “Joan’s” bed and removes his English Composition textbook from his backpack before sitting in my desk chair.

I glance at him. "What are you doing?"

"My other homework."

"You can't do that in bed next to me?"

He laughs and moves back to the bed, positioning his textbook in his lap. "Happy?"

“Yes… What are you taking next semester?"

"English Lit, World History, U.S. History, and Drawing I. You?"

"English Lit, Drawing I, Italian I, Introduction to Graphic Design, and Business Law."

"Italian?"

"Yeah."

"Any particular reason you chose that romance language?"

"I love romance."

He smiles. "Really?"

I teasingly scoff. “Psh, no. I took three years of Italian in high school."

"Why don't you just test out?"

"I wasn’t able to take it during my senior year, so I'd rather review than struggle through."

"Three years?"

"Sì, tre anni."

He sighs happily and shakes his head. "You continue to amaze me."

I hold the pad in front of me. "Okay. What do you think? Too simple?"

He wedges close to me but there’s still a small space between us. "A wedding with four bridesmaids, all wearing identical dresses and holding identical bouquets with perfect ribbons, and four groomsmen, all wearing identical tuxedos. Yet, all the people have different heights, faces, and haircuts. And that wedding dress–"

"Yes, Colin. You named all the things in the sketch. Good job."

He chortles. "That's not what I meant. I meant that you used proportion and perspective eloquently and challenged yourself by drawing identical features. And the intricate detail on that dress–I’ve never seen anything like it. You used pointillism, a technique we didn’t even discuss in class."

"So… you think I can use it for my final piece?"

"I think it reminds me of Joueur de trombone.”

“Colin, I definitely don’t deserve a comparison to Seurat.”

“Well, if that doesn’t earn you an ‘A,’ nothing will.”

I stare at the pad and tap my pencil against it again. "What are you doing over the holidays?"

"Nothing special. Going home to visit my dad. I already bought the Drawing I textbook, so I thought I might study over the break. You?"

I’m staring at my pad as if it contains the secret to happiness. "Studying too."

He looks at me with his full attention, and I know it clicked for him. "Where?"

"Here. I'm staying at the dorms."

"What about the teacher you were staying with?"

“She has some health problems,” I say. “I had to move out when I started college.”

"So… you have nowhere to go during the holidays?"

I shrug. "It's not a big deal. It's a couple of weeks, and I'll be able to study in peace."

Silence sweeps over the room for a full minute, and he stares at me, studies me, the entire time. "Why don't you come home with me?"

I finally look at him and snicker. "What?"

"Seriously. We have a spare room. My dad won't mind. The food will definitely surpass whatever they'll serve at the caf'." He shrugs. "Only the location will change. We can study and draw together. Maybe watch some movies, build a snowman. Just hang."

I bite my lip. "I don't want to impose."

"Ra'Shelle, you’re not imposing; I’m offering. Thinking of you alone in a mostly abandoned dorm for two weeks would ruin my break. C'mon. Say 'yes'."

I sigh, mixed emotions somersaulting in my gut. "If your dad agrees, I guess I'll accept. I guess. Maybe… Yeah… Okay. If your dad agrees to let some random woman stay in your house."

"You did that thing again. Had a whole conversation."

"I told you I do that."

“I still like it. And you're not a 'random woman'; I’ve told my dad about you."

I whip my head toward him. My grin evaporates, and panic shelters in my eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"That I made friends with a smart, witty, amazing artist who challenges me and whom I enjoy spending time with.”

I point at him, then at myself. "So he doesn't know that we…" I trail off.

He raises his eyebrows. "Share occasional moments of intimacy that make me dizzy? No, I didn’t mention that."

I take a deep breath. "Okay." I smile and look down as I close my pad. "Makes you dizzy, huh?"

He leans down, so that he can meet my eyes. "Very dizzy. I lose my balance."

I know the reaction he wants, but I can’t give it to him. I step over him, set the pad on my desk, and pick up my Introduction to Business textbook, holding it close to my stomach.

He closes his textbook. "Whoa. What’s happening?"

I stare at a piece of chipped paint on the wall. "I've thought a lot about last time."

He places his book on the desk softly, as if trying not to startle the gazelle. "Yeah?"

I take an uneven breath. "I mean… you were shirtless."

He moves to the edge of my bed, giving me his undivided attention. "I remember."

I finally look at him. "And then I was lying there, and I've never, I mean, the way we touched…” I swallow. "And I didn't freak out."

He nods slowly. "Yes."

"And I wanted more," I blurt, "but I figured if we kept going…” I sigh heavily. "If we do it again… I don't think… I don’t want to ruin it."

"Honestly, you might have struggles, Ra'Shelle, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't allow yourself to try new things or ask for what you want."

"Your kindness, your patience… You acted as if it didn't… as if they didn't bother you."

"They didn’t, Ra’Shelle. They don't."

I bite the inside of my lip and sigh loudly, temporarily speechless.

He stands and steps toward me. "This has bothered you for almost two months?"

I look into his eyes. “Yeah.”

"I wish you'd told me sooner. I want you to talk to me, tell me things,” he holds my gaze and lowers his voice, “to ask for what you want. You have the power in this situation, Ra'Shelle; no one can take it from you.”

I set my book on Joan's desk and turn off the light. My heart pounds in my ears as I take his hand and lead him back to bed.

He grips my fingers as he sits on the edge of my bed. "It's okay, Ra'Shelle,” he whispers, watching my shallow breathing quicken. “Tell me what you want."

"I want–" I inhale a steadying breath “–for you to take off your shirt and lie down."

He smiles and obeys, placing his hands behind his head.

I kiss him fiercely before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it on the floor.

I kiss him again, then fight the overly cautious voices and unhook my bra. I let it fall and join my shirt.

And for the next several minutes, I ignore my overactive brain and let my instinct drive me.

Skin against skin, our fingers explore. He's tender and playful, and I moan from his skillful touch.

I know he feels the raised, jagged scar that stretches the width of my back, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

Every touch is electric, and there’s a loving desperation beneath it.

I want to be with him and only him.

I want his love, his affection.

I want to melt into him.

I brush my fingertips along his chest, down his torso, and begin to unbutton his jeans.

And then it happens.

A crack. A voice. A scream. The heat of a match.

Paralysis.

Come on. Not now, I tell myself. Not now.

He opens his eyes to find mine staring, unblinking. "No, no, no," he whispers. "Ra'Shelle, take a moment." He quickly moves my hand away and pushes his head as far back as he can. "Ra'Shelle?"

Silence.

He places his hand against my back and gently rolls me onto my side. He covers me with the blanket, steps out of bed, and kneels beside it. "Ra'Shelle, it's just you and me. Colin and Ra'Shelle. We’re sitting in a college dorm room on a cold Wednesday night." He tries to maintain eye contact, but I look past him. "We were sketching earlier and working on homework. We have finals this week."

My eyes stare straight, but I hold my voice steady. "Colin?"

"Yes, I'm right here."

"Colin, I can't move."

He takes a deep breath. "Do you know where you are?"

Outside the door, a woman laughs as she runs through the hallway and suddenly I can hear the uproarious laughter at the poker games. "I can't move," I repeat.

"Has this ever happened before?"

"Yes."

"What did you do then?"

My breathing is shallow. "I just stayed quiet. I just let it happen."

He swallows. "Ra'Shelle, I need you to move. Can you nod or shake your head."

"No."

"Can I touch you?"

"If you want."

"No, Ra'Shelle. It's Colin. It's just you and me."

"You and me?"

"Yes."

"Colin?"

"Yes. Can I touch you?"

"Yes."

He sits on the bed and touches my shoulder. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Colin."

"Good." He places his cool palm against my forehead. "I need you to turn your head and look at me. Come on, Ra'Shelle. Just look at me."

Somehow, I do. "Colin, hey." As swiftly as it had come, I feel it leave. I slowly nod and squeeze my hands into fists. "Oh, thank God," I whisper.

He tilts his head back and sighs in relief. "Ra'Shelle?"

I sigh and rub my face. "Will you hand me my shirt?"

He picks up the t-shirt from the floor, hands it to me, and turns his head as I redress.

"I knew better." I pull down my shirt. “I tempted fate, and this is what happens."

“'This is not your fault, Ra’Shelle."

"You did so much for me,” I say, my voice cracking. “I wanted to return the favor, and I just froze."

He lies next to me and props his head on his fist. "First of all, intimacy isn't a favor. It's a give-and-take that allows us to share a moment in time, where everything else ceases to exist. Listening to your moans propels lightning bolts through my body.

"Second of all, sometimes that just happens. It's a defense mechanism; it's instinct. You can’t control it. Your brain responded to your fear by trying to protect you. That’s all."

With tears in my eyes, I glance at him, then immediately back at my knees. "Do you regret this yet?"

"What?” he asks softly. “Being with you?"

I nod.

"Never. Not even a little. You can't chase me off that easily."

I sigh. "Okay."

He sits up. "I want to try something if you'll let me."

I scan his concerned face, his bare chest, and his smooth stomach. My excitement soars, then immediately subsides. "What?"

"You’ll have to trust me. Do you trust me, Ra'Shelle?"

I inhale deeply. “Yes.”

He moves directly behind me, a leg on each side of me, and places his back against the wall. "Think you can remove your shirt again?"

A voice as skilled as Melvin B. Tolson inhabits my brain, and my silent debate makes the room feel louder. I bite my lip and close my eyes.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Open.

I lift the shirt over my head and place it beside me.

He immediately covers me with the blanket. "When you're ready, lean back."

Still confused and slightly uneasy, I lean against him, my back pressing against his chest and my head resting against his collarbone.

He tucks the blanket around me, so that only my arms are free. “You’re safe here with me. Do you believe me?"

I’m unsure exactly why I feel this safe, but I do. “Yes.”

"I want you to relax. I know you’ll be fighting instinct, but close your eyes and let your muscles relax as you take slow, deep breaths with me.”

He waits two minutes before tenderly wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Can you feel my heartbeat?"

I nod.

"My steady breath?"

I nod again.

He kisses my forehead. "The next time you want to be intimate, let's do this. He slowly moves his hands down my sides over the blanket, then returns to hugging me. "I can touch you, but you maintain control because you can sit up at any time. Maybe most importantly, you can just relax. You’re not pressuring yourself to do something you can’t handle yet."

We lie quietly for several minutes until my voice breaks the comfortable silence. "Did you feel the scar?" I ask without opening my eyes.

"Yes," he whispers.

"It's the worst one."

He holds me tightly, and I can feel him looking at me.

"It didn't heal right. I needed stitches, but she said we couldn't afford them."

“Your mother?"

"Yes."

He takes a deep breath and rubs his thumbs against my shoulders, but I can feel his anger like vibrations in the air. "How did it happen?"

My nerves quiver, then calm. "That doesn’t matter, but a couple of weeks later, we had scoliosis checks. The school nurse saw it and told Mama, who claimed I'd fallen and cut myself on a piece of glass. Ms. Peggy, tried to confront her, and, well, it’s complicated, but ultimately, I moved in with her the day after I finished my junior year.”

He tightens his hug. "You deserved better than that, Ra'Shelle."

"Every scar connects to a story, Colin. I wasn't still enough, or I cried too loudly, or I talked too much, on and on. All of those actions had consequences. I’m covered in scars, and they're almost all by him."

“Almost?

I snuggle my head against his chest and wrap my arms around his arms. "Yes, almost."

He strokes my shoulder. "How old were you?"

I attempt to shrug. "It started when I was eight, almost nine."

"Until eighteen months ago?" He can’t smother his anger, and stirring these emotions in him compounds my guilt.

I open my eyes and look up at him.

He kisses my forehead. "I'm so sorry, Ra'Shelle."

I lean into him harder. "I've never talked about any of that." I smile slightly. "Thanks for this semester, Colin. You've helped a lot."

"I wish I could do more."

"In four months, I went from having panic attacks after a handshake to snuggling while we're both half-naked. That's progress."

He smiles and kisses my forehead again. "I guess it is." He rubs my shoulder gently. "Ra'Shelle, I–"

"Don't," I urge. "Don't say it."

He cocks his head. "What? I was going to say I think we should go eat dinner because the caf’ closes soon."

"Oh," I sigh, not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. "Yeah, I could eat."

Moonlight creates our shadows as we redress. "Besides," he says with his back to me, "you'll have to say it first."

I wait for him to turn around. "Really?"

"Really."

I smile as I slip on my shoes. "I'll keep that in mind."