Page 55 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
They don’t hold hands on the walk to the bus, but their fingers bump and brush many, many times, which rides some chaotically illogical line of being both not enough and nearly too much. And it’s nice like this too, a gentle, steadying kind of nice.
Audrey’s finally decided—anthropology is what’s calling to her, and she has the paperwork in her bag to deliver to the undergraduate dean on their way to Meridian, Neese’s dorm.
The student population on campus has somewhat thinned, the wired pre-weekend energy permeating those still left behind. As they ascend the stone steps to Locke Hall, the doors swing open to reveal Blue and Cyrus, who are locked in a tense, hushed conversation until they spot the two girls.
“You two look cozy,” Cyrus announces in shrewd assessment. “Congratulations, or pre-congratulations? I can’t tell.”
They glance at each other, furtive, definitely givingthemselves away. “What’s happening?” Audrey asks, too curious to dignify the provocation. “Did you get the letter?”
“Well, we submitted what we needed to,” Blue confirms with a heavy sigh. “I don’t love the way Dean Archer’s secretary looked at us when she saw the petition, but I’m not particularly surprised, either.”
“And now we wait,” Cyrus says, a bit grim. “We’re supposed to get word in early January. But I have a feeling this application may get suspiciously misfiled. If it takes me making a visit to Dean Archer every morning until we get an answer, then that’s just what it is.”
Blue suppresses an eye roll, barely. “Should we anticipate discrimination before it happens?” she asks, seemingly directing the question to Neese and Audrey. “What’s the best we can expect of our school leadership?”
“I still think any ‘first’ will run into roadblocks,” Audrey says. “But who knows?”
“That iswhyit’s the first,” Neese reasons. “Either because any earlier attempt was denied, or no one thought it was worth it to even try.”
“This is what I am saying,” Cyrus says, pointing a finger at Neese, then at Blue. “We anticipate skinfolk not being kinfolk, we can better anticipate their moves to silence us. You’re too trusting.”
“There’s a difference between trusting and optimistic, Cy, my love,” Blue argues, grabbing his finger and waggling it. “The way I move in this world isbecauseI expect the best of people…or because I want to.”
“And when we don’t get it, we demand it,” he counters, eyebrow and head cocked.
Blue chuckles. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”
“No you cannot.”
“What are you two up to?” Blue asks as Cyrus slings an arm around her shoulders. “Going out tonight?”
“After they—” Cyrus begins, before Blue’s hand rises to clamp over his mouth. Effectively muzzled, he widens his eyes in betrayal.
“Finally declaring my major.” Audrey beams, patting her bag. “Last errand before I go see my parents tomorrow.”
“And? What did you decide? You, leave them be,” Blue chides, quieter, removing her hand from Cyrus’s mouth. He rolls his eyes, purses his lips shut.
“Anthropology.” Audrey bounces up onto her toes a few times. “Feels good to know.”
“Right on,” Blue tells her, offering a triumphant high five. “We’ll let you get back to it. Have a great weekend, y’all.”
“You too,” Neese and Audrey tell them in unison as they finally pass on the stairs, Cyrus and Blue descending as Audrey reaches the door. Then Neese pauses, turns.
“Are we really that obvious?”
Blue snorts as Cyrus dissolves into cackles at her side. “Girl,” she answers, head tilted backward, a wry smile on her lips. “Yes.Havebeen. And it’s beautiful!”
Neese would be lying if she said she’d never wondered what her dorm room would look like through Audrey’s eyes, but nothing compares to turning the key in the lock and entering it, Audrey’s warm presence at her back. She keeps her side maintained enough; her mother brought a deep, fuzzy purple rug that her roommate, Naomi, appreciates. Her wall adornments include posters of Prince andLady Sings the Blues,a framed photo of her and her brother taken ten years ago at a family picnic, and a few postcards she’s collected through the years during the museumvisits her father would cajole her into. When she turns to assess Audrey’s reaction, she’s peering closely at a slim book on Neese’s desk—The First Cities,by Audre Lorde.
Neese feels heat rising from her stomach to her chest, then snaking up her neck. Learning Audrey’s name all those months ago had Neese considering ridiculous questions of fate and happenstance. That she’s now standing in Neese’s room, holding the book of Neese’s favorite poet, is nearly too much to bear.
“Her first collection,” Neese says, aiming for normalcy, as Audrey turns it over and flips idly through. Nearly every page is dog-eared, lines Neese loves to return to over and over.
“Mm-hmm,” Audrey hums. “I remember hearing Blue talk about it.” She finds a page and reads to herself for a moment, then silently crosses the room to sit squarely on Neese’s (thankfully, made) bed. It’s a sight that Neese has to lean against her dresser to enjoy with any kind of subtlety or dignity. Audrey’s long legs cross at the ankle, her head resting against the wall as she reopens the book to the page her finger was holding and begins to read to herself, lips moving silently.
“A land where all lovers are mute,”she murmurs, with a small smile. Neese recognizes the line immediately, from “Pirouette.” There are a few poems that spring to mind when it rains; this is one of them. She wishes Audrey would continue reading out loud, and is soon rewarded with the final line, exhaled more than spoken, like a sigh.I have come home.
Neese thinks, clear as a bell,I could easily fall in love with you.
