Two of Cups

Back In School—DAY

 Andrea hands me the large, blue binder she has crammed her notes into. She is distracted, and begins to wander from our bench in the quad. But meantime, I flip through it finding various love notes and sketches of mine are also there, preserved from our first dates last semester. I guess she had wanted to show me that she liked them. But now she is distant and I try hard not to feel ignored. I just nod and slowly leaf through.

Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, she hurriedly scurries back over to  me to point out what she means. She flicks the pages quickly past some poems (which are rare for me), dialogues and other things I have noted, added among her work, saying, “These, of course all have your usual insight and expression, which is brilliant.”

But as she comes to some pages where, I have made some brainstorming lists, trying to come up with a story idea for my next play, she adds “But these here are really important, like this.”

She points to where I had been taking some notes on race relations. By today’s standards I am a terrible person for even trying to address these issues. However, in fact, it is in retrospect legitimately a little too old timey racist. I apologize, but Andrea insists that its implied-racism made my point about de facto segregation.

“Forget it.” I egg instead, “Let’s get Lou and go get to some lunch,”

“Nah.”

“Okay. Then, I propose you tell us a story because I both do not want to talk myself up and because you are interesting and have such a beautiful voice and an endearing way of speaking.”

“Oh, no!” she giggles, a little surprised.

“Oh, yes. I’ll even give you possible topics. How did you come to this City from France? Where did she get that shirt? How did you pick the name of your pet rabbit?"

“How did you know I had a rabbit back in France?”

“A lucky guess,” I smile back, “I can always tell.”