Boot Camp and Bird
They were the only people around. King and Queen of the court yard they ambled about, uninterrupted. They seemed engrossed in whatever it was they talked about. I would have guessed them to be classmates, continuing a debate not finished in their philosophy class, but term would not start for another two weeks, thus I was stumped. They struck me as those sort of people, though. Ponderers – the kids who drag class discussions eight levels deeper with one rhetorical statement. They listened to classical music, wore scarves, and read Faulkner in their leisure. Yes, that was my first judgment of the two of them, as I watched them wander through the court yard.
She walked to his right, her auburn hair trailing behind her in the breeze. I could not decode what she was saying (I was never good at reading lips), but she waved her hands around as she spoke, making gestures and motions with great energy. At one point, it seemed that she could not fully contain her exuberance and she flit off a few steps ahead of his consistent cadence. She twirled one and a half times around to face him, losing her balance in the process. Her graceful spin was lost in her stumble and her arms pronged outward to keep her balance. I waited for the embarrassment, the blush across her cheeks as she tried to recover her decor. She looked at him for a moment, where he had stopped in his tracks, and then cast her head back and laughed. This was no reserved giggle, keeping the girlish front around the boy she wanted to make a good impression on, this was laughter from the soul – free and unbridled. The kind of laughter that came accompanied with tears. She carried the laughter for a good fifteen seconds or so, and then with a skip returned to his side. I decided to call her Bird.
Whatever it was Bird was saying in her animated fashion, the boy listened very carefully. Hands behind his back, he kept constant eye contact, studying her face as she spoke. For as free and unrestrained as Bird was in her movements, the boy was every bit as careful in his. His posture formal, the space he kept between them ample; I could imagine him with ease in military uniform. He chose his words carefully when he spoke to her, taking a moment to craft each remark, and he carried himself in prided discipline. I decided to call him Boot Camp.
I had watched them for a while now, searching for signs as to the status of their relationship. Was she his childhood friend, up to visit him before the semester began? A sister, nervous about her first year of college? Or were they, perhaps, more than just friends or family? Lovers, cherishing their last hours together before the boy went to serve his country over seas? No, I thought not. Not once in the time they were in the court yard had they given any indication of intimacy. I admitted, though, that I could not be sure, so I continued to watch, curiosity perked.
By this point, the two had made their way to the monstrous tree near the middle of the court yard. Her massive limbs could, and had, withstand hundreds of students over the decades proving themselves to each other by climbing her knotted branches. As old as the college itself, she had played host to a countless number of conversations, study groups, passionate make out sessions, and heart wrenching breakups. I cast my bet as to which would occur, and watched.
Bird got there first, stopping abruptly ten or so feet from the colossal trunk. She craned her neck, staring up into the ark of branches and leaves. Once Boot Camp reached her, she turned to him, doe eye. As they conversed, Bird twirled a lock of her hair smiling at what the boy had said. She looked up at him through her eye lashes as she leaned her back against the old tree. Boot Camp swayed, hesitantly stepping closer to her. He maintained a foot or so between them, but this was easily the closest they had been while in the court yard.
Thunder clapped over the scene, and moments later, rain began to pour down in sheets. I laughed, I couldn't help myself. Boot Camp looked out from under the trees protection, disbelief painted across his sharp features. He shook his head, and then turned back to say something to Bird.
But she was gone.
Boot Camp looked around frantically, turning 360 degrees to locate his lost Bird.
Her yell, not quite loud enough for me to understand, echoed through the openness. Boot Camp turned towards her voice.
She stood about 30 feet from him, out in the middle of the court yard. Arms spread like wings, her head tipped towards the sky, she stood amidst the rain. After a moment, she tipped her head back forward, wisps of hair clinging to her face. With an ear to ear grin, she locked eyes with the boy under the tree.
“Dance with me.” This time, her words were clear.
Boot Camp crossed the lawn slowly, eyes on the ground in front of him. Again he stopped, a foot or so between them. Then Bird did what I had been waiting for her to do the whole time. With purposeful slowness, she stepped towards Boot Camp, offering him her hand.
Boot Camp stared blank faced at her palm. I could feel the tension through the window as Bird stood her ground, waiting. Rain dripping down his face, Boot Camp finally lifted his eyes from Birds hand to her face. Slowly, a smile pulled at his lips, and he took Birds hand in his.
Packing my books back into my bag, I stood to leave the empty library. What would become of Boot Camp and Bird? I guessed I would never be privileged to that answer. But as I pushed in the old carved up chair, I glanced back to the window only to see them dancing a three step waltz through the cascade of rain from the sky.
