These Tangled Strings [Part 2]
“Okay,” she declared as she flipped her cellphone shut. “Show me this book of yours.”
I jumped from where I was sitting on the cement wall in front of the student centre. She had walked a little ways away from me to call her sister about the string, I had glanced down at my own blackberry but I couldn’t think of who to call.
“You want to see it?” Not that I didn’t enjoy showing off my hard work to those who rarely asked to see it. My book would put anyone else’s Red Week book to shame. I had also dreamed of sharing this book with my partner during Red Week, there’s a blank section entitled “Your Dreams” because I wasn’t to tell my partner what their label or name was.
It simply did not occur to me that she would be the type of person to want to look at a Red Week book.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged and I watched the string shrink as she walked closer to me.
There were a lot of reasons why she might not want to see my book. Mostly centering around the assumption that “this chick is obsessive and will probably end up planning our entire future to the hour I must run away as soon as we break the string.” Which, to be fair, was one of my recurring nightmares.
Instead of elaborating, I nodded and led her back across campus to my dorm. Cue more string applause and whistles.
