Page 33 of This I Promise You
“And Spanish is easier?”
“Well, a little. At least these instructors don’t refuse to speak in English the entire class.” It brings back those days when my dream of speaking German in that guttural scary way went out the door. “My German professor wouldn’t utter a single English word from the very first day. We were expected to understand from what he was doing, I guess. Stupid if you ask me. I dropped it after the second class.”
“They do say the best way to learn a language is complete immersion.” The look on Paul’s face says he thinks it’s quite obvious. I beg to differ. “My German teacher did the same thing.”
“Eh. Nope. Not happening here.”
“Well, I hope Spanish goes better for you then,” he says, and it actually sounds genuine.
“Me too.” Then I move the attention off my shoulders; I hate talking about me. “So you write or something?”
“Ha! I guess. Poetry, yeah. I try, but I can’t seem to actually finish anything. Or at least nothing feels finished. I have notebooks full of unfinished shit. But I like my classes here and I’m hoping I can learn something that’ll help me pull my head outta my ass. My last school kinda sucked.”
“That’s actually sort of cool still.” And yeah, pulling his head out of his pretentious ass would be a great idea. “I can write, but not stories. Just academic shit or political stuff.”
“Hard fucking pass on politics. Nope.”
“I mean yeah, it’s not for everyone, but, like, it’s important.” Yeah, you don’t say you hate politics around me. I get it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it means something. “If people don’t say something, we’re not even going to have a damn planet in the next fifty years because of global warming. So like, it sort of matters.”
“Easier said than done, but I guess you’re not totally wrong.” He backtracks. “I get it’s important though.”
“So what do youcareabout?” I say as sarcastically as possible.
“Like I said, I like words—”
“You already said that,” I interrupt. If I’m going to sit here in the middle of a Waffle House with him, I’m getting answers. It’s not like I’ll be seeing him much after this, so it’s my best chance to find out more about this beautiful brute. “But that’s not caring about something.”
I don’t think he liked me interrupting him, at least not by the way he sighs and his eyes latch onto me.
“How else can we communicate?” Paul leans across the table. I want to go the opposite way, but I don’t. “First it was pictures, right? Caveman shit. But eventually we evolved when pictures and drawings weren’t enough. Words are important. Even sign language is a series ofwords, just communicated differently. You think your political people, whatever bullshit, could do what they do without someone writing their speeches? Not a fucking chance. They make a differencethroughwords,withwords. Whether it’s Spanish or German, Japanese, Zulu, or ASL, words are used to make a difference.”
Okay. I wasn’t expecting that. I hope it doesn’t sound pathetic that words being that important has never crossed my mind. I mean, they’re just words, but he sort of has a point. I try to think of what to say, how to come back fromthat, but nothing’s coming to mind. It was deeper than I expected from…him.
“I…well…yeah,” I stutter as I try anyway. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry? I just didn’t—”
“What, ’cause I’m all muscle and tattoos I can’t have a brain?” The look in his eyes says it all.
“Notexactlywhat I was thinking. Uh…more like…like…” Goddammit, Easton, stop stuttering. “You know what, forget it. Just forget I opened my mouth. Words are important, and I obviously suck at them.”
“Don’t do that, dude.” Paul shakes his head and puts his hands on the table, much too close to mine. Think I just pissed him off. Again. “Don’t degrade yourself like that. You don’t have to be good at words to speak. What were you going to say? Don’t hold back now.”
Hell no. I will definitely be holding back, because my reasoning wasn’t that he was brainless because he’s muscled and tattooed. No, it was because he’s a muscled, tattooed douchebag. I pull my hands off the table and grip them tight. God I’m being judgmental as hell.Remember, he did come get you at the party. A little grace, Easton.
“I was…I just… Can we just not?” I try.
Paul cocks his head to the right and pooches his lips before opening his mouth.
“Think whatever you want of me, but you don’t fucking know me. Maybe ifyouweren’t such a dick you could see through the name-calling.”
“Oh, now hold up!” I lurch forward, the tabletop pushing into my stomach. “Who’s calling who a dick now? You’re the asshat that tried getting in my friend’s pants, and about took me out running on campus. Oh, and have we forgotten the stunt in the Student Union?”
“I let you talk. Will you hear me out now?” he says plainly. The angered response I was expecting doesn’t come, and honestly I’m shook.
“Uh…sure.” I don’t know what else to say.
Paul takes a few deliberate breaths and repositions himself in the booth before giving me this grin that screams,I’m trying real hard not to lose my shit.
“Good. Now, first of all, the ‘stunt’ in the Student Union was Huxley, but I did go along. I admit.” He pauses to nod. “Secondly, the fucking geese here are monsters and I will not apologize for being attacked. Fuck them. Lastly, I was nervousas shitand misread the situation with your friend—”
