Coveting

Coveting Scott Lamer The winter dusk was fading, and I could see snow falling in the halos of the courtyard lamps through the sliding glass door as I walked into the apartment. I set my suitcase down, and sat on die couch in the dark, looking at outlines ofposters on the opposite wall. I was tired. Itwas the Friday before classes started again and I had just gotten back from a two-day trip with my modier to Evanston to see her sister. It had been a five-hour drive home. The light on die answering machine was blinking. Brian had left a message. Alexis, sorryIdidn'tcallsooner. Yourdadsaidyou were outoftown 'tiltoday. I'll try and call hter. Brian was a friend of mine from high school. He was tall, with a soft, warm handshake and liquid movements that washed over his body eroding the sharpness of his masculinity. He had shy hands, hands practiced in prayer, never reaching out to make casual contact with the skin on my arms, or touch my back, or grab my shoulders to give awkward aggressive massages . Though sometimes, in the past, I had wished they would have. He went to Pinedale Bible College in Indiana, and he usually called to ask me to breakfast when he came home. It was a tradition we had started our senior year in high school when he was die president and I was the vice president ofthe honors society. We met for breakfast every other Saturday dien. A middle-aged man, a member of Brian's church, owned the restaurant we went to, and most ofthe patrons were elderly couples. He always knew dieir names, and would ask them about their weeks. I would stand next to him smiling. When we went to our table Brian would always help me take offmy coat, and pull out the chair, and I felt like we were one ofthose old couples in the restaurant. It felt nice. Normally, on Christmas break, he called inbetween Christmas day and NewYear's Day; I felt slightly disappointedwhen I left with my mom on the second for Evanston. But diere was die message on the machine. It surprised me how good I felt when I heard his voice. I pushed the button again. Alexis, sorry Ididn't callsooner. Your dadsaidyou were out oftown 'tiltoday. I'll try and call hter. 200} firn Cash Fiction Award, Second Phce 57 58SCOTT LARNER I laid down on the couch, and fell asleep with my coat on. The phone woke me up. It was Brian. His voice was nervous, breathy. He said hello, paused, and then questioningly added my name. "Alexis?" Alexis he always said, never Alex. "Why don't you call me Alex?" I asked. I thought I could hear him smile on the other end of the line. "I like Alexis. . . it's pretty." "I guess." "Alexis," he said again letting the x' and the V roll. "Who wouldn't want to say Alexis?" "Everyone calls me Alex." Brian laughed, and changed the subject, asking general questions about my life. The nervousness was absent now from his voice. He talked with music in his words, like an actor. Or a preacher. "What I was wondering..." Brian said, clearing his throat. "What I was actually calling for. . .one ofmy friends is having a post-Christmas, post-New Year, pre-back to school kind ofget together, for some ofhis friends, and it's tomorrow. So, I was wondering; would you like to accompany me?" I told him I would. I told him I would without even thinking. The phone was hung up before I thought about it at all. Why had Brian asked me to a party? We could've just gone to breakfast tomorrow morning. We always just went to breakfast; maybe I would rather just go to breakfast. When we went to breakfast in high school we would talk like we were close, tell each other what we were thinking about, what we planned on doing, but we never did anything else. He had asked once if I wanted to go to church with him, but I told him that I didn't do that kind of...