Rowe asked Winnie where she’d like to have dinner and she requested that he “surprise her.” It took him less than sixty seconds to fabricate a genuine surprise. Recalling the day in class she shared that she was “addicted” to humus, he arranged for takeout from the Souvlaki Lounge, which served no less than three different recipes of hummus. But it was the location of their dining experience that would be memorable. He made her close her eyes as he turned on to the dirt road to the now-defunct General Motors plant and let her open them when they arrived at the Delco water tower.
It was a tower roughly four stories high, a large globe surrounded by a metal walkway around the entire circumference. Winnie had heard rumors of students climbing but they seemed to be stories from a bygone era. Forty feet was not exactly the Eiffel Tower, but in a town like Anderson, this afforded a view of most of the city. And while scaling the ladder was technically illegal, the tower itself was not functioning – it shut down the same time as the GM plant five years ago, so security was lax.
It was still something Winnie wouldn’t dream of doing were she not with Rowe. But she was feeling daring, and the ladder was surrounded by a safety cage.
“You go first, so I can catch you if you fall” Rowe suggested.
“Not in this dress!” She replied.
“I’ll be a gentleman”
“You’re going first” She insisted with you naughty boy half scowl.
“You just want me to go first so you can look up my shorts!”
She cocked an eyebrow and nodded in the affirmative.
He smirked, inwardly admitting that she was likely correct in her assessment that he would not have been a gentleman – he had been imagining the going ons underneath that sundress all day, and just thinking about it right now made his body come alive.
Rowe was, like Winnie, a bit odd when it came to sex. Although, in truth, this could be said for every human, for the sexual peculiarities and predilections of people are as unique and varied as fingerprints. So in this sense, everyone’s a little odd to anyone else.
He was, at this very moment, six months into an abstention from pornography, which for a college age male without a girlfriend is quite noteworthy. His goal was to increase his motivation to establish real relationships, however this had proven a difficult task for an atheist at Holy Trinity.
Thus, for the last six months, his self pleasuring practices relied entirely upon his own mind to paint pictures. And, more often than not, Winnie herself, had a starring role in the stories he weaved.
She never, in a thousand years, imagined herself his muse because he had, up until today, concealed this attraction to her on account of their religious incompatibility. But in his mind, in the last six months, he had already undressed her after hours in the dark chemistry lab illuminated only by their bunsen burners. He had hungrily ripped her dress off in an 18th century castle, ceramic buttons scattering on the floor. He had awakened her with oral sex, in a tent perched on a mountainside in Yosimite national park, and made love to her standing up, her palms pressed against the glass wall of his imagined future NY loft.
He had read once that men fall in love with the women they are attracted to and women become attracted to the man with whom they are in love, but he thought this a crude stereotype. For him, love, friendship and sexual attraction were inexorably linked. For instance, he never once, fantasized about his beautiful lab partner, Allison Graham. He may have, before he had heard her speak, but her flat intonation void of all unique character not to mention her words void of insightful content quickly extinguished that idea.
Winnie, on the other hand, could exude more depth without even opening her mouth. She had this way of smiling with just her eyes when he said something amusing that did not quite warrant a full blown smile that penetrated his heart and melted his defenses. She could convey more emotion with this little micro-expression than other women could in a ten minute speech.
Add to this her quick wit, the earnestness with which she shared her own insecurities, and obvious intellect and it created a cocktail of attraction that became sexual attraction. The flaws Winnie imagined about her physical appearance became assets, simply because they reminded him of who she was and how she was unique.
For the last six month he was able to consciously deny this attraction — at least while fully awake and in and about society. Late at night, when he was alone and naked in bed, left to fantasies with no consequence, he was less inclined to deny it.
This melding of romantic and sexual attraction, while beautiful in many ways, actually created some tension and confusion in his mind, for he feared he could not discern the difference. He had witnessed first hand at Holy Trinity, a number of couples – having promised abstinence until marriage, let their hormones push them into premature (and unwise) union so he had always been careful in his mind to discern genuine attraction from the runaway hormones that coursed through his veins.
But this is difficult for a 21 year old male to do. For Rowe was not, as his admires imagined him, some immortal living on Mt. Olympus, but rather a man of flesh and blood, and as such, he had not been immune to the manner in which Winnie’s sundress floated on a cushion of air around her bare thighs for the entire day.
It was all too much for him to think about as they approached the tower. These were things he might ponder late at night with his pants unzipped. But when he was actually with her, her personality filled up his senses – her quick wit, soft voice, demure glances, and playful laugh, all stimuli rushing past him as if on a roller coaster: Too fast and vast to stop and ponder anything at all.
So to let her retain her modesty, Rowe climbed the ladder the first. It did seem safe enough with the cage around the ladder, although Winnie nearly missed a rung or two trying to see up his shorts. Jess had long theorized that Rowe wore no underwear, and the notion that she’d be able to report back to her roommate in the affirmative was too tempting to pass up.
By the time they reached the top, the sun was already setting. The sky was an artist’s pallet of orange, red, and pink. The air was still, and the sounds were distant.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying ancient Greek food that people had enjoyed for a hundred generations and a sunset people have enjoyed for thousands of years.
At length, Winnie spoke.
“I don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead.”
Rowe gave her a glance but let her continue.
“And the whole ‘he died for our sins thing just smells of after the fact justification. What’s that even mean? How does Jesus dying help me? Why would it? Why should it? If I cheat someone, I should seek their forgiveness and try to make it right. I shouldn’t have forgiveness bestowed on me by Jesus from 2000 years ago. It makes no sense really when you think about it…. I told Mrs Zimmerman what I thought and she didn’t really disagree”
Rowe just listened. A breeze rustled the leaves.
“Course you probably think Jesus never existed,” she added.
“I think he existed… I don’t understand atheists that insist he didn’t. I mean, just about every religion in the world was started by a charismatic leader… I can’t think of a single religion that wasn’t. I think some atheists are just… they get hung up on this evidence thing… I mean we infer a lot of things for which we don’t have direct evidence.”
“Like God,” she said.
He started to smirk – he wanted to say something about some inferences being better than others, but he held his tongue and just smiled – letting her score a little point. He was good at that: sensing the mood of the conversation, knowing when to joust and when to relent.
If he was honest, when the day began, he had one goal: To change her mind. To remove the one impediment that had given him pause. But something curious had happened over the last ten hours. Her one “flaw”: her spiritual devotion to an ancient religion – had almost become an asset, if, for no other reason, that it now reminded him of who she was. It was a part of her – one that could not be easily dissected. And as such, a part of him no longer wanted to do so – indeed feared doing so because he didn’t want to change the young woman he had fallen for.
And while an atheist may be risking eternal damnation in the mind of a believer, nonbelievers see less tragedy in belief. There was something almost sweet about it. It is, after all, indicative of the desire to do good. He could appreciate that quality, and yet it was difficult to discern if it emanated from her or from her belief. Perhaps it was just her nature.
Whatever the case, he felt a warmth in his chest when he looked at her. It radiated throughout his body and filled him with a sort of sanguine comfort.
So, he didn’t respond with a jab. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. The breeze was gentle and their view grand and he just wanted to enjoy the silence.
She would have none of this.
“No witty retort?” she asked.
He just smiled. “I’m listening.”
“Oh God” She said.
“What?”
“Stop, you’re freaking me out. You’re supposed to disagree with everything I say.”
He smiled and studied his shoes for a moment. He was sitting with his knees raised high – resting his arms upon them and picking at his shoestring.
“Sometimes I speak too quickly, and I feel like… the… what I’m communicating is not an idea, but rather just… I’m just trying to impress people…”
She wanted to tease him and say, ‘It’s not working,’ but she held her tongue. The truth is that she, too, was good at sensing the mood of the conversation, knowing when to joust and when to relent. This was why they were a good match. And the truth of the matter was it was working, he did impress her. She knew it deep in her heart, but her mind was keeping her heart under wraps.
Rowe was, like all men who are capable of tempering their ambition with sensitivity to those around him, a product of a great mother. She was, like his father, a doctor, but a general practitioner, whereas his dad was a heart surgeon. They divorced when he was nine. His father was perhaps overly concerned with income and status, his mother more “spiritual”.
He spent the bulk of his time with her. She knew full well that Rowe was destined to be handsome and smart, and spent a great deal of time teaching him to be empathetic to the needs of others.
She gave him his depth. He and his father had good rapport and were naturals at witty banter, but there was a depth to his mother that his father did not possess. A depth that Rowe saw in himself. Indeed, he never felt as if he fit the roles that were given him. In 10th grade, when it was clear he was an athletic and academic standout, he wrote a sophomore thesis entitled, “The differences between reputation and true self.” For he did not feel as a sports star ought to. There was something inside him that almost wanted to be an outcast.
By 11th grade, he had developed a greater appreciation for objective truth, and he had an epiphany of sorts. Perhaps he did not know himself as well as he imagined, after all, who would be more biased in his own favor? Perhaps his reputation was correct, and he was mistaken? It made logical sense that 100 friends and acquaintances might be more objective than his own grandiose opinions of himself. So, he titled his Junior thesis – with all the melodramatic flair of a 17-year-old wannabe philosopher: “The differences between objective self and self-delusion.”
By senior year, he had decided that no “self” existed, there was only what he thought he was, and what others thought he was – neither were in error, but rather, they were two separate entities, both equally valid. The more authentically he lived his life, the more similar the two would be.
This sort of complexity in character is not gifted to one at birth – it is nurtured, crafted, and sculpted by careful hands. And Rowe’s was nurtured through gentle questioning over the dinner table by his wise and competent mother. His mother taught him to never accept things at face value. “Don’t think like a lawyer, she would say – cherry-picking data to build your case, rather think like a detective who doesn’t know the answer yet and follow the clues where they take you. “The truth is seldom what we want it to be, it just is.”
She also taught him to be comfortable with silence. “Sometimes the spaces between the words say more than the words themselves.”
So, they sat, enjoying the silence. The sunset like a painter mixing shades of orange, blue, and black on the pallet – each color fading into the next – stratus clouds acting like brushstrokes in the sky.
Winnie did not typically share this comfort. Her father was a preacher, who was gifted with a loquacious tongue – although he seldom got to use it at home because her mother could speak twice as fast. Add to this the fact that she was the youngest of four siblings. This made her environment an ocean of words to swim in every day. It was the background – the white noise to which she was accustomed. Getting words to be noticed in this ocean of sound was often a challenge.
This was the sort of moment that she typically would find uncomfortable.
But she did not.
For one, it soon became apparent that it wasn’t silent at all. The breeze rustling through the leaves above laid an orchestral bed for birds chirping, and squirrels chattering. Furthermore, there was something in her that trusted him. Up to that point in her life, quiet time was a time for sleep – a time in which you were in the house with family, those you loved and trusted. Somehow this moment seemed natural.
It invited self-reflection. There are within every human, vast, infinite spaces filled with stars burning with bliss and also vast deep caverns of pain into which light seldom reaches, for they are closed off by design–close off by self-preservation–areas too dark and frightening to enter – at least, enter alone. But with someone at your side, somehow, it’s easier to summon the courage, and you realize it wasn’t so frightening after all.
Winnie had these caverns inside of her.
And somehow, it seemed she could enter them with him by her side.
She wasn’t ready to share. Not just yet.
But just feeling that she could be filled with a heavy warmth, the kind one gets under covers in the cool night air.
There was a part of her in which it felt natural to curl up with him and enjoy the view together.
But of course, her mind would not allow it. Her mind set the rules this morning – no touching allowed. Her heart was pleading its case, but her mind remained ever vigilant.
The sun finally disappeared below the horizon and Venus made its evening debut. The sky was an orangish-red at the horizon, rising into shades of pink. It would be dark soon. Somehow, out of all the moments they had shared, this was her favorite. She felt small in the cosmos, and yet not alone. She could not think of anyone she’d rather be with. It was the perfect moment.
“Look! Cedar Lake!” he said, breaking her out of her stupor.
In the distance, the lights of the Summerfest rides had just turned on. A small roller coaster broke the line of the horizon, and if they squinted, they could make out the cars clearing the first hill. On the other side of the park, stage lights lit a music stage they couldn’t hear.
“Oh my God! Let’s go,” Winnie said.
Rowe nodded in agreement, but soon Winnie’s attention was drawn to a single pair of headlights coming down the dirt road that led to the water tower. Winnie squinted before announcing, “Po Po!”
“Po Po?” Rowe said with a furrowed brow.
“It’s the police!”
He looked at her with an amused smirk.
“Haven’t you heard that? Just how old are you?”
He genuinely laughed as they both rolled over onto their stomachs – snuggling up next to the side of the tower so they could be hidden by the metal walkway. They lay flat – in a straight line, their bodies meeting at their faces, and spoke in hushed tones. Rowe peered over the edge. “Oh shit, my car.”
The cruiser circled around the tower once.
Winnie’s eyes went wide – exaggerating her concern. “I can’t get caught! Oh my God! We have to do something. Quick call 911 and make a bomb threat downtown or something”
He couldn’t contain his laughter “No! I’m not calling in a bomb threat.”
“I’m a PK! This would be a huge scandal in Yazoo!” she had a hint of mirth to her voice, happy to be making him laugh.
“You’ll survive,” he peered over the edge again. “Look! He’s not even stopping.”
The cruiser made a complete circle around the tower as if to show them he knew what they were up to but apparently, he really did have better things to do and drove off.
“Oh my God” Winnie rolled onto her back and sighed, “I would have never let them take me alive.” Rowe laughed some more.
“It was my prayer you know,” Winnie said. “See, proof positive God answers prayers, what more proof do you need?”
Rowe grinned broadly. “You did not pray,” he said.
“I did… I prayed for God to call in the bomb threat and he delivered!”
Rowe laughed. “Come on, let’s go to the festival.”