Steve remembers kelly

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...as she had smiled at Mary Jane when they walked by Kelly’s office, and he felt – hoped - he had been included in the gesture. So pretty, so elegant; she’d had an easy air of being in charge, a natural posture of leadership. In the second he’d seen her, seated in her domain, commanding the attention of her people, he could feel the calm, grace-under-fire presence she radiated. 

He closed his eyes and saw her again as he’d first seen her, all those years ago. 

It was a Saturday night in the Fall semester of his final year at university. He was headed into the town with some friends from the business school and someone suggested they stop in at a dance hosted by one of the student residences. The campus girls were prettier, but the town girls were more fun. The plan was to stop at the dance for a beer then hit the town and have the best of both worlds. It was a mild, late September evening and he remembered the smell of the leaves that had started to fall as they wound along the pathway among the gray stone buildings. 

The party was just getting underway when they stepped inside. Steve wandered away from his friends, maneuvering the throng, sizing up the talent – although he hadn’t been a player. One of his roommates, on the other hand, would audaciously approach one girl after the other, dauntless in rejection, until he found a friendly face and the acquiescence he knew was only a matter of time and probability – but that wasn’t Steve. If he saw someone who appealed to him, he’d work up his courage and approach her; if he crashed and burned, disheartened, he often called it a night. 

“Stevie”, his roommate had said, “you take this too seriously. It’s just a numbers game.” 

But, for Steve, it wasn’t about numbers, and it wasn’t a game. 

As a fourth year, he had wandered around the room of mostly first and second year students, feeling a little out of place. When he approached the dance floor he paused at the edge, and through the moving, weaving copse of dancing couples, standing at the other edge, he saw Kelly. 

She stood with a few other girls, swaying a little to the music, suppressing the dance that seemed eager to break out onto the dance floor. Long silky black hair cascaded down her shoulders and fell loosely on a black spaghetti strap tank top that sat a few inches above the waist of her jeans. She exchanged glances with one of the girls and smiled at him. Steve felt as though a warm hand had squeezed his heart. 

He didn’t brace himself or steel his resolve or compose a clever line or reflect on the outcome. He did what he never did: he stepped across the dance floor, between the couples and groups of dancing girls, and walked right up to Kelly.

“Hi, I’m Steve.”

She smiled at him and gave a quick sidelong glance to her friend. “Hi, I’m Kelly.”

For a moment, he just looked at her and smiled. She continued to smile, and her brow lifted a little in expectation. 

“Um, would you like to dance?” he had finally said. 

“Sure.” 

It had been that easy. 

It was the late 80’s and so they danced to Boy Meets Girl, New Order, Fine Young Cannibals, The Go Go’s, Cyndi Lauper, Talk Talk. He could see she loved to dance – which made him realize sheepishly, that her easy acceptance of his invitation was probably less about his appeal than his role as a means of her getting onto the dance floor. Like most men, he was a reluctant, self-conscious dancer. He was afraid of appearing ridiculous and ruining his chances. But, dancing with Kelly, he was reminded, that girls didn’t seem to care what he looked like when he danced with them. It didn’t matter if he was a complete spazz – they loved to dance, and he was beginning to understand that this was one area – possibly the only one - where a man could get points just for making an effort. 

She seemed so happy, so blissfully abandoned to the music, eyes half closed, sometimes singing to the lyrics. She was a joy to watch and he forgot his dance anxiety. Their eyes would meet, and she would smile…

Her smile lit up her face: her lovely almond eyes seemed to close as her smile filled her face with a genuine, radiant happiness. Her smile weakened his knees and made him feel even goofier as he tried to bust his moves – but she really didn’t seem to notice or care. 

He’d lean in and over the music ask her about herself, where she was from, what she was studying, was she having fun. She perked up when he told her he was in the business school – it was one of the most prestigious in Canada – and she too hoped to be accepted in her third year, as he had been. 

After a half-dozen up tempo songs, Lionel Ritchie’s slow, haunting “Hello” settled a gentle, swaying rhythm on the dance floor. Steve had spread his arms a little, palms up, inviting her to take the tiny step of greater intimacy that a slow dance offered strangers. She had smiled and stepped forward. He’d taken her right hand in his left, and brought it in close, near his heart, and slipped his other hand around the small of her back. He could still vividly remember the song’s longing chorus, their slow, shuffle steps, lightly touching, her scent, his cheek brushing her hair, their touch becoming a little tighter as the song rose to its halting crescendo. He had gathered her closer into an embrace and she had yielded, their bodies now touching. As the song ended, he slackened his grip and looked at her. Again, she smiled at him. Kissing her had been as natural and necessary as taking his next breath. It was a light kiss on her lips, held for a moment, ending with a little peck as the tempo quickened to Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark”. 

Wanting to prolong the moment, he asked, “Would you like to get some fresh air?” gesturing with his head toward the doors to the quad.

“Okay,” she had said, and they held hands as they moved through the dancers to the door. Outside, he held her again, and kissed her more passionately. His hand had found her butt and squeezed. She had giggled and pulled back, giving him an admonishing look.

“Sorry,” he’d said. “I guess my hand must have slipped.”

“I think it was your morals that slipped.”

Good one, he’d thought. His fascination with her was growing moment by moment. 

It was a warm night and people were spilling out into the quad, laughing and chatting in small groups.

“There you are!” 

Two of Kelly’s friends walked up to her, smiling conspiratorially. “We thought you’d been kidnapped.”

“I think I was,” she said, and introduced Steve to her friends. Steve made polite conversation and willed them away with all his might, but the moment had come and gone, and he resigned himself to listening politely to girl talk. 

It was then that his friends stepped across the quad toward them.

“Stevie, we almost left without you! Let’s go, let’s go!”

He introduced his friends around the little group and tried to think of a way to extricate himself, so he could stay and get to know Kelly. But, they’d made plans and he’d agreed to them. He wasn’t the kind of guy that bailed when something better came along. There was chatting and kidding back and forth among her friends and his. He held her elbow and took a half step away from the others.

“Kelly, I’d much rather stay here, honestly, but I promised these guys I’d head downtown with them.”

“I understand.”

“I mean, I’d rather stay here…with you.” 

She smiled with a slightly skeptical look. 

“Thanks for the dance,” he said.

“Thank you. It was fun.” 

There was a what now pause. In that moment, he felt a shadow of doubt: she had danced with him, had let him hold her close, had let him kiss her. But, what did she think of him? 

“Can I call you?” he stammered just as the moment was about to become awkward.

“If you like.”

“Can I have your number?”

“Okay – but only if you’re really going to call me.”

He hadn’t expected that, but it impressed the hell out of him. This girl was not going to be trifled with.

“I’ll call, I promise. I want to see you again.” 

He’d had a folded mid-term exam schedule in his back pocket. He tore off a piece of it and handed it to her and watched her write down her number. She handed it to him, then pulled it back as he reached for it.

“You’re serious? You’re really going to call?”

He laughed. “Absolutely.” 

And she had handed him the scrap of paper.

His friends were walking toward the door. They called back and razzed him. 

“C’mon Romeo.” 

He watched them walk away and looked at her. Her face was framed by her long black hair; her shoulders were pale against the tank top in the thin light from the residence hall and the moonlight. Her expression was inscrutable. 

He kissed her cheek. 

She smiled. 

He adored her. 

“See ya,” he’d said.

“’Bye,” she’d said, and kissed her fingers and given him a little wave. He walked away from her on weakened knees. 

He and his friends drove off campus and headed downtown. He looked at a hundred girls over the rest of the evening and didn’t see a single one.