Kevin had brown hair in fuzzy patches like fledgling fur. He'd lost his Boston accent he said, but I could find it sneaking, like when we hit the "baar" that Friday night. I couldn't tell you what his eyes looked like, but I know he had at least one dimple, which pinched the right side of his face when smiling. His face was always pinched.
The bouncer at La Iguana rubbed at my Delaware I.D. and raised a brow before handing it back. There was no plastic laminate but my picture was legit. In my sophomore year of college I carried a collection of states in my bag: New Jersey, two California, the Delaware, and one Colorado hand-me-down from my older sister.
The Boston kids were gathered around a center high-board table; my old friend and my new one waiting for drink orders to return. The introduction flowed, the conversation tickled with flirtation. We talked about golf and camping and the heinous right of passage that is graduation. I licked the salt from the rim and the dimple receded deeper. "Want to take a walk?" My whole body nodded.
I stumbled up 9th avenue through cruise-control chatter, our backhands bumped each other from time to time, but neither of us were courageous enough to hold the first hand. The avenue ended at the foot of the flatirons so still in conversation, we hiked through the grassy park. The moon was in and out, playing blue hues on our incline, but we stayed steadfast.
My flip-flops slipped and lost their grip and he caught me at the forearm and eased me down to the grass like a futon ready for bed. Some nights the illumination is substantial on the flatirons. The night becomes this malleable mass and you want to collect it in milk jars and hide it in your lingerie drawer. It's still a sorry substitute for real romance.
Suddenly, an elk moved out of a shadow below us- not fifteen feet away. His antlers extended upward like the stately arms of men claiming their due respect from God.
I remember smiling so hard my face felt like it was stuck up with scotch tape; this was such a magical moment. But Kevin looked panic stricken. He started stammering about the end of college, how he wasn't ready to be a lemming like his father. How could we forfeit our authenticity? He'd read the Alchemist, (have you read the Alchemist??) and thought his God was hidden in the book spine. He was a man on a sojourn. He was boy looking for quick-love. He was a little bony baby and I needed to take him home.