48
There was one extraordinary thing that happened that night, though.
We were sitting on park benches outside the Student Center, eating soft-serve ice cream cones from the café. Since the student movie theater was right there, we got to talking about Eastern Promises again – and from there it turned into what kind of movies we liked.
“You probably like movies where they blow stuff up reeeaaal goooood,” I said with a hick accent.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked defensively.
“It’s such a guy thing.”
“Well, I’m a guy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He probably could have followed that up with all sorts of naughty comments… but he didn’t.
“Just because I like action movies doesn’t mean I don’t like emotional shit, too,” he said.
“Emotional shit,” I said, nodding mockingly. “That’s exactly what I think when I choose a movie: ‘I want to watch some emotional shit tonight.’”
He laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Mmmmmm mm, us chicks loooove that emotional shit.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“So, what kind of ‘emotional shit’ do you like, then, Mr. ‘I’m in touch with my feminine side’?”
“I’m not going to tell you now,” he said in fake indignation.
“Why? You get embarrassed when you cry during Steel Magnolias?”
“Okay, A, I don’t cry. And B, if I did cry, it sure as hell wouldn’t be during Steel Magnolias.”
“What about Field of Dreams? Every guy I’ve ever met says they cry during the end.”
Derek looked down at his ice cream cone and gave a secret, grudging little smile, like he’d been caught and didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“Ohhhhhh – you do, you do!”
“NO – I mist up a little. Maybe.”
“‘Cause you’re Mr. Tough Guy, huh,” I nodded in fake sympathy.
“Whatever. That wasn’t the one I was thinking of.”
I pulled back and exaggerated my surprise. “Ohhhh – so you have one in particular!”
“No,” he said tersely, but with a suppressed grin.
“What is it?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Telllll meeeee...”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Pleeeeeaaaase?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked, a little hurt.
“You’ll make fun of me.”
“I won’t make fun of you.”
He looked at me from underneath his eyebrows like Give me a BREAK. “You’ve been doing nothing but making fun of me for the last five minutes.”
“It hasn’t been five minutes,” I teased him, then relented. “Okay, I promise, I won’t make fun of you.”
“Yes you will.”
“No I won’t! God, don’t you trust me by now?”
“I know you now. That’s why I don’t trust you.”
Ouch.
But it was still a little funny.
“Are you talking about the boyfriend thing?” I asked, not sure whether to be incensed or to laugh. “Because I am going to kill you for – ”
He spoke hurriedly, as though to shut me up about Kevin.
“Dumbo. Dumbo makes me cry.”
I fell silent and just looked at him as he quite conspicuously stared at his ice cream cone instead of me.
“You want to make fun of me soooo bad right now,” he said, grinning – but not looking up from his ice cream. “I can feel it.”
I laughed. “You deserve it for that ‘trust me’ crack.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“What is it about Dumbo that makes you cry?” I asked… and I tried to hold back, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. “Is it because his ears are so big, and so are yours?”
(For the record, his ears were absolutely perfect.)
He busted out laughing and pointed at me in righteous indignation. “SEE? I knew it, I knew it – ”
I was giggling and pulling at his arm as he leaned away from me. “I’m kidding, I’m kiiiiiidding, come ONNN – I’ll be good, I promise – what about Dumbo makes you cry?”
He was quiet for a second and then looked back down at his ice cream cone. “It’s one scene.”
And right then, just like that, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
We both said it at the same time:
“The scene with his mother.”
He nodded excitedly as our eyes met. “When she’s in the cage, and he goes up to her late at night – ”
“But she’s locked up inside the cage and can’t see him.”
“And she takes him in her trunk,” he said, getting choked up…
…but so was I. “And she rocks him back and forth.”
“And then when he has to go, their trunks are the last thing to touch.”
“And as he walks away all alone, she waves to him through the bars in the window.”
Suddenly I couldn’t help myself.
I started to cry.
The memory of it – and my own issues with my mother, and with loving and being loved – were too strong.
I wiped my cheeks with my hand and then laughed a little through my tears.
“Now you can make fun of me,” I sniffled.
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he said quietly.
Then he put an arm around me and pulled me to his side.
I melted into him and rested my head on his shoulder.
He leaned his head against mine and held me like that, side by side, my body shaking a little as I cried.
We stayed that way for at least two minutes, him holding me silently until my tears ran their course.
Looking back, that was when I knew – when I knew, deep down, that I had fallen in love with him…
…and that I loved him, too.
With all my heart.
Even though I still tried to deny it.