Traces of Desire
Copyright© 2025 by Big Ed Magusson
Chapter 2
Somewhere, clocks ticked. My heart didn’t. I sat, frozen by the woman’s smile. Her face, surrounded by her long blonde tresses, was angelic. Then she quirked an eyebrow, which broke me out of my spell.
“So you’re okay.” She extended a hand.
“Yeah.” I let her help me up. Fortunately, she didn’t brush my scrapes. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t looking—”
“Neither of us were.” I quickly checked myself over. Other than a sore butt and the scrapes, I was fine. “But no harm, no foul.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
With one last smile, we went our separate ways.
Except I couldn’t help myself. I turned and watched her. She wore a bright green t-shirt and dark green shorts that hugged her ass. And man, what an ass it was. In other words, she was out of my league.
I sighed deeply. I’d actually quoted Monty Python. I hoped I hadn’t sounded too much like an idiot.
But then, I’d made a fool of myself when I’d asked Andrea out, and that had worked out okay...
“You’re gonna make a fool of yourself,” Kelly warned.
The school librarian glared at us. Kelly immediately straightened up and tried to look innocent. It didn’t work very well. The wider his eyes, the guiltier he looked. But the librarian just tssked and returned to shelving books.
“Am not,” I whispered back. “She’ll love it.”
The object of my affection was bent over her notebook, absorbed in taking notes from a chemistry book. I admired how studious she was. Andrea was smart, quiet, and really pretty. She had long brown hair that framed her face like a picture, and curious eyes that peered out of through glasses that made her look as smart as she was. We’d been in honors classes together for three years and I’d always admired how much she participated in class. She was perfect, at least when she wasn’t chewing on the end of her pencil.
“You are,” Kelly insisted.
I rolled my eyes. Kelly’s own girlfriend had told me that Andrea liked me. I didn’t see how I could screw this up. Besides, this always worked in romantic comedies.
That didn’t prevent my nerves from being on fire. Was I making a mistake?
I took a breath and reached into my backpack. I found the rose, gently nestled in a clean towel, and pulled it out. The padding had worked and it wasn’t crushed.
“Don’t do it!” Kelly said, once again not quietly enough.
I shook him off. After another deep breath, I strode over to Andrea. She didn’t look up until I was right next to her.
“Would you go to homecoming with me?” I thrust the rose forward.
The library fell into an expectant silence. Everyone was staring, I could tell. Andrea looked up, first at the room and then at me. Her eyes went wide when they fell on the rose. I couldn’t read her emotions well, but then ... she pursed her lips in a small smile.
“So...,” I said, “will you?” I locked my elbow to prevent my arm from shaking with nerves.
Her smile widened, before she nodded. “Sure.”
I shook myself out of the memory. That’d been almost a year ago, and I’d gotten a lot better about my romantic gestures. At least with Andrea, because, well, I hadn’t dated anybody else.
My gut twinged at that. I’d thought ... well, I’d loved ... well...
I sighed. It didn’t matter what I’d thought or felt.
It was over.
It still hurt, but with some help from Michelle and my friends, I’d come to accept that it was done. Andrea and I weren’t ... well...
We weren’t. That was probably the best way to say it.
Ruminating on it wouldn’t change anything, so I joined the back of the line for check-in.
It didn’t move.
I grimaced. I didn’t like Dad having to idle in line, but I didn’t know quite what else to do. I was annoyed, and I wasn’t the only one. The guy in front of me actually muttered something that sounded obscene under his breath. He glanced toward the courtyard entrance, muttered something again, and left. I figured I could always let him back in line and moved forward.
I ended up behind a wiry blond guy. He had this casual air about him that almost struck me as cocky. Almost. He glanced my way and smiled, but then his eyes dropped to my U2 concert shirt and his grin widened.
“Nice shirt.”
“Thanks.”
“I actually saw them in July.”
“Seriously? Me too! At McNichols?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Nosebleed seats.”
“No way! Which section?”
“Far back on the left.”
I laughed. “We were far back on the right!”
We chatted about the concert for a bit as the line edged forward. He had a really laid-back demeanor, but his face still lit up as we talked about specific songs. We started talking about the U2 albums when he stuck out a hand.
“I’m Len.”
My eyebrows shot up. “My roommate’s name is Len.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Len Freeman from Loveland?”
“Yeah! You must be Mike.”
“Yeah! Mike Mahoney, your roommate.” I took his hand and shook it.
“Ah! Cool!”
“Funny running into you in line.”
He shrugged. “Dumb luck.”
I chuckled, though it actually made sense—it was either here or in the room.
We talked a little as we continued to wait. He was in the business school but hadn’t decided exactly what he wanted to do. Marketing, maybe, or business administration. He thought it was cool that I was pre-med, and mentioned that one of his sisters was pre-vet up at CSU. The other sister was much older. She worked in California as a massage therapist. He was surprised that Michelle was only a year younger than me. He was two years younger than his sister who was at CSU. We drifted back to talking about U2 and music until we got to the front of the line.
The resident assistant had us sign some forms and made sure we read the code of conduct, which both Len and I skimmed. Then she handed us our keys.
“You’re on the fourth floor, right under the northwest tower.”
She pointed to a window, way above our heads.
“You can use the freight elevator,” she continued, “but there’s a long line. The stairs are through that door.”
I nodded as I tried to get my bearings. Then I remembered the important question. “Where can we park?”
“Wherever you can find a spot. There really isn’t any parking on this side of campus.”
I grimaced in frustration.
“My dad found a spot down the hill,” Len offered, “but the lot’s probably full by now.”
“Great.” I forced a smile. “My dad’s stuck in the traffic jam.”
“That sucks,” he said sympathetically.
“It is what it is.” I shrugged. “Meet you in the room?”
“Yeah.”
Michelle was clearly annoyed when I returned to the Suburban, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the source of her ire: Mom. I couldn’t exactly ask what had happened, so I told them about the parking situation. Dad grumbled about it.
“Fine,” he said. “You get out here. I’ll wait until something opens up.” He gestured at the half-dozen spots for street parking, currently all full.
Mom, Michelle, and I hopped out and converged on the rear of the Suburban. I opened the tailgate and reached for my computer manuals bag, which I did not want Mom anywhere near. Then I grabbed my computer, since it was the heaviest of what was left. Mom and Michelle grabbed the bags with my clothes. When Mom’s back was turned, Michelle shot her a nasty glare, which made me wonder what’d happened in the car while I’d been gone.