Chapter 4: The Walk to the Car

I wake up still wearing his hoodie.

The morning light comes through my window. Pale and gray. It is Thursday. I have no classes on Thursdays. Normally I sleep late. Normally I wake up slowly, stretch under my blankets, check my phone, take my time.

But today I wake up all at once. Like my body remembers something before my mind does.

Eli.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. His name is in my head like a song I cannot stop humming. Eli. Eli. Pencil Boy. The man who draws strangers. The man who gave me his hoodie. The man who said my name like he was tasting it.

I lift the sleeve of the hoodie to my nose. His smell is still there. Faint now. Mixed with my own smell. But still there.

My phone is on the pillow next to me. I must have fallen asleep texting Amina. I pick it up. Our conversation is still open. The last message is from her, sent at 2 AM.

Okay I have thought about it. I have decided I approve. But I need to meet him. And if he hurts you I will end him. Goodnight.

I smile. Amina has been my best friend since freshman year of college. She is loud where I am quiet. Bold where I am careful. She has had boyfriends. She knows things I do not know. Things I have never asked about. Things I am suddenly very curious about.

I text her back. Good morning. I am alive. Still wearing his hoodie.

She replies within seconds. Still wearing it? You slept in it?

Yes.

Nubia. Oh my god. You are down bad already.

I do not know what that means.

It means you like him. A lot. And your body knows it even if your brain is still catching up.

I stare at her words. My body knows it. That is the truth. My body has been telling me things since last night. Since his hand touched mine at the bench. Since his knee almost brushed mine at the diner. Since I sat in his car and felt that warmth spread through me like honey.

I have never felt that before. Not once. Not ever.

I was always too busy for boys. That is what I told myself. Too focused. Too driven. I had goals. A degree. A career. A mission. Boys were a distraction. Sex was a distraction. Love was something for later. For someday. For after I had done everything else.

But my body does not care about my plans. My body woke up last night. It sat up and paid attention. It noticed the way his hand looked on the steering wheel. The way his jaw moved when he chewed his pie. The way his voice dipped low when he said my name.

And now my body wants things. Things I do not know how to name. Things I have never let myself think about.

I text Amina again. Can I ask you something? Something personal.

Always. What is it?

My thumbs hover over the screen. I do not know how to ask this. I am twenty three years old. I should know these things. But I do not. I never learned. I never let myself learn.

What does it feel like? When you want someone? Physically, I mean.

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. She is typing a lot. Then the message comes.

Okay. I am going to answer this seriously because I know you and I know you are not joking. It feels different for everyone. For me, it feels like heat. Low in my belly. Like something tight that wants to be loosened. My heart beats faster. My skin feels more sensitive. Like every touch is bigger than it should be. And there is a kind of ache. Not pain. Something else. A wanting. Like your body is leaning toward them even when you are standing still. Does that help?

I read her message twice. Three times.

Yes. That helps. Because that is exactly what I felt last night. The heat. The tightness. The way my skin felt alive when he was close to me. The way my body leaned toward him in the car, even though I was sitting perfectly still.

I type back. Yes. That helps.

Can I ask YOU something now? she writes.

Okay.

You have never felt this before? Not ever? Not even a little?

I close my eyes. I could lie. I have been lying about this for years. Brushing off questions. Changing the subject. Pretending I was just too busy, too focused, too serious. And I was. But that was not the whole truth. The whole truth is that I never felt anything. Not for anyone. Not until him.

No, I type. Not ever. Not until last night.

A long pause. Then her message comes.

Oh, Nubia. This is a big deal. Are you okay?

Am I okay? I do not know. I am something. I am awake. I am aware of my body in a way I have never been before. I am thinking about things I have never thought before. His mouth. His hands. What it would feel like to be held. To be touched. To be wanted.

I think so, I write. I am just confused. I do not know what to do with these feelings.

You do not have to do anything right now. Just feel them. Let them be there. You do not have to act on anything until you are ready.

Ready. What does ready mean? I have spent my whole life being ready. Ready for tests. Ready for presentations. Ready for deadlines. But I do not know how to be ready for this.

What if I am never ready? I ask.

Then you are never ready. And that is okay too. But something tells me this guy is different. Anyone who draws you for six weeks without saying a word is paying attention. And anyone who pays that much attention is probably willing to wait.

I put my phone down. Stare at the ceiling again. His hoodie is warm around me. I pull it up to my chin. Close my eyes.

I think about him.

I think about the way he looked at me when he handed me his sketchbook. The fear in his eyes. He was afraid I would think he was strange. Creepy. But I did not. I felt seen.

I think about the way he said my name. Nubia. Like he was trying to learn the shape of it. Like it was important to get it right.

I think about the way he opened the car door for me. The way he told me I did not have to get in. The way he waited until I was inside my house before he drove away.

He is careful with me. I can feel it. Like he knows I am something fragile. Not weak. Just new. New to this. New to him.

I do not know if he can tell. If he can sense that I have never done this before. That I am twenty three and untouched. That my body is waking up for the first time and everything feels big and bright and terrifying.

I wonder what he would say if I told him.

Would he be surprised? Would he treat me differently? Would he pull away, not wanting the pressure of being my first? Or would he be gentle? Would he go slow? Would he understand that I am scared and curious and hungry all at the same time?

I do not know. I barely know him. We have shared one bench, one diner, one car ride. That is not enough to know these things.

But my body wants to know. My body wants to find out.

I get out of bed. Walk to the bathroom. Splash cold water on my face. Look at myself in the mirror.

My eyes look different. Brighter. My skin is glowing. My lips are slightly parted. I look like a woman who just woke up to something. Something new. Something big.

I am still wearing his hoodie. It hangs to my thighs. My bare legs below it. My hair messy around my shoulders. If he could see me now, what would he think? Would he want to draw me like this? Soft from sleep. His clothes on my body. Vulnerable in the morning light.

The thought makes my stomach tighten. Makes that warmth spread lower again. I press my thighs together. Feel the pulse there. The ache Amina talked about. The wanting.

I have never touched myself. Not really. Not the way women do in books. I have been too scared. Too shy. Too disconnected from my own body. It always felt like something other people did. Not me.

But this morning, I wonder. I wonder what it would feel like. To lie back on my bed. To close my eyes. To think of him. His hands. His mouth. His voice. To let my own hand move down my body the way I imagined his hand moving.

I step away from the mirror. Lie back on my bed. My heart is beating fast. I am nervous. But I am also curious. I am so curious.

I slide my hand under the hoodie. Touch my stomach. The skin is warm. Soft. I have never thought about my own skin before. Not like this.

My hand moves higher. Touches my breast. My breath catches. It feels different when I touch myself this way. On purpose. With intention. With him in my mind.

I think about his hand. The long fingers. The pencil bump. What would it feel like if he touched me here? If his palm cupped me gently? If his thumb moved across my nipple the way I am moving my own thumb now?

A small sound escapes my lips. I am surprised by it. I did not know I could make that sound.

I pull my hand away. My face is hot. My body is humming. I feel like I am standing on the edge of something very tall, looking down.

Not yet. I am not ready yet. But I am closer than I was yesterday.

My phone buzzes again. I pick it up. It is not Amina this time.

It is an unknown number.

Hi. It is Eli. I got your number from the class directory. I hope that is okay. I just wanted to say I had a really good time last night. See you next Wednesday?

My heart stops. Then starts again, faster than before.

He found my number. He found me.

I save his contact immediately. But what do I name him? He is not Pencil Boy anymore. He is Eli. Just Eli.

I type back. Slowly. Carefully.

Hi Eli. It is okay that you found my number. I had a good time too. Yes, next Wednesday. Same bench.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Three dots appear. His response comes fast.

Same bench. I will bring the hoodie. Oh wait. You already have it.

I laugh out loud. Alone in my room. Laughing at my phone like a fool.

Yes I do. And I am keeping it until Wednesday.

Fair. Have a good day Nubia.

You too Eli.

I put the phone down. My face hurts from smiling. My body is still warm. My heart is still beating too fast.

Five days until Wednesday. Five days until I see him again.

I do not know how I am going to wait.