What came next was unsettling; the three of us making conversation. I'd have done all right, except that I kept overcompensating for Trent. I guess I felt sorry for the guy. When I was his age I, too, struggled to be cool, yet never quite got there for my shyness.
Trent was turning to make his escape when Coral touched on something Trent and I had in common: Nature.
Trent and I squared off. Cocking an ear, I demonstrated how I had to cock an ear every time a bird took to song in my neck of Eden. Cocking the air, Trent demonstrated how he had to shoot over the heads of grizzlies every time he had to save his neck in Alaska. The two boys looked to mom to see who'd won. Mom was shaking her head. Not at her boys--estrogen poisoning requires mom to love whatever abominations come out of her womb, but at the waste. Here her boys--true to their testosterone poisoning--were busy butting heads when all mom wanted was for her boys to do what boys were put on earth to do--run errands for mom.
Ah, what do moms know? Back to the head-butting.
"Say, Coral," I said, my voice deep as a dad, "that birthday of yours; what a story-book day that was, huh?"
Coral didn't say anything, but her eyes did open.
"True," I said, posing like a TV weatherman in front of a blue screen, "the day started off typical enough; showers off-and-on mixed with sun breaks. But then, when those rainbows started forming to the north, I thought, boy, I bet the birthday girl's sure getting off on those."
"Really?" Coral said. "There were rainbows? Maybe my birthday went better than I thought."
Weather over, time for the TV Anchorman to prime this week's Human Interest Story. "Trent, my boy, I trust you took your girl out to check out that meteor shower the other night."
No, he hadn't. I was opening my mouth in victory when the sheepdog look the couple were giving one another shut my mouth. Turned out, this week's Human Interest Story was the one wherein the teenage couple had considered the celestial phenomenon, but had decided some earthly going at it like dogs was the better option.
"Sorry guys," Coral said, backing up, "got to go wake Carmie."
After Trent and I threw Coral the stern for deserting us, we got back to squaring off. But wait; the girl was gone--we were done. Unfortunately, the step he and I took towards done was a step in the same direction.
Stepping together into the Fibers hallway, I said something just to say something. "Sounds like you're in for a chaotic Thanksgiving."
"I guess," Trent said.
When Coral first forced Trent and I to go toe-to-toe, I did what warriors instinctively do--took a read on the enemy's eyes. I thought I'd cash in on that read now. "No, Trent, I've served my time in that capacity--small condos, girlfriends inviting everyone and their dog to spend the night. See Trent, I'm like you; if there's a choice of being alone, or being in a crowd, I'll take the alone."
Stepping out of doors, Trent looked at me as if he thought it brazen of me to assume I knew anything about him. But then he shrugged his shoulders, offering a concession to the contestant who'd made the lucky guess.
Inspired by this wee thread of bonding, I pulled up alongside Book Arts' windows. "Hey, Trent, I just want to thank you for being mature about my friendship with Coral. Like I told her, you guys's relationship is primary, and if my relationship with her in any way jeopardizes that, well, then, it's not worth it."
Trent didn't say anything.
So I said a word more. "I don't know, Trent; Coral and I just connect. Oh, sure, there's the laughs--that girl, always ready with a laugh. But what I really treasure is the gold. How every time she and I talk we find yet another gold thread between us."
Silence.
"And I'm not going to up and lie to you, neither--of course I find Coral attractive. Say nothing of the sexuality that alive body of hers exudes around the clock. But trust me, man; I'm not going to act on that find. Besides, I don't think Coral sees me like that. I think she sees me more like some lost uncle . . . I mean, cousin . . . or something."
I'd said what I'd had to say--more than I had to say. But Trent's silence was like my high school football coach yelling at me to dig deeper, work harder.
"But rest assured, Trent, there's nothing to worry about where Coral and I are concerned. See, Trent, Coral and I are old souls, and as such, we've been around the block a few more times than a young soul like yourself has dared to venture. Ya, and you know what we see around the block, Trent? We see cats, see dogs. See, Trent, what I'm trying to get you to see, here, is that any two dogs can go at it. No great accomplishment there. But for two individuals to have a meaningful exchange, causing each to grow because of it, well, that's big stuff. Ya, and good news here, Trent, is your girl and I can realize that big stuff without ever laying as much as a little finger on one another."
I raised a fist, showcased a little finger for Trent.
Funny, when at home, talking to my wallpaper, silence soothed me like a reflecting pond. But, when out in the field, talking to someone real, silence roared through me like a forest fire.
I fanned my fingers as if one got burnt. "And you know what, Trent? If we did--if we did lay a finger on one another, all those rare gold threads between us would melt in the fires of blind passion. Ya, and then Coral and I wouldn't grow an inch. Well, spiritually, that is."
That was it; time for elder, here, to make his exit.
I was turning when Trent clawed my shoulder, turned me around. "Look, dude," he said, getting in my face, "You may think you know Coral--know what's what because you're old and all. But here's something you don't know: Coral rules. You'll find that out soon enough. And when you do, you'll remember this day--go to your grave with this day; the day that punk teenager straightened you out on what's what."
There I stood, knowing I should be delivering a clever come-back line. But I couldn't come up with a line for the breaking up in my head. What was breaking up? Perhaps it was my memory banks already trying to forget this day.
Trent, shaking his head, disappeared into Book Arts.
Shaking, I looked high and low for an escape. I found it in the Book Arts' window.
****
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