From Festus, With Love
by Douglas Young
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
Heading to his first summer class, Huxley Madison walked ever slower toward Erasmus Burt University’s Foreign Languages Building. Though he did well in high school Spanish, learning another tongue had not been easy or particularly fun, and he had put off fulfilling his college foreign language requirement as long as possible. Now a rising junior, he hoped he had not forgotten too much of what was learned a few years before. But he was distinctly unenthused and longed for a far more fun class in English or the social sciences. He also felt embarrassed at likely being a couple of years older than most of his classmates in the freshman class.
Since he dallied getting to class by stopping to read the campus newspaper and talk with an acquaintance, he entered the back of the classroom just before class began and took a seat in the back left corner. Good, he thought. Hopefully the teacher won’t call on me way back here. At nine a.m., the well-dressed lady writing on the chalkboard turned to the class.
Buenas días, estudiantes,” she said ebulliently. “Yo soy Señora Seraphina Fuentes. ¿Como están?” The instructor was a very attractive older lady who had enjoyed a long career at the local Alfred Marmaduke Hobby High School before retiring and teaching part-time at the university. Huxley admired her black dress with flower images and wondered if her jewelry came from the silver-mining town of Taxco, Mexico, visited by his high school Spanish class one spring break.
After passing out copies of the syllabus, Señora Fuentes’s seemingly fixed smile suddenly became a frown as she began furiously fanning herself with both hands. “But, first, we’re going to crank up this air conditioning,” she exclaimed while walking to the thermostat. “We are not going through hot flashes again.”
From the class came mostly stunned silence, some embarrassed giggles and a few hearty laughs, the loudest from a young lady on the front row diagonally to Huxley’s right. Finding the source, he turned his attention to the tall brunette beauty looking at the instructor with such a splendid smile.
Framed by a full mane of long, auburn hair, her ebullient face featured a full set of teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Huxley was taken by how perfectly poised she seemed with her head resting ever so snugly in the cup of her left hand as her eyes followed Señora Fuentes’s every move. Mr. Madison wished someone would gaze at him like that, especially someone so fetching.
He also admired how she was the only girl in class wearing a dress, a golden one adorned with bright red and purple flowers. Leaning as far into the aisle as he dared without being obvious, Huxley further noted what a fine pair of long, crossed legs emerged from her golden dress atop brown sandals.
Since Señora Fuentes frequently asked questions of the students — and in Spanish — the generally shy Huxley reluctantly refocused on the teacher’s words, determined not to embarrass himself in front of everyone, particularly the lovely lass at the front of the class.
But for the rest of the period, he stole looks at the girl with the boisterous laugh. The class had already turned out to be far more interesting than he ever imagined, and he hoped the students would have to have a conversational partner. How cool if she could be mine, he hoped. But I’m sitting way too far away from her, he fretted.
To his relief, no one sat in the desk to the right of his still-smiling classmate. Mr. Madison hoped no one showed up late to claim it and resolved to sit there the next class.
Relieved he had not made a fool of himself when Señora Fuentes called on him at the end of the period, he looked to see if the girl in the golden dress talked with anyone when the class dismissed. She did not, but instead exited the room, standing tall with a self-assured walk. Huxley’s most dreaded summer class was now his most exciting.
* * *
When the Spanish class met again two days later, he caught himself walking rapidly toward the classroom, arriving even before the previous class let out. As soon as the earlier class adjourned, he darted to the seat by the front door and waited eagerly for the one on his left to be filled.
As the minutes ticked by, his eyes kept checking the clock above the chalkboard, and an alarming thought penetrated his radar. What if Miss Golden Dress dropped the course? Maybe her loud laugh revealed someone not taking the class seriously enough to remain in it. Drat, Huxley thought, and dog if I’m not planted right on the front row, all the more likely to be called on by the teacher for the rest of the term. Comparing the time on the wall clock with that of his watch and phone, at nine o’clock he began to despair when Señora Fuentes clapped her hands and began the class.
But as if gliding across his horizon like an elegantly serene swan, the statuesque young lady with the flowing reddish-brown hair gracefully slid into her seat next to him. His eyes widened and blinked as he sat up straight. Today she wore a dark blue dress and red flip-flops. But what most caught his fancy were the lavender lilac petals she wore above her right ear.
As soon as he caught himself staring at her, she turned to him with brownish-green eyes and flashed a friendly smile, to which he blinked and smiled back. He had heard nothing the teacher said and sensed his whole being enveloped by a drowsy, dreamy feeling that recalled the first time he got stoned on hashish, before he had to stop smoking it for all the paranoia it produced.
Any regret that his classmate caught him watching her was dwarfed by the surprising smile she shared. Finding it harder to focus, he forced himself to try to follow what the teacher was saying in Spanish so as not to fall hopelessly behind. The prospect of incorrectly answering a question posed to him by Señora Fuentes while Miss Blue Dress looked on was mildly frightening.
Between trying to keep up with the instructor’s rapid Spanish and his furtive glances at his comely classmate, the class went quickly. When everyone got up to leave, the champion worrier could not help himself.
“I hope you don’t mind me moving from the back row up here,” he remarked. “Spanish isn’t exactly my forte, and I figured I better sit down front so as not to fall behind,” he offered nervously.
“I didn’t know you’d been in the back,” she answered with a chuckle, “but welcome to the front.”
“Thanks,” he replied with a relieved smile. After some hesitation he added, “I’m Huxley Madison,” and extended his hand.
“Juniper Newmar. Delighted to meet you,” she replied gripping his hand more firmly than he could ever recall a lady doing. They proceeded to walk down the crowded hall together.
“Are you a Spanish major?” he asked, and she chuckled again. “Not remotely. Foreign languages have never come easily to me either,” Juniper declared. “No, I’m just taking some classes this summer that I should’ve knocked out when I was a freshman.”
“Me too. I’m actually a rising junior,” he noted.
“Same here.” She nodded as a stupendous smile spread across her face again. He caught himself smiling back.
By the time they went in different directions to their next class, they had found out some basic facts about one another, like where they were from and each other’s major. Though it had all been small talk, Huxley felt as if his entire body was infused with a mild intoxicant. He was also struck by how bright the mid-morning sun shone and how intensely vibrant the blue hydrangeas, orange day lilies, and yellow coneflowers bloomed around them.
“Thanks for introducing yourself, Huxley Madison,” Miss Newmar announced. “See you in class Friday.”
“There, dudette,” he replied with a smile and a wave as she grinned at him. This could be the best summer class yet, he noted.
What a nice, polite boy, and kind of cute, too, Juniper mused walking away. Well dressed, his shirt tucked in, clean-shaven, hair combed, clean nails, a solid handshake, well spoken, and maintaining eye contact. Quite a masculine miracle. Spanish class just got more intriguing.
While Huxley was thrilled such a looker gave him any time at all, Juniper relished her first fun friendly banter with a man her age since breaking up with her boyfriend a few weeks before. Though lots of male customers at the restaurant where she waitressed were friendly, and more than a few were flirty. too, this Huxley appeared decidedly more sincere, a little nervous but gamely fighting his shyness. He seemed actually interested in what she had to say, as opposed to just wanting an excuse to ogle some hot-chick eye-candy. We’ll see what happens, she thought while spotting a pair of cardinals in a red and white Rose of Sharon flower bed.
Am I already crushing on this gal? Huxley asked himself. Now let’s not get too excited. This babe is way out of my league. Just be grateful for the unexpected pretty scenery in Spanish class and don’t mess up a pleasant distraction by getting hurt when she turns me down for a date. What an endless semester in Spanish class that would make. Then I’ll wish I’d stayed on the back row, sure enough.
Still, he knew it was not just her gorgeousness that was so appealing. There was some hard-to-define spark about her different from other people he had known. She definitely exuded much more confidence than he had. She just seems unafraid of anything, he marveled. Really happy too.
Happy was not how Miss Newmar would describe herself, certainly not since discovering her last beau cheated on her. She was all the more humiliated since friends saw George McClellan openly squiring another girl at a popular restaurant. That Elodie Evans was a sister waitress where she worked whom George had met when giving Juniper a ride home made it a double betrayal, and one she was embarrassingly reminded of most every shift at work. Salting the wound all the more was that her rival was significantly less attractive, far less intelligent, and someone George was clearly not serious about.
But the worst, most lingering fallout from the breakup came from how fervently George denied there was anyone else. That he lied so passionately and almost tearfully made her briefly question whether her friends misinterpreted what they saw. But they said George and Elodie left the restaurant holding hands, and when Juniper confronted her in the parking lot at work, Elodie finally admitted they had gone out and, when pushed, proudly acknowledged sleeping with him.
How I can ever trust another man? Juniper had subsequently asked herself many times since she and George had seemed so simpatico. Together for over a year, she had dared wonder if he might even be marriageable. That he could so cavalierly throw it all away and not be man enough to own up to it had deeply disappointed and demoralized her.
This Huxley fellow was the first new guy to be decent to her in some time who was not a restaurant customer perhaps just trying to pick her up. It felt fine to surmise there might be some good men after all. But let’s just take it as it comes, she cautioned herself.
* * *
Copyright © 2024 by Douglas Young
