License Photo
Zach woke with his head on Becca’s bare stomach. He heard the faint gurgle of life rising up from her intestines, and the deeper pulse of her heart resounding through her torso. He looked up and saw her face cushioned on the two pillows at the head of the bed. She had on one of his old shirts as a nightshirt, but it was fully unbuttoned and her breasts rose and fell with each gentle breath. He felt her cotton panties against his neck, and his arm extended down the full length of her left leg. His fingers brushed the arch of her foot. He knew that if he moved those fingers just a little bit, her body would respond instantly—first with a shiver, then with a semi-conscious giggle, then with lots of other good and welcome gifts to be discovered and explored. Before initiating this cycle of sharing, Zach found his watch with his free hand and checked the time.
It was 8:30 AM and their French Novels final was at 9.
Zach sat up quickly. He checked the alarm clock on the desk. The alarm was switched off. Had he forgotten to set it? They’d been studying together late last night (really, early this morning), first in the living room, then in bed. Then other needs had made themselves known, and been addressed. Had he forgotten to set the alarm? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d set it and turned it off without waking. It didn’t matter. It was now 8:32 and their test was at 9.
He reached up and shook Becca’s shoulder lightly.
She opened her eyes slowly then rolled her face into the pillows.
“Becca, it’s 8:30!” he said in a sharp whisper.
She sat up suddenly. “It’s what?”
Zach checked his watch. “8:33.”
Becca threw off the bedcovers and raced into the bathroom, Zach’s shirt flying out behind her like a cape.
When she emerged from the bathroom four minutes later, Zach was already fully dressed. He slipped into the bathroom and completed his essential hygiene and bodily functions. When he emerged, Becca was tying her shoes while sitting on his desk chair. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. She had on a flannel shirt and jeans. She didn’t have any make-up on, but she rarely wore make-up. She really looked quite lovely.
Zach walked over and knelt on the carpet beside her. “Sorry, Bec. I don’t know what happened with the alarm—if I didn’t turn it on, or if I turned it off without waking.”
She finished tying her shoes, sat back in the chair, and took a deep breath. Then she looked at him. “If I flunk, will you take the class again with me?”
Zach leaned forward and hugged her with all his strength. “I love you,” he said into her shirt. Then he stood. “Remember—Stendahl, Julian Sorel; Flaubert, Charles and Rodolphe; Hugo, Jean Valjean.” He grabbed an unopened box of Girl Scout cookies as they passed through the kitchen on their way to the parking lot.
They slid almost silently into the classroom just as their Romance Studies professor was starting to close the door. This bald, hawk-nosed Count of Stoicism and Understatement shook his head once and released the faintest of grins as the two of them flew past and took their seats.
After completing their exams (Zach finished first and waited in the lobby downstairs, Becca joined him about five minutes later), they walked across the Main Quad to the Shake Shoppe in the basement of the Student Union for a late breakfast, early lunch of chili dogs, fries, and chocolate milkshakes. It was the last day of finals, the last day of term prior to the long holiday break; and the campus was nearly empty. It was also the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year; and the gray skies, damp cold air, and cutting wind reminded them of this astronomical nadir as they scurried across the Quad and down the stone stairs and into the close warmth of the Shake Shoppe. They ordered their meals from Valera, one of the friendly and ageless keepers of this student emporium, then sat down with their food at a table along the wall, under a high narrow window that looked out on the Quad turf above and the gray sky beyond. They were the only customers in the Shoppe.
“How’d you do?” Zach asked.
Becca shrugged. “It’s done,” she said with an ironic chuckle.
“Yeah, it’s done. So what now?”
“For me? Home to a buffet dinner tonight then family commitments far out as this eye can see—past Christmas, anyway. It’s kind of hard for me to even think about at the moment.”
“You’ll have fun once you’re there.”
“I’m sure. I love everything about Christmas. But it’ll be different this year.”
“How?”
“I’ll be missing you.”
Zach nodded. “We’ll survive.”
“I hope. I’m more worried about you. It doesn’t seem right to be alone over Christmas.”
“I won’t be alone the whole time. Larry and Celine have invited me for dinner tomorrow night; I’ll spend some time with Barton. It’ll be fine. I’m actually looking forward to the solitude.”
“Tell me again why you’re not going home to see your family?”
“I don’t know, Becca. It just doesn’t feel right. I haven’t been home at Christmas for three years. And now with the separation and all that’s going on, I just don’t want to deal with the questions. The spoken ones I could probably handle; it’s all the unspoken questions, the whispered comments and indulgent looks, that would drive me crazy.”
Becca laughed. “I know a little about those looks—the raised eyebrows, the pursed lips, and the knowing grins.” Becca seamlessly transformed her lovely youthful face into that of a judgmental old aunt, complete with cocked eyebrow, pinched lips, and indulgent grin.
Zach threw his arms up in surrender. “I’ve seen enough. No more, please.”
Becca smiled. “I guess I have a higher tolerance for that kind of stuff than you.”
“Or are at a different place in your life.”
“Maybe so, but it’s hard for me to see a time when I wouldn’t be with my family over Christmas if I were free to be there.”
Zach shrugged. “Maybe we are different in that way. So what about today?”
“I’ve got a few hours before I need to leave. I want to spend them with you.”
“Want to take me to the Driver’s License Bureau? I’ve got to get this provisional license made permanent.”
“Becca’s Taxi at your service.”
They finished their meals, discarded their paper plates, cups, and trays, and headed back up the stairs and out into whatever waning light this shortest day of the year had left to offer.
The Driver’s License Bureau was on the other side of town, a twenty-minute ride through inner-city streets with countless turns and confusing intersections. Becca said she knew the way, and in any case was far more familiar with the town than Zach; so he left the driving and navigation to her and closed his eyes and let his mind drift. It didn’t drift far.
By any measure, Zach’s life was in a heightened state of transition and upheaval, some might even say chaos. He was pursuing a new major at a new school in a new town in a new section of the country, practically a foreign land. He was in a deep and complex relationship with his faculty advisor and writing mentor, and had many other new friendships and academic relationships, each with its own set of demands and rewards. He was writing a first novel, short stories, poems, essays, and several journals, taking an expanded load of courses, all with heavy reading requirements, and working three part-time jobs. Oh, and yes, he was in the middle of the most intense love affair of his life, a love that had seized him months earlier, drawn him into its swirling vortex, and not let him touch ground since.
And it was into the heart of this love that his mind, free to roam, drifted now. More specifically, it was into the heart of this girl driving beside him—the source of this love from the start, before she was the object of this love—that his drifting mind and spirit and soul descended now. The storms of his world, even the tempests of this love, raged out there somewhere. But inside here, within the generous and kind heart of this beautiful and abundantly graceful girl, in this time-bound space that was somehow outside of time
and space—in here, it was completely calm; in here was perfect consolation, eternal life.
Becca slowed the car and turned, and they lurched back and forth across several deep potholes. Zach opened his eyes on the parking lot of the Driver’s License Bureau. They were in a rough section of town, and the parking lot and building were surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with three strands of barbed wire. Zach wondered who in their right mind (or even in their wrong mind) would try to break into this facility, a division of the State Highway Patrol? He was reminded yet again that he was in a different land, with a different set of rules and standards. Becca pulled into an open space not far from the entrance to the modular building and switched off the car.
“Should I wait out here?”
Zach looked around. “Might not be safe.” He was only half-joking. “Besides, it’s too cold out here. Come wait in the warmth. It shouldn’t take long.”
Becca nodded, locked the car, and walked with him up the steps and into the building.
The large open room they entered directly from the outside was divided into three spaces. The front section had chairs lined up against two walls and a receptionist’s desk with a highway patrol officer behind it to one side near the door. Beyond a low wooden railing was an area with a double row of wooden chairs with attached right-hand writing desks (identical to the desks they’d used earlier in the day while taking their French Novels final). Beyond this testing area, at the far end of the room, were three desks manned by Patrol examiners taking information, doing eye exams, and preparing license documents. Hanging on the far wall was a red screen with a camera in front of it for taking license photographs. Zach turned to the receptionist and Becca took a seat in one of the wooden chairs along the near wall.
After checking his provisional license and verifying his identification through his student ID card, the receptionist sent him back to the desk of the last examiner in the row. There a stern, heavy-set woman with close-cropped dark hair flecked with gray shot a series of rapid-fire one-word questions at him like bullets at a firing range. Birth?—Race?—Sex?—Height?—Eyes?—Hair? The fact that some of the answers were self-evident didn’t seem to interest her. She wanted the answers from him, and she wanted them fast. He offered a qualified answer to the question about his height—some measurings listed him at six-four, some at six-five. She frowned and growled, “One or the other,” as if she might cuff him and throw him in the holding tank if he didn’t give her the correct response and soon. “Six-four,” he said.
She typed all his answers onto his license card, then stood and silently pointed him toward the screen hanging on the wall. Zach walked over there and stood in front of the screen, half-wondering if the camera might transform into a machine gun under the hands of this drill sergeant. The examiner walked behind the camera, inserted Zach’s license card, then cursed and walked back behind her desk without a word to Zach. He remained standing in front of the screen while she rooted through her drawers.
Then he looked up and saw Becca, still seated in the same chair against the wall at the far end of the room, reading a newspaper someone had left behind. He was almost surprised to see her there—in this room, in his life. His first response was one of bottomless thanks, for whatever unlikely sequence of events and good fortune had placed her in his life. But his thanks quickly gave way to pure joy at this profound gift from above—her and their love, his now and forever, come what may.
The examiner barked, “At the camera!”
He lowered his gaze about two degrees and the camera’s strobe flashed.
Zach threaded his way back past the examiners’ desks and the testing area and through the opening in the low wood railing with his new laminated license in his hand.
Becca stood at his approach and said, “O.K., let me see it.”
Zach handed her his license. He’d not even looked at it yet.
“Zach, you’re adorable!” Becca exclaimed. “You’re glowing. Nobody glows in their license photo!”
Zach took the license back and looked. Sure enough—he was glowing. It was the happiest photo ever taken of him, and for good reason—this was the happiest he’d ever been. He well knew the reason why, and he’d do his best to communicate that knowledge to her from this moment forward.