The week drags on at a gruesomely sluggish pace, while also advancing at the speed of light. I decided to wake up at 6 am this morning to take a run through campus to just get a work out in, over, and done with before I even head out to church. Most days I find campus to be a tad suffocating with the tall redwoods every which way I look. They loom over me as if their tops were bent over, judging me for every misstep and wrong choice I make. Crowding me wherever I go.
It's only on mornings like today where I truly relish the beauty of it all. How the fog tendrils creep in every night to leave a thick blanket on the forest floor, only to creep back to the ocean to which it came from. It's a dance as majestic as any prima ballerina.
Today I forgo the usual music I listen to for a run to cherish the quiet before the world wakes up and comes to life. All I hear is the all encompassing silence along with the padding of my rhythmic strides and inhale exhale of my breath. The occasional stirring of an animal, skittering away as it hears me approach. The wafting sound of air as a birds wings flap for a take off or landing.
I let my mind go blank, in order to watch it drift towards any given subject. I think about my breath and my shoes that hit the pavement every time I bring my leg forward. Life is so circular. Breath in, breath out to only breathe in again. Life begins, we grow up, we produce life, we die to allow another life to grow up. Circular. The moon phases New Moon, to waxing, to full, to waning to then go back to new. Circular. Much in this way, my mind tries to find other circular patterns that exist in the world, nature, society. It allows me to forget the burn in my chest and the cramps in my calves.
An hour and seven miles later, I make it back to open my door to my dorm at half past seven and my roommate Holly is still asleep in her bed across from mine. She usually has a full social calendar on the weekends and sleeps in to catch up on Sundays. I grab my bathroom caddy and the clothes I had picked out. I'm out the door to the bathroom as fast and as quietly as possible. Respect, gotta have it when you share a ten by ten room with someone.
After a quick shower, change my clothes, putting on a splash of make-up I'm ready for the Sunday morning routine to begin. Ready to further center myself, even though the run this morning helped to put me in a good place. Still going to church will help me to feel the routine of being grounded.
During the drive to church, I play Explosions in the Sky, feeling as it fits the mood perfectly for the transition between my early morning run and church. In less than fifteen minutes, I have pulled into the parking lot and walking towards the glassed entrance. I give a friendly smile and wave to the greeters who welcome everyone who walks through the church doors.
I head to my usual spot: three rows from the middle split on the left. My purse begins to slide off my shoulder and I narrow my eyes as I recognize the person who is standing in my row. It's the glaring guy from last week. Great! This should be an interesting church service.
He's wearing another t-shirt and jeans ensemble today. I glance down at his feet to see that he's wearing some sort of boots. They almost look like work boots, but let's be real, what do I know about men's boots? On his right arm, I see a matching wing tattoo to the one that I saw on his left. The tattoo has unimaginable detail and is utterly breath-taking. It must cover his whole arm and trace back to his shoulder. Whoever did his tattoo is a master of his craft.
I give him a slight smile and a sheepish wave as my white flag of "I come in peace". He just looks at me, flat faced, void of any emotion. At least he's not glaring at me this time, I think to myself as I lower my purse to the pew behind me. I shift my focus to the stage, where the worship team is playing and the lyrics are being projected onto a screen so we can all sing along.
The worship set comes to an intermission and one of the pastors hops on stage to welcome everyone. He also invites everyone to turn around and welcome neighbors sitting around them. Of course, the only person who is sitting in my row is Mr. Grumpy Pants. I take a step in his direction and stick my hand out as if nothing has ever transpired between us. With a chipper tone and smile I say, "Good morning!"
He hesitates, but puts a large hand in mine and gives it a slight squeeze. His hand is rough, like it's used to long hours of manual labor.
"Hi," he states as if he's surprised I can talk. "I'm Dane," he clips.
He speaks in full sentences! "Hi! I'm Summer," I cheerily reply as I look him straight into his blue, grey eyes. Through our eye contact a haunting feeling creeps over me, just like the ocean fog creeps onto beaches, into the neighborhoods, and finally into the forests. I shiver. I quickly drop my smile and my eyes and attempt to let go of his hand, but he hesitates. After a moment, he drops my hand as well. I turn around and proceed to say good morning to those behind and in front of me in an attempt to recover and slip back into my routine.
The band begins to pick up the next song. The lead red-head singer begins to sing a dramatic, melodic, and moving song. I close my eyes to block out the moment that just passed and focus on what I'm really here for.
The rest of the service seems to carry on at an adequate pace and wraps up before I even know it. Since I'm already standing, I turn around to grab my purse off the pew to make a hasty retreat to my car before anyone can make any small talk. My plans of escape thwarted when Mr. Deadpan, excuse me, Dane, raises a hand to wave me down and says, "Excuse me?"
I whip around and say, "yeah?" in my fake chipper voice.
"Do you mind talking to me for a moment outside. I'll buy you a coffee from the stand," he offers.
As I am not one to turn down free coffee, even if it's coming from a creepy guy who was just mean mugging me last week. Maybe he's just trying to explain himself. A major motto of mine when it comes to men is to give them a chance. Otherwise, I feel like I will just reject every man on earth for some reason or another, which I usually do anyways.. So I reply, "sure!"
As we walk outside, side by side, he asks, "I like Americanos. What type of drink do you like?"
"Nice! I love Americanos, especially iced Americanos," I respond. See, not so creepy. We walk up to the coffee stand, where church goers can purchase hand-crafted drinks on the church campus.
"Two small iced Americanos, please," I state to the barista behind the bar.
The barista my age states, "you got it," and begins to make the drinks.
With the drinks paid for and in hand, Dane and I turn the corner for cream and sugar. I take just light cream, but Dane puts a little sugar in his, along with cream. I would say that one can learn a lot about someone by the type of coffee they drink and what they then subsequently put into their drink, but serious you can. At least I do.
Once our drinks are each to our liking, he sets off in the direction of where the walking path is behind the church. I know that it leads to the forest of eucalyptus trees, but that's about it. I hesitate for a moment: stranger, forest, alone. Sounds like a bad combination. I have taken a women's self defense course and carry pepper spray in my purse since I'm alone so often, but still, kinda sketch.
He notices my hesitation and turns to me to give a half smile, "Will you take a quick walk with me?" His tone of voice was gentle and not what I expected. The way he said it was almost like a quiet plea.