Free Lullaby of Love by Lucy Lacefield Page A

asked if I wanted to watch his meet against Harvard this weekend. What do you think about that?” I wait, giving her time to process it and taking a drink.
    “Really? You saw him again? Does he reside on the bus bench? —No—I’m sorry, but really, is he hanging around in the mornings?”
    I feel a little embarrassed to admit that we had both been hanging around in the mornings. “No. . . he’s not living on the bench,” I say, smiling, letting her know it’s all alright and easing myself into talking about it further. “But we have seen each other the past couple of mornings, and this morning we went for a short walk before classes.”
    She looks a little amused and smiles. “Well, aren’t you stepping out there?”
    I twist up the corner of my mouth—not sure of things.
    “Hold on, you’re alright. I think it’s a great idea to go watch it. I can’t make it though. Saturday I’m tutoring all day down at the union.” She waits for my reaction. I’m sure seeing if that causes me to back out. But what I decide I can’t tell her, is I was going to be meeting him, and that I didn’t plan on me and her going together to watch it.
    “Oh yeah, I forgot.” I let a second pass as if contemplating it. “I think I’ll be fine.”
    “Sure you’ll be fine! Anyway, if not—there’ll be about 25,000 witnesses.”
    “You’re endless.” I say, pouring the last bit of lemonade into my glass. “Tutoring. I almost forgot you had that going on this Saturday. Did you get all your spots filled for it?” Jenny and a couple of other grad students take turns offering help to the undergrads. For twenty dollars an hour, it’s an easy way to make some extra money. . . even though she compares it to filing her teeth down the front of her desk for half a day.
    “I did. The signup sheet was full again—five names. It’ll be a hundred bucks for half a day’s work—if they all show— if they all pay .” She passes me the bottles to put back into the refrigerator and starts clearing the table.
    I set the salt and pepper shakers back on the stove and grab a dishcloth to wipe things up. “Thanks for letting me come up,” I say with my back to her wiping the counter in front of the crock pot and sliding it to the edge to take home and put the leftover roast into the refrigerator to shred for sandwiches. “Hey Jen?” I call, turning around to see she’s wandered off.
    “Hang on—I’ve got something for you!” Her voice comes from the closet in the bathroom, where I can hear her shuffling boxes around.
    I walk over to where the doors at to try to get a look at what she’s doing, if she needs any help with the boxes.
    “There—found it!” she manages. She’s squatted down, pulling at something lodged in the bottom of one of them, when it releases itself—and she stands up, turns around, and fomps a flash of blue onto my head. “ There! Have a look!”
    I’m a little traumatized. She gives me a little pull around to get through the tight squeeze of the bathroom door and closet door, still open with boxes strewn out of it, and turns me to face the mirror. My mouth drops. “Really. . . ?”
    “Sure! Why not?!” Her enthusiasm makes me want to hug her. She has no idea how much of a friend she is to me— even in this moment . “You want him to be able to notice you in the stands don’t you?”
    I stand looking at myself in the mirror and we both start laughing. The Dr. Seuss hat with its Yale Blue and white stripes isn’t too flattering. “I love it!”
    “Sure you do!”
    I pop it off beside her to read the large buttons she has pinned to it like Christmas tree ornaments. “Let’s see,” I say, holding it with her reading them. “I think this one is my favorite: Say No To Battery Farm Chicken Eggs, oh, oh, and this one: Down With Fish Dredging.” She rotates it in my hand pointing, proud of my narration of her exhibit . “Yes. . . and Save The Whales. I think the whole biology building knows how