Fungs (2/05/09 Thursday)

The fun came at me yesterday. Scared out of my wits, I ran. Avoiding Julie had been too easy this half day of concurrent schedule, and I was chagrined at the lack of challenge. It was after three, and I was shelving in Children's knowing Julie was at her desk with her headphones on, listening for flaws in a CD or DVD. At the top of the next hour I'd be going to lunch, and afterwards to the desk as she left for home. I hate it when scheduling makes my mission so easy. How can my point be made when it's shadowed by routine?

Bemoaning this from my knees as I shelved the easies, a stack of books landed heavily beside me. I looked before she unbent, at the lyart hair fallen across her face and down the billowed v-neck of her sweater at the curve of her breasts. Both the recognition and the compromising view ordered my glance quickly away.

"Here, Dion. Shelve these," said Julie with mock officiousness then a laugh to hedge her tone to ensure I knew it was a joke. I laughed meekly, and she laughed again more appreciatively.

"What makes these books so special?" I said.

"Well, I read this section earlier, and these books that go there were staring at me from the sorting cart. I knew it wouldn't take long to shelve them."

She was there for ten minutes, the last nine of which my shirt was undone and sleeves pushed up above my elbows to vent my boiling blood. When, done, she walked away, I cursed her. Dammit, I thought to her back, you don't make it easy to ignore you. But, there, exactly, was my challenge and chance to have fun, and those were the words that should have been spoken. I got what I wanted, didn't I? But I wasn't careful how I asked for it: I wasn't aware I was asking.

When I returned with the cart five minutes later, all the while assessing the damage to my strategy caused by this new monkey wrench, I instinctively, against muffled warning, shot a glance down to the last desk. There Julie sat, headphones on, looking at me. She looked away, I looked away. I parked the cart, and at that moment knew I could not possibly stop ignoring her now for fear that she'd think I'd seen a sign of affection. She may have been trusting me again with her silliness, but all I can do about it is nothing, except learn to rejoin her.