Thank Yous:All for the WLP and the MBTVers who've inspired me. I love y'all.

Disclaimer:I don't own Dawson's Creek, or David Gray's "White Ladder," or George Washington University. In truth, the latter owns me, probably for the rest of my life. So please don't sue.

Promises


The plane hums softly, vibrating so the water in the plastic cup trembles gently. Home Alone is the movie of this long cross country flight and for some unknown reason people actually paid five dollars to watch it. I declined, having seen the film several times already this holiday season. I’m confidant I can supply the words for Macauley and Co. all by my lonesome without the aid of headsets.

Instead, I’m editing my boss’ proposal for a new seminar entitled Libraries and Technology. My employer is the head librarian of my college. “University Librarian.” Heh. Way to get creative with the job titles. No one would have expected this of me. Not even me. A cop maybe, a drifter taking odd jobs possibly, a sailor in my dreams, and more than likely the guy who asks you if you’d like fries with your order. But instead, I’m at school full time, and working twenty plus hours a week as the administrative assistant to University Librarian, Jack Grant. I’m loving every second of it too. Jack is great and my job is fun. I’m a glorified student assistant, but I’m also the only one who knows how the filing systems are organized for the three head librarians. Because I reorganized them. And I learned some interesting things about librarians, too. Who would have thought one of them would need a section for porn magazines? One of them does and I can tell you who, but I won’t. “Marian the Librarian” this definitely isn’t.

Also, school is good. College is a funny thing. I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to go at all with my high school career, but you never know about universities. Mine in particular. Our President likes charity cases, loves second chances, and goes gaga over the diamond in the rough. He believed I was all three and could excel. By the end of the first semester, I was granted an academic scholarship along with the many university grants and students loans I’d already been given. I made the Dean’s List. And now I’m double majoring in political communications and economics, with a minor in music for good measure. Three years have gone by fast, and the remaining year will be challenging. Taking a deep breath at the thought, I glance up to see the “Home Alone Family from Hell” just arriving at their first class seats. Why play that movie for all of us sitting in coach?

I look down at my editing again. They’ve tried to add some slang in here to appear “colloquial.” I cross it out with a small chuckle, they shouldn’t try that again. The plane shakes a little more and my water splashes onto my dark blue button down shirt. Dabbing at the splotch with a napkin, I turn up my CD player. I also wet the sterling roses I’ve been trying to keep alive for the past two hours. There are three silvery purple roses, signifying how long we’ve been apart. It’s not an apology, just a promise. No more nights alone.

I picture her in the dark, waiting. Watching out the apartment window all by herself. I told her not to come to the airport. Looking at the flowers, I wonder if maybe that wasn’t such a grand idea. Will they last long enough? Will she? The CD skips a little with the plane turbulence....won’t say goodbye....please forgive....every time I look at you...Shaking my head a little I focus on the task at hand. The promises I made to work. To have a goal all my own. But the promises I want to make to Jo, well they run deeper. The cd takes a giant leap with the a clap of the neighboring food tray....only wish that you were here....I’ve been afraid....bad mistakes....crying out loud....love, never in doubt....It’s like the music gods are laughing at me. Chewing at my lower lip, I wonder if she’s doing the same. I wonder how the art history final went. She said it was a real bitch. I suppose she’d know a bitch when she....never mind. The Ice Queen. A rather stinging pet name. My pet name....takes a lot of love....to keep your heart from freezing....you just can’t win....you never win.... And I’ll just skip that song.

“Dinner” comes to the plane on carts. A pretty but obviously drained attendant offers me beef or lasagna. Pick your poison. Beef. It’s what’s for dinner. Maybe I’ll just eat the crackers. The beef is burnt and the salad tastes like hay. Which is something I’d know about given the Ice Queen shoved a heap in my mouth during a hayride when we were eight. I can still taste it....can’t tell....from the mountain top....my knees are shaking....we’re not right. I need a new CD player.

I glance over at my seat mates, expecting them to feel the shift in the room, the overwhelming sadness, the darkening. The two yuppies look up from their laptops only long enough to raise a paired set of snooty eyebrows my way. I take a bite of my roll and a gulp of water, which hits me in the face as the plane jerks up and I hear David Gray hoping for the bright of day right along with me. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether tears fill my eyes or it’s just a new rain cloud.

Stroking the rose petals I feel Josephine’s face beneath the pads of my fingers. She’s so lovely. Only things worth living for....Joey. I promised to be where she was always. She wanted me to have my own dreams. All I want to do is keep my promises.

Wow, airport food now includes miniature cheese with wax around it. I can annoy the hell out of Potter with this. I make a damn good set of wax lips. No remedy...Yeah, for the ass kicking she’d give me. Sweet, sweet love...God, maybe I should order a mini drink. Just something light....love....like Vodka. There go the dinner trays. I smile at the “holiday rush”ed attendant as she takes my tray...burning free...Joey would have fun with my tray if I played “wax lip torture” with her. And another man bites the dust in her food tray inspired wake of terror.

The next song comes on and the chords are all too familiar. Listening, my CD player doesn’t skip for the first time tonight. I jiggle the knee it’s resting on. Nope, not a beat missed. Sounds like the waves lapping against True Love. Sounds like a plea, a wish, soft spoken hope. It’s love. I fiddle with the flower petals, pulling one and caressing it between my thumb and index finger. And the song ends.

Next on the official soundtrack to Pacey and Joey’s life....Sail away with me honey...Well, she did that. I glance over at Yuppiedom. Yuppyette is getting lectured by Yupya on why she’s crashing her laptop repeatedly. Stellar relationship there. Like I should talk. Lord save me from Say Hello, Goodbye....wave goodbye....I’ve done that to Joey too....your life’s a mess, so insecure....Check, check....you never knew me....I hope I did. Someone save me. Why didn’t I bring that bubble gum duo’s CD, something upbeat about being “crazy for this”....a nice little housewife who’ll give me the steady life....I don’t belong...Someone help me. And the pilot flashes the “turn off all electrical devices” light. I love the pilot. I love Jo. I clasp the flower petal in one hand and something else in the other hand. Time to land.

I’m in the cab now, thinking that if I bite my lip any harder it’s gonna bleed. I’m only ten minutes from her, roses in hand, and my other hand...crying out loud, love that I was giving you was never in doubt....failing now....my head shoots up. I try to meet the driver’s eyes through the rearview mirror. He smiles, widening his eyes a little at my searching, terrified ones.

“You’ve gotta love that David Gray, huh?” He says, turning the volume dial up a bit.

“Uh-huh.” Breathing is getting exceedingly difficult. We arrive and I crawl out reluctantly. Pulling on my beaten brown cord coat, I hand the driver some cash. I throw my overnight bag over one shoulder and hold the small bouquet tighter. As I get out of the elevator on the fifth floor I glance around the hallway hesitantly. Trying to decide which way to turn. Whether Jo will be happy with the promise I’ve decided to keep. Then I hear it.

Wafting through the bare, dimly lit hall, I hear it....waves lapping....When you kiss me on that midnight street....I walk to the door. And it opens, wide open, like her arms as she pulls me in. The room is illuminated only by some candles and her. She closes the door and steps into my arms again. The song stops and begins again. I fix her with an uncertain glance. “Repeat mode,” she whispers, “I’ve been waiting....your plane was late Pace.”

“And the candles?” I ask, smiling as her lips softly trace a pattern along my neck.

“You forgot to pay the electric,” she says, laughing quietly.

“It was your turn Potter, I paid water this month.” I kiss her quickly on the nose, pulling her closer and swaying to the music.

“Kidding Pacey, kidding. I thought it would be romantic. The candles, not the kidding. I missed you.” Her fingers play with the hairs at the nape of my neck. “You didn’t mention the dress.”

Looking at her soft burgundy dress, playing with the thin straps, and feeling the full flowing skirt against my legs, I let out a soft chuckle, my lips trailing lazy kisses along her shoulder. “Leave it to you to wear a sleeveless dress in Washington, DC in January.”

“I wasn’t planning to go out Pace,” she replies, her voice full of promises. She lick her lips unconsciously and then presses them to mine, slipping her tongue inside, stroking my tongue with hers. As the kiss deepens, I pull back, determined. Disappointment and frustration dance on her beautiful features.

I clear my throat and step back, releasing her and holding out the flowers I carried from California. “For you,” I whisper. She smiles, accepts them, and makes a move to close the gap between us. I step back again. Joey rolls her eyes and waits for me. And I hold out my other hand, clenched in a fist. She looks and waits, eyes watery and wide. I open the hand, revealing a small velvet box that I picked up during my trip to visit Dougie this week. Dougie relocated to California with a really sweet woman who worked in the university library with me. She transferred and he followed. Sort of like Jo and me. Only Jo followed me. I got into one university and Joey was admitted to every one she applied to, including George Washington University. She applied there without telling me. Common Application, last minute decision. And now it’s my turn. My promise.

“Jo, I know it’s only been three days, but I’ve been missing you so badly. Will you marry me?” This year’s love had better last...I hold the glittering ring to her, her face flickering before me in the candlelight. She extends out a shaky hand to my face, brushing her fingers across my lips, my already tear stained cheeks....sweep me off my feet....Her face becomes liquid and hazy and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m crying or she is. She reaches up and pulls my head to hers, like she has a secret to tell, one she doesn’t want the candles to know, singing ain't this life so sweet...”Yes,” she breathes out, soft and certain.

“Promise?” I ask darting my tongue out to taste the salty tears on her cheek. I just can’t believe she’s here sometimes.

This year’s love had better last...”Promise,” she whispers before bringing her mouth to mine. After a soft kiss, she turns a little and holds her left hand out to me. I slide the ring on her finger and keep hold of her hand. She walks to our bedroom, blowing out candles as she goes, our hands still entwined. She lets go for a minute and unzips her dress, which falls, revealing her, naked in the moonlight. One more smile and she reaches for my hand. And I hold on, following her. And I see all the promises yet to come.