Undeclared (The Woodlands) - By Jen Frederick Page 0,35
the love scenes became increasingly graphic, I stopped watching. I was acutely aware of Noah. At one point, he propped his arm on the armrest, and I could feel the warm cotton of his sleeve and the soft tickling sensation of his hair against my arm. I wanted to rub up against him, place my cold nose into his throat. I wanted to pull his arm around me and drape his hand on my thigh. But I remained in my own space, arms tucked close to my sides as if I was afraid that one movement might send to me lurching into his lap to try and act out some of the scenes on the screen.
A strange tension began to seep into my body as the movie ticked on. I imagined Noah lifting his hand from his own thigh and placing it on mine, moving up and down my bare leg in long sweeps, higher with each pass, until his fingers tucked right under the fabric of my skirt. The thought of Noah’s hand between my legs made me shift. Discomfited by him, I crossed and then uncrossed my legs.
My inability to sit still didn’t go unnoticed. Mike looked at me impatiently and moved away, as if I was adversely affecting his enjoyment. I clenched my hands in my lap and closed my eyes, which only made it worse, because now all I could hear were sounds of the rustling sheets, the fall of the cloth onto the floor, and the crescendo of sounds, both human and instrumental. The air felt thick and heavy around us, like I was breathing underwater. Each breath felt labored and sounded harsh to my own ears, and I wanted to stop altogether.
At the moment I thought I would explode out of my seat and flee the theater, I felt a large, warm hand cover mine. Noah’s touch was completely unexpected, and I froze. But instead of this causing me more anxiety, Noah’s hand soothed me. I unclenched my hands. The block in my throat dissolved, and I was able to take a few deep, calming breaths. Each muscle that had tensed up seemed to unknot and relax.
The movie went on, but I noticed little of it. Instead, I focused on the tendrils of warmth that curled outward from the hand in my lap like vines on wall. The hand never moved, not throughout the entire movie. I glanced to see if Mike had noticed, but he wasn’t paying any attention to me.
The heat, the dark, the sudden cessation of panic—it all made me drowsy. Noah shifted and I felt his shoulder close to my head like an invitation. I looked at him, but his eyes were focused straight ahead. It was like his arm was detached from his body. Perhaps it was mine now.
I rested my head tentatively against the shoulder that was in my space. No one moved. I stopped worrying about what Mike would think and allowed my eyes to drift closed and my thoughts to wander into nothingness.
The noise of dozens of spring-loaded seats being snapped back in place woke me up. I jerked upright. Noah’s hand was no longer in my lap. I straightened and tried to look like I hadn’t spent the last half of the movie sleeping and holding hands with him. Too late, though, as Mike was standing up and looking down at me with a puzzled expression.
At least he didn’t look angry that he’d found his“ date” asleep on the shoulder of another guy. I wiped the sides of my mouth as surreptitiously as possible and stood up. To Mike I said, “So do you want to go to the CoffeeHouse?”
Mike looked surprised, and I heard a choked-off noise behind me. I ignored both reactions and smiled as widely as I could. Having not practiced this in front of the mirror, though, it could have looked like the joker’s grimace.
“Sure.” Mike was either baffled by my behavior or intrigued. Either way, he was willing to place himself in my company for at least another hour.
“Great,” I heard from behind me. “I’d like a coffee.”
I turned then and looked at Noah. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I was deeply embarrassed by my actions tonight. I needed to make things right with Mike and then figure out what I was going to do with Noah.
I turned back to Mike and motioned for him to exit the theater. When he didn’t move right away, I pushed him slightly and his