NOW 

It was easier to forget him then, back when I still had a flat stomach and a mean strut. Now, as I idly rub my hands over my protruding belly I can't help but think about him. I think about whether you'll have his light brown eyes or his dusty colored hair. You're going to be so beautiful. 

I wonder what he's doing right this very second. I wonder if he's changed. Did he let his hair grow out? Does he still love dark beer? Does he still watch SNL reruns like we used to?

         Agh. I don't know. I shouldn't care. He...left me. No, no. That's not true. I left him. I left our poisonous "friendship." The word still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I should have seen the signs from the beginning. They were all there. Somewhere down the road, the lines of our friendship blurred and I stopped caring. 

I wanted to be with him. I wanted to love him. But he was not mine. 

THEN

"ROLL CALL!" yells a portly Latina in a blood orange tank top and bright yellow capri pants. Her meaty hands hold the clipboard close to her face as she reads down the list, sweating. It’s hot as balls in this quadrangle they’ve got us standing in. Although they've split us into groups, I can tell this will still take forever. 

"Robert Abernathy, Theresa Ankes, Jeremiah Battle..." 

I yawn. This is going to be a long summer. Gazing around, it appears that everyone in this City Year summer training session pretty much meets my expectations, and my mother tells me I certainly have a lot of them – expectations, that is. They are young and eager and mostly white. All fresh-out-of-college students ready to take on the big bad achievement gap in the grimiest streets of the tri-state area (New York, New Jersey, Connecticut). City Year managed to get 150 people from all over the area to come this summer training program in the rolling hills of upstate New York. And I am one of those poor shmucks. 

I mean don't get me wrong. I want to help tutor kids. If I didn't, I wouldn't have signed up. But I’d like to skip the kumbaya sessions these summer programs (read: camps) seem to become. I know what it's like to be a poor black kid from the city. I don't need someone to tell me how I should behave, how careful I should be, and I certainly don't need to sit in half of these diversity conferences they have here on my schedule. 

I sigh, but soon my ears perk up upon hearing my name: "Charley Rose!"

"Here!" I call, raising my hand. I don't miss the curious glances thrown my way. I suspect folks are expecting a dude to raise his hand. I get that a lot. People who haven't met me always assume I'm a boy by my seemingly unusual name. Well, my mom is an eccentric woman. 

After about who knows when, the lady gets to the end of the list and I can tell everyone is ready to get out of the blaring sunlight and into the cool residence halls of Rockland University. 

"Once you enter the building please proceed to the main hall and check our message board," the lady puffs, "On it you will be able to find the school you were assigned to. This is important because starting tomorrow, those assigned to your school will be your CY team. You will meet with them to work on special projects, take the bus with them, and they'll most likely be residing in the same hall as you." 

I sling my purple Nike weekender over my shoulder and grab hold of my very large suitcase. I follow the direction of sweaty bodies filling into the main building. Once inside, the cool air is a relief. The sweat slowly dries on my forehead. It causes a tickling sensation on my forehead and down my back. I manage to see the main bulletin, which is really a series of boards. Good call, I think. Otherwise, with all of these people, checking in would've been a real shit show.

Guessing that it'd be in alphabetical order, I scan the later bulletin boards and find my name.

Charley Rose

Site: Colby High School

Dorm: Edgar / Suite 6

Edgar...I vaguely remember hearing the dorm name, but I have no idea where the dorm can be. Earlier, I'd stuffed my campus map deep into the recesses of my bag and, now, there is no way I am going to let go of my duffle bag and luggage to go looking for it. Not when I've balanced them so perfectly for walking.

I decide to find the dormitory sans map. A little adventure will be good for me. Back into the blazing heat I go in search of Edgar. About 20 minutes later, to no avail, I'm sweating profusely and I still haven't found the damn dorm. I'm growling to myself when I hear a voice behind me.

"Hey, you alright?" No, I'm not ass…

"Eh, could be better." I turn to the stranger with an earnest smile. He's...handsome. Sun-kissed skin, a head full of murky brown hair, and the friendliest eyes - light brown and cradled by crow’s feet. He probably laughs a lot. I instantly like him.

He chuckles. "I can see that. You're sweaty as shit." His candidness makes me laugh out loud.

"Well damn, you would be too if you were carrying two dead bodies around." I huff gesturing to the size of my bags. He laughs a rich, hearty laugh. It's loud and unbridled. I'm so distracted that I don't see him reaching for one of my bags until his calloused hand brushes mine. "Well, m'lady. Let me help you out. Where you off too?"

Slightly off kilter, I reply,"A…a dorm called Edgar?"

"Yup, I know it. I live there. Come on." He nods his head North and begins walking. He's got the heavier bag and his strides do not falter. They are wide and purposeful. I shuffle along to keep up. I'm what you would call a stroller.

"Oh cool. Is it far?” I ask.

 “Nah. You were almost there."

"Phew. That's the last time I try to be adventurous." He cocks his head and eyes me curiously. I smile sheepishly, realizing that he probably has no idea what I'm talking about.

"I stupidly tried to find my way without a campus map..."

"Ahh...well, I wouldn't say you’re stupid. I’d say you’re brave. Brave enough to get lost in this damn heat.” He pauses. “So what's your name and where are you from?"

"I'm Charley from New Jersey. What about you?"

We arrive at a beautiful building made of granite and marble and stop just outside of the doors. The stranger slides his free hand down the back pocket of his jeans. He reveals a student ID and presses it gently against the security pad of the building. There's a beep and the doors slide open.

"Charley, huh? Is it short for anything? Charlotte, maybe?"

"Nope," I shrug. "Just good ol' Charley, but with an -ey, not an ie. Dig?" He awards me with a bright smile and nudges me playfully.

"I dig. Well Charley, I'm Rider. Just plain ol' Rider, with an I and not a Y. Feel me?"

I laugh...no, I giggle...like a lovesick fool I giggle.

"I feel you. So can I call you Rye?"

"Only if I can call you Chuck."

"Deal."

We grin at each other like children, already the best of friends and we’d only just met. Our eyes communicate that realization, yet the ding of the elevator breaks our reverie.

         We pack into the elevator and the door idly slides closed. Rider eyes the numbered buttons and leans into me. He asks, "So where to?"

        "Suite 6? Do you know where that is?" I am overwhelmed by his proximity, but I won’t let it show. I keep my arms locked by side and pray to God I don’t smell like a skunk’s ass.

        He chuckles and shifts my bag to his other hand. "Well whatdya know. That's right across from me."

       And just like that, I think: maybe this summer won't be so bad after all.