* This Category, SHORT STORIES, contains occasionally implied and sometimes explicit material. Please keep in mind that you are reading stories, and accept adult responsibility for viewing this material. Thank you!
Matthias had the distinction of being the tallest in her memory. Slanking himself across the gallery lounge furniture, that discreet blonde adult student trying to keep her body inside her clothes and her husband starched and remote, feigning interest in her multi-media pieces, Matthias already uncertain about her, later taking a drive out to the county with the petite department secretary and holding her up by the rump with just one of his large long hands and plunking her onto the hood of her Carmen Ghia.
She and every one of the rest of the fresh art students wanted just for a day to be the department secretary, to live in her body and speak with her voice, and be held up by the rump with just one of Matthias’ big, strong hands.
Matthias was an art major, of sorts. She also knew him to help build sets in the theater wing, seamlessly connected just down the hall from the studio floor. His hair retained the rock band shag to shoulder, a hallmark of the late 70’s, and was solid platinum. He also had a car, which he drove across the campus, usually after daytime classes when the off campus students were walking back to their apartments.
It was just at one of these hours of exodus during spring term, while she was walking, that Matthias passed her in his car. He’d slowed to a crawl, and looked her way. On that day, she was carrying a fresh tree blossom, a lilac, in her right hand. He commented about her flower, saying something about being in touch with nature, then waited to see what he might have provoked. She let the moment carry itself, silently revelling in his attention, giving him just enough to wonder about. And, every day thereafter, as she prepared to head back to her apartment, and for as long as they remained in season, she carried a lilac blossom in her hand.
By the end of that year, she left school to prepare for a transfer to a private institute in another state. Matthias moved on. He was older; perhaps he graduated. Decades passed.
One spring day, she thought of him. Her search yielded only one who fit his description. A game animator, he seemed to have become, of modest success. She found some contact info, and tried an email. There was never any reply.
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo
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