The Sight--Chapter 2 (standard:mystery, 2266 words) [2/4] show all parts
Author: SoLikeCandy	Added: Mar 19 2001	Views/Reads: 2884/1971	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chapter 2 A mysterious old man watches Ruth--and Will makes his move...comments are welcome!

Well, she’d really done it this time. In the space of two weeks, she’d
managed to work 65 hours at the music store, grade midterms for the 
class for which she was a TA, spit out two midterm papers of her own 
(both of which received A’s), go back to Johnson for a day and visit 
her family, and secure herself a date with the excruciatingly sexy 
blonde who sat behind her in a class called 20th Century Psychoanalytic 
Criticism in Literature. Ah, multitasking at its finest. 

She’d been reading a book on Hamlet in the student union when she heard
a shrill but masculine voice call her name. 

“Hey, Ruth!” 

She turned around to see her best friend Andrew smiling broadly and
waving wildly to her, walking toward her with his quick gait that 
looked like some sort of dance step, his big black fleshy hand blurring 
with its movements. He flopped down beside her on the couch. “So,” he 
began, “anything new with Miss Ruth?” 

“I’m going out tonight.” 

He frowned. “That’s cool, I have to finish a paper. I’ll be all alone on
a Friday night...” He frowned, adding mock sniffles of disappointment 
and hurt. 

“I have a date,” Ruth replied. “You know the guy in my lit class?” 

Andrew’s face lit up. “The big blonde corn fed white boy?” 

“Yeah, him, his name is Will. We’re doing a little research for the
class and then having dinner.” 

“Oooooh,” Andrew cooed, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially.
“You scamp! He’s a hell of a specimen, honey, you’d better watch out 
for me!” 

Ruth laughed. “Something tells me that, despite your charms, you’re not
his type.” 

“It’s more than charm, Ruthie. A little sprinkle from my pouch of fairy
dust would undo him.” 

“Leave your pouch out of this, please,” she said slyly. Andrew giggled. 

“Well, I’m sure his pouch is enough to keep anyone busy.” 

“You are vile!” 

“And observant,” he added, smiling. 

Andrew was the only man Ruth knew who could look at another man and
point out every single one of his physical endowments from across the 
room. They had been neighbors and best friends since elementary school, 
and when he told her he was gay during their freshman year of high 
school, she hugged him and said “Andy, that was like telling me you’re 
Black. No need, it’s obvious.” She and Andrew were misfits of sorts 
when they were younger: she, the young Angela Davis, sporting a large 
afro and combat boots, reading William Burroughs and singing in a goofy 
ska band; and he, the bulky coal black high school fullback who 
listened to Donna Summer, did the hair of the neighborhood women and 
had a penchant for clear sparkly nail polish. Ruth and Andrew grew up 
together, inseparable, choosing the same nearby university and sharing 
a small two bedroom apartment right outside of campus. Their mutual 
acceptance deepened their friendship, and they shared a strong bond. 

“Don’t you have a class or something?” Ruth asked. “You really shouldn’t
be late.” 

“Yes, mother, I’m going.” He rose and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Go
minimal tomorrow; neutral on the lipstick, and dark, smoky eye shadow, 
that’s a wonderful look for you. Let me in on all the juicy details 
when you get home, alright?” 

“If there’s anything to tell, you’ll be the first to know,” she said,
waving to him as he sauntered toward the door. She was left alone to 


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