“Number 113.”
I watched in fascination as the black and white plaques on the wall counter flipped to my number with an electronic hum. Somewhat surreal as January thirteenth held a particularly warm place in the fabric of my soul—my birthday. A straw-haired woman, wearing a brown sweater vest, growled my number again from behind a row of scratched plexiglass windows. I gathered my scarf and purse, scurrying toward her; my paperwork held tightly in my mitten covered hands. Nobody enjoyed the Department of Motor Vehicles, and I knew better than to piss off the disgruntled employee any more than she already sounded.
“You need a new license and to register your vehicle?” Stale coffee and mothballs greeted me as I slid the required papers across the counter. A gold name tag listed her name as Shirley. I mused with my dimples displayed in the reflection of the worn window at her badge. My mother’s name was Shirley, too. It seemed the stars aligned in my favor today.
“Yes. I’m relocating here.” My excitement diminished as the woman scowled over a pair of no-nonsense, black readers from behind the partition. I saw her lips move and leaned closer, for fear I missed a question in my rush to hand her my papers.
She muttered under her breath, “Just what Oregon needs, another Kumbaya-tree hugger-save-the-planet-recycler who only eats organic granola and claims everyone breathes and lives life wrong.” Her tirade completed, Shirley’s focus switched from glaring at me to the documents before her.
A muscle twitch started next to my eye as her callous words wrapped their barbs around me. I respected her beliefs, but she worked in a public facility. Some may not take her spoken opinions as politely as me. I understood she earned her wages by the hour, and I knew the DMV clerk position left many disgruntled. But today belonged to me. After I finished with the DMV, I planned on treating myself to some shopping. I ramped up my sunny California smile and ignored her waspish opinions. From the moment my eyelids opened this morning, I set my mind on only the positive side of life; she wouldn’t ruin that for me. It was my birthday, damn it.
Shirley flipped the papers back and forth before digging in a drawer for a rubber stamp. Mom and Dad warned me about the native Oregon residents not taking kindly to California transplants. With a shake of my head over the payphone call, I assured them not everyone shared that opinion. I hoped I didn’t speak too soon. Shirley validated my parent’s concern much to my dismay. Less than ten days back in Portland, and my parent’s words haunted me.
I wiggled my wool clad toes and rocked back, rethinking my job decision. U.S. Outdoor hired me as a cross country skiing guide at Mount Hood during the winter months, and once spring rolled around, my responsibilities turned to the hiking trails all around the Portland area. They welcomed my previous experience; our conversations were nothing like what Shirley lobbed at me today. Even as a student at Portland State, I’d never experienced this type of animosity. I suppose at twenty-one and gung-ho with a degree in environmental studies and a minor in climate change, I spent four years in Portland with my blinders directed at school and not the outside community. I rushed back home to use my shiny new degree and met roadblock after roadblock. Moving back to Oregon filled my heart with joy. The idea of taking tourists out to see the sights and teach them something filled my deepest passions and kept my dreams alive.
“Ahem. I need two forms of identification.”
Shirley grumbled her displeasure at my momentary daydream. I popped my wallet open. “Yes, right here.” My California driver’s license and social security card slid from my fingers and clinked in the metal bin beneath the plexi-window. My destiny awaited her final stamp of approval, then Oregon became my official state of residency.
“Go stand over there for your picture.” A nicotine-stained finger directed me toward a white wall covered in scuff marks and dents. “When you’re through, take this piece of paper to the cashier at the front.” The brown-tinted digit changed direction, and I swiveled my head to follow it as the bang of her rubber stamp sounded behind me. “Expect your license in seven to ten business days from today.” She punched a hole through the top of my old laminated license and slid it back to me with a mumbled, “Have a nice day.”
My heart fluttered with excitement as I walked to the camera station. The opportunities to be had here in Oregon outnumbered the ones from my hometown. Only two more lines stood in my way before my new adventure started. Thirty feet from my prized destination, I slammed into something solid covered in soft green flannel, cozy warm and smelling like a dream. Well, I only saw the green while my other senses registered the rest. “My goodness. Are you all right?” The deep rasp and gentle hand steadying me seemed oddly familiar, yet I didn’t want to pull away and ruin the gamut of sensations rushing through me.
“Bartlett Legend? Bart. Is that you?”
Air solidified in my chest, and my lungs threatened to explode. Oh.My.God. Jordan Realta. The man who nicknamed me Bart for my San Francisco roots, and it sounded better than Pear, which he noted on one of their class hikes and environmental lab sample gathering outings. Jordan held a strong hand as the teacher’s assistant for upper-level Environmental Systems and Geography; a graduate student at the time. Totally hot and totally off-limits. Everyone had a crush on Jordan; the purity of the river for which he was named, dripped from him like the holy water itself formed every defined muscle and kissed the dimples of his cheeks when he pulled his grin into place and showed off his gorgeous straight, white teeth. Many hearts broke and bled tears the days he taught class. He also garnered the highest attendance rates when he substituted as their professor jetted off to forensic seminars.
“Jordan. Wow. Hello. What a surprise.” I left the warm flannel cocoon and stepped back; his scent lingered on my scarf. “Sorry about that, I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.” My fingers twisted in the yarn fringe hanging waist level as I looked up and up, into coffee-colored eyes mixed with just a hint of butterscotch. Beautiful and inviting, they sparkled when he smiled. The combination, when aimed at you, did crazy things to your brain and body. Heel, Bart.
“No, it was me. I turned without looking.” He aimed a half-smirk filled with an apology and a touch of sin my way. “What—”
“What—” I stammered, as heat rushed through me. “You go first.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you went back to California after graduation.”
My mouth fell open in an unladylike gape, for which my mother would shame me. “Wow. Yeah, I did. I can’t believe you remember me. Remember where I lived.” His smug grin peeked out again, and my pulse flipped cartwheels.
“You were one of the best students in my—uh, the class. I was sorry to see you go. We hoped to see you in Grad school.” He pulled at the collar of his plaid flannel as a reddish hue traveled up his neck. “I hoped you’d stay for Grad school.”
My eyebrows formed comedic winged arches as I processed his comment. He hoped I would stay? A pregnant pause floated between us as my fingers worked overtime, and yarn floated to the floor. I didn’t think he even knew me, much less personal details. Words failed my adept swirling brain. How do I respond to that? My crush and the star of many of my dreams wanted me to stay.
“So, what brings you back, now?”
It took a moment to realize he asked another question, and I shook my head to clear the wayward thoughts. “I’m sorry. Um, yeah. I moved back for a great opportunity.” I hid the truth about my layoff in California and focused on him. “I haven’t applied to Grad school yet. I need to get established first.” Red yarn floated to the floor and mocked me from the dingy linoleum tile. With a sigh, I scooped it up into my pocket. His presence unnerved me like a dirty little secret. My secret. Only it wasn’t dirty. It bordered on stalking if you consulted legal counsel.
“Tell me what could possibly take a girl like you out of the classroom and research, and into the wild of the real world?”
The richness of his tone sent me back to the two years I camped out in front of the Liberal Arts building, hoping for a glimpse of him. I promised myself I wouldn’t stray from my path of academic excellence. My scholarship wrote my ticket to a front-row seat to Portland—much to my parent’s dismay. I refused to be one of those girls: arrive on campus for an MRS. degree. So, I watched him from afar in silence. Drinking him in like a cold glass of water on a hot day. Only speaking to him in class or during field experiments. All of the girls vied for his attention at any opportunity. I picked the higher ground and declined, refusing to follow in their footsteps. My crush stayed silent, hidden behind my notebooks. It weaved itself into my papers, making certain the top grades belonged to me.
“I needed a change. I’ll go back someday. I’m excited to be back here. Doing something for me. A new opportunity.” I leave it vague once more, and the wheel spinning back to the past.
A past where my confidence spoke for itself. When I watched the others fawn and flit, I decided I didn’t need or want validation from a perpetual hot teacher’s assistant who fed little tidbits back to his followers. School regulations also explicitly stated that undergraduates were forbidden from dating staff. Rules set in place for very good reasons. While he warmed my inner nerd and fed my infatuation with his flawless physique, I refused tempting fate. My drive and determination ruled my actions. Nothing stood between me and my degree, not even his slight curly cue Superman hair or his prominent sculpted abs hidden beneath the university assigned polos.
“I’d say it’s an opportunity, for sure.” The wattage of his smile reached solar flare status and directed its rays on me. “What’s up for the rest of your day?”
My rain boots became my focus, not his amazing eyes, nor the way his head kinked to the side, just so, with his question. Happiness bubbled from a hidden part of my soul. An emotion foreign and familiar all the same. Shiny and new with his unexpected appearance, yet a small part of me squashed the tender shoots. With good, bad followed hot on its heels, poised and ready to destroy. My mind spun with possibilities his question suggested. Never in a million years would I think I’d run into Jordan today, of all days. A small part of the shiny and new wanted Jordan as a longed-for present from my youth. The practical and experienced side reminded me actions bring consequences.
I watched as more strings floated to the dirty floor. This wasn’t the normal me. This alter ego prompting my brain and hormones to go forth and conquer, an all-out surprise on all fronts. Sure, I liked dating. But he didn’t bring dating thoughts to my mind. Yeah, I passed GO! and wanted more than Monopoly money from him. But I knew better than to expect him to fall for me. If he was smart, he’d run away quickly, my secret curse hidden deep below the surface. The curse which followed me through relationships and left me destroyed now ruled the no dating clause deep within me.
“Ma’am, step up to the two feet.” The man behind the camera motioned at the painted outlines of footsteps in the photo booth.
“Uh—I guess that’s me.” I grimaced at the idea of moving out of his space. I also avoided his question. His presence made me question my intention of returning to Oregon. Was I here to develop further, or did I secretly return, hoping some of the familiar good days resided here in Portland? Ones which existed before the dark cloud and curse rained over my head.
He reached for a card in his wallet. “Call me when you’re free. We’ll get a drink or something.”
“Uh—yeah.” I cleared the frog in my throat as he turned and lost himself in the sea of folks wading through the lines of the busy DMV.
I muttered to myself, “Bart, what are you doing?” Jordan pushed the exit door and headed to the parking lot just beyond. “Remember what happened in California? Nature and conservation is the path you chose. Don’t forget your purpose.” The angel of good decisions whispered in my ear as the bright flash from the camera blinded my final view of a man my heart wouldn’t forget.
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