A stroll outside with Lucille

You’re out for an early evening stroll to clear your mind when you spy a thin figure crossing the quad, dressed in her typical monochrome attire. You follow after Lucille with quick strident steps that echo in the narrow hallway of the building you were passing through, keeping your eye fixed on her all the while.

Seconds later, you catch up to her on the paved path that cuts through the green.

“I was thinking about the seminar assignment,” you say, grabbing her attention. “I think you’re right. Love and sex aren’t compatible.”

“They aren’t,” Lucille shrugs, picking up her pace by a fraction.

“What’s the rush?” you ask.

Her small backpack, drawstrings loose about her shoulders, bounces quick against her ass; your eye is naturally drawn to the sight for the fraction of a second before she turns to face you.

“Am I in a rush?” she replies, speeding up slightly more.

“I can barely keep up,” you say, and she raises an eyebrow, as if to say What’s new?

You walk abreast in silence for a few seconds. She pivots right towards the dining hall, before she turns to glance at you again.

“I walk fast because I’m from New York,” she says by way of apology.

“And is that where you got your cynicism about love too?”

“Maybe,” she says doubtfully.

There’s a small trickle of people heading into the dining hall, but it’s still early: the real rush will come later in the evening. Lucille hands her ID over to the gruff old man tending the cash register. He swipes the card and wordlessly nods her in, and you do the same, following a step behind her.

“What you said back in the classroom earlier this week, those were some serious thoughts about love. You don’t get a conviction like that out of nowhere,” you comment, scooping some overcooked cucumbers onto your plate.

“No, you don’t,” Lucille agrees. She throws you another glance. It’s not an ‘I don’t want you here’ glance so much as it is a ‘I’m not sure why you’re here’ glance. She circles around a cafeteria island, picking up two plums from a platter of fruit. She plops one onto your plate, saying: “They’re quite good.”

“I’m surprised they feed us anything good,” you say.

Lucille laughs, a quick noise that she stifles as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“I’ve had better food on flights,” she says.

“What, the little package of peanuts?”

“Yes. At least you can’t fuck that up,” she says, putting her plate down on a table. It contains her plum, and a small helping of mushy pasta that she begins to pick at.

“Hey, at least it hasn’t given me food poisoning yet,” you say.

“I bet you you’ve used that line on a dozen girls already,” Lucille says, eyeing you. “How many of them have slept with you?”

“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you sputter, covering your mouth with your hand, trying not to spit out the bite full of cucumber you’ve just taken. “What makes you think that I’ve done that?”

“It’s what my second brother would do,” Lucille shrugs. “He’s a fuckboy through and through.”

She picks up her plum and pushes her plate aside. Half the pasta sits there, uneaten.

“So that’s where the cynicism comes from,” you say, as if the idea had suddenly dawned on you.

She rolls her eyes.

“Look, I think you’re kinda cute, but you don’t have to try so hard,” she says, taking a bite out of the plum.

“I just wanted to talk about our Seminar assignment, bounce some ideas off you,” you say. “I liked what you said in class, so…”

“You’re still trying,” she says, chewing on the plum.

You take a bite out of your own. Dark on the outside, sweet and juicy on the inside. You gaze at Lucille.

“Not going to lie, part of why I followed you in here is because I think you’re cute too,” you confess.

She gives you a dazzling smile.

“Now was that so hard?” she says.

While you try to come up with an answer, she gets up, taking her plate with her.

“If you really want to talk more about the assignment, I’m free later tonight,” she says.

With that, she ups and leaves, leaving you with two plates full of unappetizing food, and two half-eaten plums.

Lucille +10