A light mist encompasses our verdant surroundings, anointing each cycas circinalis and fouquiera columnaris with a fresh new layer of moist dew. Stopping in front of the pool, I gaze into the tangle of wildlife that is reflected on its surface. Somehow, amidst the bleakness of the gray clouds, a ray of light has escaped their clutches and sends forth a stream of light upon the slim figure of a roystonia olercea next to us, causing it to tower even taller against the arching panes of the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory.
“How many more questions do we have to do?” Jeff lets out an exasperated sigh. I smile, still marveling that with all of the Heathers and Britneys of the world who don’t suddenly come to a loss of words in his presence, Jeff Waters would still ask me to be his partner for our thrilling New York Botanical Gardens scavenger hunt.
“Only twenty or so.” I reply, flipping through the pages. I pull my pen out of my back pocket, and dot an “i” I had forgotten when scribbling down ceiba pentandra. We continue to stand where we are, enjoying the warmth enveloping us in comparison to the winter like temperatures we have just left. Just then an unsuspecting group of guys walk through the door, allowing a gust of the outdoor chill to curl around my face.
“Did you guys finish the first part yet?” I ask, pulling a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Yeah, we did that a long time ago. Hey, Daria, do you know where the tram ride is?” I glance at their huddled group, still obviously recovering from the merciless winds outside. With pink cheeks and blue lips they rub their hands together for relief.
“Hey Jeff, didn’t we just finish the tram ride?” I ask slowly, darting my gaze to where he stands next to me.
“Yeah,” he begins to pipe up, “it was freezing. It’s like twenty minutes. I thought I was going to die!” Their eyes widen, inevitably dreading the trek through the thirty-degree air of autumn.
“Why don’t we just share our information with you?” I suggest. “You give us the first ten questions and we will gladly tell you everything you need to know about that tram ride.” They glance at each other briefly, and then acknowledge their consent. It is only moments before we are all standing in a huddle, distributing our wealth of knowledge, sketches of cyperus papyrus and all. Soon both sides are sweetly satisfied with half an hour, at least, to spare before reaching the end of our botanical journey. Won’t Mr. Beaverspool be proud!
As our comrades disembark for a long-sought for lunch, Jeff and I remain in the jungle, content to just relax for our remaining time at the New York Botanical Gardens. “Well, now that that’s over with, let’s go find someplace to sit down.” Jeff murmurs, shoving his pencil in his kaki pocket. We wander through the displays of greenery, our long electronic tour guides still slung across our hips.
Soon we find it, a three-walled structure, similar to what would have been typically found in a real rainforest. Underneath several posters offering information on the surrounding trees, rests a slab of wood perfect for two. Happily we sink onto it, leaning our backs against the diagrams, resting our feet that had been in use for over three hours. I watch the still trees half expecting, with such a setting, a monkey to suddenly spring across the horizon.
Jeff instantly breaks the silence. “So Daria, you know that homecoming like two years ago?”
“Yeah.” Visions of a darkened gym with the pounding of loud music come flooding back to me, and the fleeting moment when we had danced together.
“Well, come on, why didn’t you call me?”
Suddenly, I am unprepared for such questions from the boy I had considered unattainable until now. I realize though that we aren’t still the unsure, awkward sophomores we once were. We are seniors, only months away from going our separate ways to separate colleges, soon to be what society considers full-fledged adults. If we can almost vote, we should be able to openly discuss our personal feelings.
After several seconds of thought, I reply honestly, “I guess I didn’t know what to say if I had.” He searches my face and then beams.
I shove him good-naturedly. “What are you smiling about?”
“I knew it,” he says contentedly, leaning his head back on his folded arms.
Watching his laid back attitude, I have absolutely no idea where this is going. I pull back the sleeve of my ice-blue cowl-neck sweater to catch a glimpse of my watch. “All right, well it’s five to one, and we have like only five questions blank so maybe we should head back.” I glance at him quickly from where he’s sitting next to me.
“Daria, have you ever wanted to kiss someone in a rainforest?”
My eyes widen, and I ask myself if I have heard correctly the words just uttered out of his mouth. “Are you serious?” I turn my body to face him directly.
“Well I mean come on, this is a once in a life time opportunity. No one’s around, and face it, you’ve liked me since like what, freshman year?” He laughs.
“Sophomore,” I correct him. The logical side of my personality is revealed. “Jeff, it’s almost one o clock though, we’re going to be late for the bus.” I can’t believe I am discouraging this, think about the possibilities, the stories for posterity, the bragging rights!
“Oh puh-leez” Jeff chuckles, “Mr. Beaverspool said ‘one’, that means one-ish, like one-ten, one-22, one-34.” He edges closer to me so that I can smell the Polo sport cologne I used to savor when he brushed past me in the hallway. With his face inches from mine, I thrust my analytical tendencies aside, no longer demanding in my mind what will be the consequences in an hour or a day, or whether or not Jeff and I will ever start a relationship. Closing my eyes, and licking my lips, I relent and then, it happens. Something so wonderful and breathtaking it would be cheapening it to just identify it as a kiss. With my hand on his warm cheek and his arm around my side, our lips meet. It is a journey, a story, a thrilling dream. Nothing else matteres, not school, or college, or even the clipboard that bangs on the floor.
“Oh there you are!”
Suddenly the experience shatters. Jeff throws himself away from me and all I can do to not look at our Botany teacher is bend down to get the forgotten clipboard.
“Come on, you two epiphytes, everyone’s waiting for you.”
He walks in large strides out of the little hut, leaving Jeff and I to brush off our humiliation and trail behind him. I feel that my face must be three shades of red darker than usual as we open the door to exit the conservatory. I keep waiting for Mr. Beaverpool to turn around and berate us for making everyone late with our need to experience a public display of affection. The anticipated lecture does not come though, and I begin to wonder if Mr. B had even realized what had just happened. What is class going to be like now? How can I possibly sit through class learning about spores and siphon gamy when my own teacher has witnessed my own beginnings of exploratory research?
As we cut across the gardens through the frigid air, I realize that we are caught. Even if Jeff and I disclose a few minor details, our friends will inevitably make up the rest. We walk towards the parked buses, prepared for the inquiries soon to follow, and as the painted leaves of the quercus ilex silently fall to the dusty ground around us, Jeff and I finally have a secret that neither one of us will ever forget.
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