Beware of Love in Technicolor Read Online Free PDF

over.
                  Once there, we went our separate ways. In the forty-five minutes between the bus dropping us off, and the bus picking us up, I spent about $350 of my parent’s money on new jeans, new Docs, and for some reason I did not quite understand, lots of satiny new bikinis to replace my old cottons. The time at the mall left me feeling refreshed, like I had spent time with a long-lost friend.
                  Back on the bus, John and I once again sat near enough to chat on the otherwise empty vehicle. He inquired as to my purchases, and nodded in approval at each of my selections. I kept the Victoria’s Secret bag to myself.
                  When I turned the tables, he presented as couple of new CD’s and a small bag of black votive candles.
                  “Satanic ritual coming up?” I asked with a grin.
                  “You could say that,” he laughed. “Girlfriend visiting this weekend.”
                  “Girlfriend?”
                  “You look surprised,” he taunted.
                  “No, I just...,”
                  “You thought I liked you, didn’t you?” He was grinning like the devil incarnate, and I thought back to Danny Keller. My face flushed as my hand itched to make a fist, but I relied on my sharp tongue rather than my right hook.
                  “Please,” I told him,” you look smart enough not to waste your time.”
                  “Why is that?” he asked.
                  “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
                  He let out a large appreciative laugh, which only served to make him more likable.
                  “Is she still in high school?” I inquired, suddenly interested in him and this girlfriend of his.
                  “Who?” he asked, momentarily distracted. He had gotten a glimpse of the pink and black Vickie’s bag at my feet.
                  “Your girlfriend.”
                  He brought himself back to the moment, and smiled.
                  “More like an ex-girlfriend, really. No, she just started at UMass.”
                  “If she is an ex, why is she visiting this weekend?”
                  “It seems she can’t live without me.”
                  “I doubt that.”
                  And so we bantered back and forth, until we reached our stop on the edge of campus. It was just shy of six o’clock, and the sky was a blaze of orange and pink as the sun set behind the west end of town. Students were milling about in the usual manner. There was a line spilling out the door of the dining hall that served this particular area of dorms.
                  We walked on past the health center, to where both our dorms were located. He lived in Holt, an ugly, eight story brick and cement structure that reached skyward in the shape of a “T.” The two short arms were an experiment in gender equality and early nineties political correctness; they were co-ed floors. The long stem of the “T” was more traditional; every floor served to house one particular gender of student. John was room 201, on “Second Long.”
                  “You want to grab some dinner?” he asked me as we reached the point where he would turn right to Holt, and I would continue straight up the hill to Wyndham Hall.
                  Finally, a dinner companion other than Molly. But my arms were full of bags, which I had to drop in my room first.
                  “I’ll walk you up there, and we can drop off your stuff,” he offered, as if reading my mind. I agreed, and we kept walking.
                  I remember the red and gold fallen leaves that lined the drive leading up the hill. I remember the long, low whistle of a passing train