“Because I'm tryin' to push you away when all I want to do is hold you. I know you say you don't want a hero, but damn I'd like to be that guy who'll save you from spiders and whatever and whoever else hurts you.”
“Julian, sometimes girls are like junk food. They look good, and they sure taste good… but you know they're not healthy for you and cause cavities so it's better to just leave 'em alone. Got me?”
“You own a piece of me," he murmurs as he holds me afterward.
"Good," I tell him. "And just so you know… I'm never giving it back.”
“Some things need to be left unsaid.”
“I'll explain it to you. To me it's more than a game." She touches her chest and says, "When you love something as much as I love football, you just feel it inside. Did you ever love doing something so bad that it consumed you?"
"A long time ago."
"That's what football is to me. It's my passion, my life… my escape. When I play, I forget everything that sucks in my life. And when we win…" She looks down like she's embarrassed to admit what she's about to reveal. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but when we win I think miracles can happen.”
“I never believed in love at first sight, until I met Derek. It's all-consuming and delicious and wonderful and exciting. At the same time, it makes me nervous and self-conscious and emotional. Love exists. I know it does, because I'm madly, deeply, hopelessly in love.”
“This attitude means you haven't met a girl worthy of your attention. You'll want to get caught if the right girl comes along.”
“She's a Texan, born and raised. Football is in our blood.”
“I look ridiculous and stupid. As I check myself in the bathroom mirror, I want to back out. I'm wearing a skintight leotard/body suit obviously designed by women who have no clue about men's plumbing, because the outline of my dick is obscene. Don't dudes who do this ridiculous sport wear a cup or something? I've been on a trampoline, but I've never done synchronized trampolining. Looking at myself in the mirror, I can see why.”
“I thought of making you and Julian real brothers.”
What is she talking about? Does she expect us to do a ritual thing like cut ourselves and rub blood together so we’re blood brothers?”
“It's not stupid. I guess havin' hope is better that givin' up and thinking life will such forever.”
“Bein' here with you . . . you've really got under my skin."
"You want to break the rule?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah."
"Why?"
“Because I’m tryin’ to push you away when all I want to do is hold you. I know you say you don’t want a hero, but damn I’d like to be that guy who’ll save you from spiders and whatever and whoever else hurts you.”
His words seep deep into the core of my heart. With our eyes locked, I straddle him on the chair. “I want to break the rule, too.”
My heart pounds rapidly and I grab his shoulders so he can steady me. I’m dizzy with wanting him to love me as much as I love him. He’s soaking wet and now I’m soaking and rain falls on us and around us. I don’t feel hot or cold . . . I’m too caught up in being with Derek, here in the dark in the middle of the night.”
“At the end of the day, all humans were merely skull and bones.”
“WAGs... That's a technical term we engineers use. It means 'Wild-Assed Guess'.”
“There was a short railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short market-gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several brown-paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles disinterred. Valentin was a skeptic in the severe style of France, and could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be careful, because he had something made of real silver "with blue stones" in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came back for his umbrella.”
“you see that movie, Chicken Run, where the chickens gang up together and escape from the farm?”
“I mean exactly that,” Mr. Davison retorted. “You’ve hit the nail smack on the head. We pay a price for having money. People in my position”—he turned to Kay—“have ‘privilege.’ That’s what I read in the Nation and the New Republic.” Mrs. Davison nodded. “Good,” said Mr. Davison. “Now listen. The fellow who’s got privilege gives up some rights or ought to.”
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