Thomas is the Quiet One by Pearl-o
Thomas is the Quiet One. It's official; Ethan pronounced it a couple days ago, in his cramped little dorm room.
"Clark is Paul," he said, sitting down heavily on his backwards desk chair. It went without saying that Ethan was John Lennon. "And Thomas is George, of course. And--"
Astrid was lying on her stomach across Ethan's twin bed, but she scrambled up to a sitting position. "Hey! I'm *not* fucking Ringo!"
Franny was in the corner with Thomas, both of them set against the dresser. He was smiling widely, and playing with her hand in his. She leaned in and said, "I always liked George the best."
It wasn't true -- Franny had always been more of a Mick Jagger girl, if anything. But over the last couple months she's kind of come to appreciate the quiet ones.
Franny met Thomas at a crappy party two weeks after school started. She was out on the patio with the other lepers, smoking and trying to stay under the eaves and out of the rain, looking in the sliding glass doors.
The first things she noticed about Thomas were the suspenders, bright red and gaudy against his button down shirt. The second thing she noticed was his smile, the way he stood away from everything, but looked comfortable anyway, there on the outside.
She figured him for shy. It took her by surprise when she went back inside and he made a beeline for her, and they split. Thomas's favorite diner ("the best in the whole city -- and I'm a native, I should know") was only a couple blocks away, and they walked under his umbrella. She was in her biggest, clunkiest combat boots, but he still towered over her, careless and lanky.
Over strawberry milkshakes and cheese fries, she said, "I had figured you were gay, actually."
Thomas had grinned again and shrugged. "Nah, yeah, I get that a lot. I'm just weird."
They took the blue line to campus on the commuter rail, and Thomas told her about the Gelatins concert the next Saturday, and she told him about the new photography exhibit at MAM the same day, and they decided to make it a date.
Franny's high school boyfriends all tended to fit into the dark, depressed, die-for-his-art mold. Thomas is a major break from her type -- even if he's more talented than the others combined --and Franny's pretty sure she likes it.
All her latest photographs have been of the band. Close-ups, in the middle of the action: Ethan's mouth and stretched out limbs, Clark's big hands and hunched posture, Astrid's fierce movements and wild hair. The best, though, have been Thomas -- gentle perfectionist hands on the keyboard, pretty eyes closed in concentration, and a grin of silent satisfaction on his face.
Dave, her professor, is impressed. Franny's inspired.
05/01/03