Beatitude 9
Save It For Later
CHAPTER 9
Northmont University. June 22, 1984.
This week has been difficult. Except for the minutes in Heaven I spent kissing Charlene by the lake. That was better than good. It was transcendent. I think about it a lot. I think about her a lot. And I worry. Mostly I worry.
What comes next?
I’m not a virgin, but I don’t have a lot of experience with females. I've never had a girlfriend and I’ve never been on a traditional date. Not like the kind in books or movies anyway.
Where I’m from formal dating rituals were pretty much unnecessary.
Most of the kids from my high school met at the same spot on the weekend — FRANKLIN PARK. Didn't matter what group you belonged to (Freaks, Nerds, Populars, Jocks, etc.), everyone gathered there to hang out and get loaded. Many showed to pair up. If you saw someone you were into, you’d make your play. It was a pretty good system, nothing fussy about it.
Beginning of sophomore year, I found myself attracted to a snooty girl named Audrey. She was lovely, but it was her acerbic wit that captured my attention. The girl’s put-downs were classic. It was almost a privilege to be one of her victims. Almost.
When I saw her, standing alone in the dark, sulking by the monkey bars, I made my play. No surprise, I was viciously shot down.
Example 1: “You’re too needy and I’m no charity.”Viciously. Shot. Down.
Example 2: “Poor little nosebleed set his sights a little too high.”My ego completely eviscerated, I figured that was that. But I later discovered Audrey waiting for me by my car. We stood staring at each other for a time, then she grabbed my crotch and asked, “What’re you gonna do now?” With little to say, I gave into animal instinct.
This went on for three years. It got pretty steamy, but never clingy.
No Valentines. No frills. No promises. No strings. I made a bigger commitment to Proust. (“Remembrance of Things Past” is no easy read.)
We barely acknowledged each other at school. I was a nerd, a loner, and she was one of the cool kids. TOTALLY incompatible—in public.
In private, in my car, or a motel room thirty miles from our hometown, it was a different story. Sorta. I mean, we’d be going at it hot and heavy and she’d suddenly blurt out how much she hated me. It was hurtful at first, but I got used to it. Convenient, albeit soulless sexual gratification holds a lot more weight than an apology.
Audrey was always straight with me. She let me know that the moment Joanne Field and Anthony Dierks broke up our “mistake” was over. Most of the girls in my school wanted Dierks, but Audrey was way hotter than Joanne. Under the right circumstances, she had a chance with him. I was just an annoying, yet available, somewhat grateful seat warmer.
To be honest, I didn’t have any big feelings for Audrey either.
When I left town for collage, I never bothered to tell Audrey I was going. I thought about it, almost did, but it was like that Polanski film where the cop goes, “Forget about it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”
So, yeh, my limited experience with the opposite sex is not going to be helpful in a healthy, normal romantic situation. I’m gonna have to wing it.
One of the great things about being away from home (and away from Audrey) is the chance to START OVER. I figure if I put in the effort I have an opportunity to advance my arc and reach a strong third act as a mature, fully-realized character in a loving, supportive, life-affirming relationship. Why not? Anything’s possible.
But first, I have to convince a girl — Charlene, hopefully — that I would make a good boyfriend. Can’t come off too eager though. That might scare her away. I just need to get through our first date without completely blowing it, then I can slowly, slowly, slowly prove myself.
The great experiment begins. My first real grownup date.
It’s Friday evening and I’m waiting for Charlene at the lakefill peninsula — the most romantic spot on campus. Come nightfall, it’s a sparkling dreamworld. Spotlights dot the lakefront path. The moon and stars are reflected on the water. Fairy lights twinkle in trees.
It’s a magically perfect place for an intimate rendezvous.
At least it could be.
Unfortunately, I’m not alone. There are three other guys here, also waiting.
I can’t speak for them, but I’m on time.
It’s been ten minutes and we’re all still waiting.
Where’s Charlene? Did she forget? Should I find a payphone and call her?
Fuckity fucking fuck! She’s not coming.
I . . . got . . . dumped. Abandoned. Rejected. Curbed.
Hands dug into my pockets, I'm imagining her making promises to meet more than one guy tonight. Like D'Artangan setting up consecutive duels with three musketeers.
No. No way. She’d never do that.
It’s more likely her old boyfriend showed up to surprise her and she can’t get away. Or she doesn’t want to get away. Or —
She
could
just
be
late.
Eh, it’s no big deal. I can hang a little longer. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll just patiently wait here, comforted that I’m not the only love-starved mope whose soul is being crushed as the minutes tick by.
Natty Dreadlocks Mope is sitting cross-legged in the grass, playing guitar, acting like everything’s irie, but he’s still got one eye scanning the perimeter.
Fratty Sports Jacket Mope is checking his watch, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he badly needs to urinate.
Beefy, cocoa brown GQ Mope didn’t get all slicked up for nothing. He waits, coolly. Striking poses like he’s working the runway.
We’re all waiting. For someone.
Oop. Slender, Effeminate Bald Dude in overalls enters the scene. He plops down beside Natty Dreadlocks Mope and with a kiss that wait is over.
A tiny girl in ankle boots wearing a man-sized oxford button-down like a dress shows up next. She climbs up on the backrest of a bench.
GQ doesn't bother to acknowledge her.
Tiny Girl's not Fratty's type either. But that doesn’t stop her from starting up a conversation with him. Yipes! Is that her real voice or did she just suck back some helium?
Heads turn as GQ's date makes a dramatic entrance, working cleavage like a pro. I was never worried about that suave motherfucker getting stood up.
Fratty and Tiny Girl get in a heated debate. Something about selling arms to Iran. His date, a swishy Miss Sorority Sis, shows up and forcefully drags him away. Tiny Girl flips them both off as they leave.
It’s just me now. And Tiny Girl. Waiting.
I perk up, seeing a shadowy figure in the distance.
Annnnd stepping into the spotlight, it’s Terry's friend Akio. I guess he's my friend now, too. I can’t believe I actually have a friend that wears a cowboy hat. I don't remember much from the night we met, but I remember hearing some of the details of his life story. I know he's a transfer from the University of Texas. He admires rodeo clowns, but hates goat ropers. He lives off campus, but his landlord doesn’t allow pets. He misses his blue tick hound Cactus. He grows his own pot. And for some reason, he thinks I'm easy to talk to – I'm his main man, or some such shit.
Akio catches sight of me, shouts, "My man Cornbread!"
Getting closer, Akio extends his hand. I guess he's expecting a soul shake. Whoever invented the hipster man greeting should be fined – maybe even have to do time until the fad blows over.
I oblige and try to keep it to one grip. I refuse to do a high-five or explosive fist bump, ever. I will leave a dude hanging. I will, don't tempt me. "Hey, man."
"There she is," Akio says, turning his attention to Tiny Girl. As soon as he's close enough, she leaps from the bench into his arms. Her feet never touch ground.
Akio and Tiny Girl kiss. More than kiss, it's a tongue joust. Their pleasure moaning is loud and I should probably turn away, but I'm fascinated.
Out the corner of my eye, I spot Charlene standing beside me. She whispers, "Think they know each other?"
"They might have really strong magnets in their fillings," I reply.
I avert my eyes from the spectacle to gaze at Charlene. Damn. She actually showed up. She’s right there, standing against a backdrop of fairy lights, glowing like a saint. Heavenly perfection in a black crop top, tartan plaid skater skirt and white high tops. Showing just enough skin to make me salivate. Is all that hotness for my benefit?
I probably should have worn a shirt with a collar.
"Don't be mad.” Charlene moans. "I didn't mean to be late. Roommate drama."
Mad? I’m ecstatic she showed up at all. “No problem,” I say.
Akio tears himself away from Tiny Girl and looks directly at me. "Who wants Korean food?"
“Maybe.” I turn to Charlene for direction. “Sound okay?”
"Sure," she says. “You know this guy?”
I guess this is happening. "Akio, this is, um, Charlene."
Akio tips his hat to Charlene. "Ma'am." Then he turns to face the smiling tiny girl that’s wrapped around his waist. "This here's my little Pepper."
"Hey.” I half-heartedly wave at Pepper. “I'm Jack."
"His name’s not Cornbread!” Pepper play-punches Akio. “That’s mean. You’re mean.”
Akio gives me naughty puppy eyes. "Tell her, Cornbread."
"Yeah," Charlene says, "I think I want to hear this, too."
"Heh. That’s what my roommate calls me. He’s a funny guy." Next subject, please. “So, Korean food. Let’s do it.”
Charlene is not going to drop this. "I think I need to see your student ID,” she demands. “I'm not going anywhere with you until I know your real name."
"His driver's license," Akio says, setting Pepper down. "Check that."
Et tu, Akio? I thought I was your main man.
"If your given name is Cornbread, nobody's gonna judge." Pepper says. "My parents named me Sharon. But who would want to be a Sharon? Not me."
Akio snaps his boot heels, holds out a hand and attempts a German accent. "Your papers, please."
"Fine." Wallet pulled from my back pocket, I dig out my student ID and hand it over to Charlene.
The three of them huddle around to examine it.
Pepper scowls. "You don't have a middle name?"
“Yeh he does.” Akio mimes shooting a gun at me. "Cornbread.”
Charlene can see I’m uncomfortable. She hands back my ID and lightly rubs my back. “I like cornbread,” she says. “It’s sweet.” Then, with an unexpected kiss to the cheek, she whispers, “You’re sweet.”
Uuuh, I can work with that.
BEATITUDE © Mark Scott Ricketts
Apologies to the late Jack Kerouac for use of his “Belief and Technique for Modern Prose" tips.
That’s some damn good writing right there. I could see it all in my head.
I loved the wait and then meeting all the different couples. 😎