Tomorrow
When I tell guys I dance, they say, “Can you
dance to Pour Some Sugar Onon Me?” Rob’s friend Mike asked me a week before if
I planned to dance professionally. I said, “There are very few dance
companies.” He said, “What about The Electric Blue?” Everyone laughed. When
they tossed me in the air during high school cheer against East Granby, Steve
the trombone player said, “I can see your camel toe, you know,” like I was a
slut for wearing leggings but he wasn’t a creep for looking.
My parents never missed a single recital, but I
never knew if my dad just liked proving his love through this personal
sacrifice. “Honey, that was wonderful.” “Your best performance yet.” I would
say, “Thank you, Daddy,” and never tell him if I caught him looking at his
watch while suppressing a yawn.
At least gay guys like dancing, like my
roommate Hector. Straight guys think they’re only allowed to see dancing as a
means to an end: get under the Huskies strobe lights and dance to C + C Music
Factory and try to hook up with the Kappa girl beside you. My Delta Gamma
sisters made me come along but I’d usually hide at a corner table. “Oh Clara,
you’re such a priss!”
I was raised to think of dance as art, not lap
dances and drunken foreplay. Ballet dancers are perfectly self-contained and
guys can’t find a space for themselves. So either dance with them or they don’t
care if you’re dancing at all. Dance is harmony through the beauty and grace of
your own movements. You’re not a void that needs to be filled. A ballet studio
has no after-hours VIP lounge.
Women weren’t much better. Like Mrs. Drew next
door.
“Well, I just don’t think it’s appropriate for
five-year old girls to wear makeup and short skirts! It feels like child
prostitution if you ask me!”
But no one asked her. Is it the outfits or the
freedom that scares them? After the eightieth try, you’re so in sync with the
music and the other dancers you’re no longer you. You’re all connected by
silent, invisible strings like magic. The formless and invisible air becomes a
comfortable shoe you fit yourself into with each move. Self-choreographed,
structured escape. Every day movements feel like stumbling through a wild forest
at night, but dance is like walking down a path you cleared together.
I wasn’t sure if Colin would show up. At the
party, he sat by himself in the dark and looked sad like he often looked six
lockers down in high school. He was a senior and I was a freshman. And he
looked sadder when I found him passed out by my door with a lit cigarette in
his left hand. My roommate Rachel and I shook him awake and led him downstairs.
“Come on Colin, wake up.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m not going to drink like this
anymore. I love you, Clara! Please don’t hate me!”
He was such a lost sheep. Maybe a lost cause?
But I asked him to meet me anyway. He just seemed to need a friend. Or did he
already find one? Who were those girls, Kate and Amira?
I lied a little. It was just a UConn Dance Team
practice ahead of the first football game against Colgate. But they kept the
Gampel Pavilion doors open. This would be my last semester dancing. All the
years and training and then just memories and reminiscing. People only go to
their school aged daughter’s recitals. I was over the hill at 22. I wouldn’t
have exchanged my time for anything. My closest friendships came from dance,
but I saw a future of “Hey didn’t you used to dance in high school?” Just like a
star high school quarterback (if we had a football team) working at Star
Hardware.
Oh and I wasn’t switching majors exactly, just
taking Computer Science classes and possibly getting a Master’s. The Brookside
farming families— the Rogencamps, Baumanns, Fischers—were so nice and seemed so
happy. Their families had lived there for a century or more. They had roots.
Then I interviewed John Rogencamp on a work study.
“What are they teaching you up there? All that
“Green Revolution” nonsense?”
“Well yes we are learning about that.”
“Bunch of bullshit, pardon my French. Yield per
acre, advanced irrigation techniques: it just puts family farmers out of work!”
“They would say higher yields help to feed the
world’s exponentially growing population.”
“That’s bullshit, young lady. Chinamen just need
to wear a rubber! We have too many people already. They’re going to put us out
of work because some Ethiopian can’t keep it in his pants?”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Didn’t you dance in high school with my
daughter Emily? What does a pretty little miss like you want to do with farming
anyway? You think you can clean a barn flooded with shit in your tap shoes?
Your tutu might get wet if a heifer pisses all over you, you know. Honey, you
think just because you grew up here, you’re a farmer? How many generations has
your family lived here? Your parents probably moved here so you wouldn’t have
to grow up around darkies, but they would never admit that. They will sell the
house and move down to Florida the minute you’re out of the house. You’re not
from here at all. You’re just a tourist.”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying my
Agawam and Suffield born parents bought our house in 1975.
“I’m not training to actually work on a farm.”
“Of course not! Just to replace us with
machines! Go visit a slaughterhouse. Then you’ll see what farming is all about.
It ain’t like those pink porcelain cows you rode with your peppermint stick ice
cream cone at Moser Farms.”
So, against everyone’s strong advice, I visited
one the following semester on another work-study. They’re never called
slaughterhouses--they’re meat packaging plants, stockyards, or abattoirs
because French is classy. At the front entrance of J&L Farms in Windham sat
a table with technicolored brochures.
It wasn’t the blood. It was the screaming. Once
a Holstein cow’s milk production slows, they are turned into hamburger. Over
the hill at age five. Six if they’re lucky. “God’s likenesses shall have
dominion over cattle and every other creeping thing of the earth.” But if cows
are only born to serve and provide us milk, cheese, yogurt, Friendly’s ice
cream, and Double Quarter Pounders, why do they scream? Shouldn’t they willingly
surrender so we can toss burgers on the grill on the Fourth Of July? I thought
their cries said no matter what my catechism teacher taught, their life has some
inherent value. Nature gives them fifteen to twenty years—unless they run into
us. They scream at our betrayal.
Over Thanksgiving break I drove to Cow Corner. It
was a cold, gray afternoon. It started drizzling. One look into their downcast,
meek, trusting eyes and I couldn’t pursue Agricultural Science anymore. Growing
up, cows were our town pets. We didn’t mind the smell. If you cared, we thought
you weren’t a Brooksider. Tolland basketball players and fans pretended to
care. But our cute pets were just death row inmates we hadn’t broken the news
to yet.
“We paid for you to go to college for four
years only to start over after getting brainwashed?” my dad said.
“Are you going to start worshiping sacred cows
now?” my idiot 16-year old brother Jonathan wanted to know.
I stopped telling anyone. In elementary school
they said, “Computers are the future.” They would advance the human race and keep
getting better forever. Pentium 2 and Xeon processors beat anything that came
before them and they would get replaced by something even faster instead of getting
killed off in exchange for a newer model of the exact same thing. Computers seemed
like a ladder, not a vicious circle.
After I left Rob’s party at 9PM, I went home
and called Jen: my best friend since we played with Cabbage Patch dolls and
served as Roadrunner cheerleaders at age eight.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching Boogie Nights. This movie is gross.”
“I’m sorry Marky Mark has fallen so far since you
put up your Funky Bunch poster.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I went to a party at that guy Rob’s place.”
“You’re still talking to him?”
“I mean….I don’t know.”
“Have you hooked up?”
“We kissed. Why do they always think a kiss is
a permission slip to grab your boob?”
“I don’t mind.”
“That’s because you’re a slut.”
“Revenge fucking Matt’s friends didn’t make me
a slut. Just an instrument of justice.”
“Oh sorry. I was mixed up. Anyway, I pushed his
hand away. He seemed kind of distant last night. Probably told everyone I’m a
stuck-up tease.”
“If the shoe fits.”
“You bitch. I don’t know. He’s one of those
mellow, aloof, no personality, smoke weed and play video games guys. Like every
other stupid guy at this stupid school.”
“Someone sounds sexually frustrated. Is your
vibrator out of batteries?”
“Your vibrators come with humans attached. Buy
one, get ten free.”
“Die, bitch. Are you still not over Bill?”
“Oh please. He’s probably cheated on Heather
six times already. Oh—and guess who else I saw? Colin McDonough.”
“The Brookside kid?”
“Yup.”
“The one who’s like almost blind?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t he a drunken maniac?”
“That’s a little strong.”
“He almost burned down your dorm, right?”
“We had a really good fire department so I
wouldn’t quite say that.”
“Oh and didn’t he post crazy religious shit on
his door? Or your door?? I forget.”
“I think those were maybe song lyrics?”
“Oh. Never mind then.”
“He seemed normal tonight. And he was with two
other girls he seemed friends with.”
“Oh God. Here we go.”
“I invited him to come watch me dance tomorrow.
A practice—I didn’t tell him that.”
“Oh no! He’s probably plotting to kill you in a
ritual Satanic cult human sacrifice as we speak!”
“That should make for an eventful Saturday.”
“I don’t even own a black dress to wear to your
funeral.”
“Who says you’re invited?”
“Oh wow. I’m crashing that shit. What do you
want as your funeral anthem? I Can’t Fight This Feeling?”
“It’s a no REO Speedwagon event.”
“The Humpty Dance it is.”
“Whatever that means. So….he’s probably not
going to show anyway. He said he doesn’t drink as much anymore--but I’m not
sure if I believe him.”
“Oh Clarissa. First you want to save the cows
and now you want to save Colin McDonough.”
“I don’t want to save either one! Maybe I just
want to hook up.”
“You’re all talk. And your standards are way
too high. I’m hooking up with this guy Zack who’s majoring in Philosophy and
Business Administration and plays bass in a punk metal ska band called Jah of
Flies. You think I’m picky?”
“By your logic, I should just hook up with Rob.
We can become hackey- sack partners. Our song can be Hits from the Bong.”
“Now you’re thinking. Or hook up with Colin and
it can be Tubthumping.”
“Again, what does that even mean? Not only will
he probably not show, but I’d have to make the first move. Maybe the second and
third too. He’s too shy. Unless he was really drunk, and even then, he’d
probably tell me he loves me for all eternity before even considering kissing
me. But at least he’s not just another frat boy or stoner. He seems different.”
“Different like Dahmer.”
“Shut up.”
“Not that I would ever recommend inviting him
to your apartment, but, just making conversation, have they checked your smoke
detectors recently?”
“Hilarious. Maybe you’re right and this was a
mistake.”
“Well talk to you tomorrow if you’re still
alive. Call if you’re locked in a basement sex dungeon.”
“Who needs 911 when I have you?”
“Love you.”
“Love you.”
………………………………………
Our mascot was Jonathan XI. A replica logo was painted
on Gampel’s center court: a white fluffy smiling husky with his tongue slightly
sticking out. I stood on his right ear.
“Okay guys, we’re going to run a kick drill.
One and two and three and GO!”
Gonna Make You Sweat played on the boombox.
“Okay, Krista, you were off time there. Let’s
run it again.”
The 10,000 blue and red seats were empty on
both levels. When you’re dancing you don’t usually see anything, you just
float, but I was looking. No sign of Colin. I knew it. Why did I keep
bothering? Lost cause. At least he wasn’t a dumb jock. Some of them acted nice
but hooking up was just a game where they tried to be the leading scorer. They
probably cared more about telling their friends. They sure rushed through it
like they had to get back to the beer pong table. They never even looked you in
the eye. Like Paul from Sigma Chi. “Twisted steel and sex appeal.” Nine Inch
Nails’ Closer played on his stereo. So romantic. I told him to stop when he
started unbuttoning my shirt. He pinned me down. Only my muscular legs from twenty
years of dancing got me free.
“You’re such a dick tease!”
Because I kissed him after three beers, I
guess.
He probably told his frat brothers we hooked up
anyway. Or “She’s a dyke, bro.” Coin toss. Was I turning into a cow loving man
hater? I won Nicest Smile in high school!
He walked up the aisle with a slight limp to a
blue seat in section 103. He held a purple Gatorade bottle. He sat down and
took a sip.
We switched to pom. And No Diggity.
I didn’t know if he could see me. Could he see
any of us? He looked intently in our general direction. Was he just pretending he
could see?
“Good job today, guys. Still some work left to
do. See you Wednesday night.”
He walked down and nervously scanned back and
forth. He would never find me.
“Colin!”
He took a quick left turn.
“Hey Clara. That was really good!”
“You came to watch!”
“Well of course. Did you doubt me?”
“Never. So…..it’s a nice day.”
“Yeah it turned out really nice.”
Clearly, I was going to have to do all the work
here.
“What else are you doing today?”
“Well….I might take a nap. This is kind of
early for me on a Saturday! What about you?”
“I have to go home for a bit.”
“Do you…..want to do something later?”
“Okay!”
“I live in Carriage House 19-B.”
“Great, how about 7 o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
He took a left towards the entrance, did a
half-wave, and took another sip of electrolytes.
…………………………………..
My dad wanted to show off the new back deck
he’d just put in.
Burgers on the grill. I hadn’t quite stopped
eating meat---I feared a lifetime banishment from Cow Town, USA.
“‘The deck looks really nice, Dad.”
“Yeah awesome, Daddy,” my little sister
Charlotte said.
“Jonathan helped. He gets the credit!”
Jonathan had just woken up, plus he was in his
silent, sullen phase.
I drove to Vernon to see Debbie, my dance
instructor since age 4. I assisted her teaching kids over the summer.
“I’m setting up a new community theater. We’re
still working on funding. Would you like to be one of my dance crew, Clar?”
“I’d love that.”
“I’ll be in touch. Love you.”
It wasn’t NYCB, but maybe my career wasn’t completely
over yet?
I drove back to Storrs with my mom’s three bags
of leftovers. “You’re too skinny? Are you eating?”
I knocked on Colin’s open door.
“Hey! Come in!”
He was sitting in a chair two feet from the TV.
The corner of an ashtray peeked out from under a stack of books on the shelf. Zigzagging
vacuum lines spread across the carpet. I took a seat by the window.
“Hi Colin!” A girl poked her head in the door.”
“Oh, hi Clara!”
“Hi Kristin!”
“You guys know each other?”
“We’re Delta Gamma sisters,” Kristin said.
I didn’t know her that well since she was
always at her boyfriend’s.
“I just came by to feed Whisper. Stop by later
if you like.”
“Okay,” Colin said.
How many girls hovered around him anyway?
“Oh, hi Colin!”
And here comes another one.
“Hey Amira!”
“Oh, hi….I forgot your name, I’m sorry.”
“Clara,” Colin jumped in.
“Hi!”
“That’s all! Just saying hi. Talk to you
later!”
“So…what do you want to do?” he asked me.
“I don’t know. Any ideas?”
“Well…..I haven’t gone to the Dairy Bar this
summer. Want to do that? Wait…..do you eat ice cream? Is that like against the
law for dancers?”
“No!”
I didn’t tell him about my cow crisis. Was he
trying to prove he was a reformed, innocent non-drinker now? We drove down Eagleville
Road to Route 195 in my Miata. The Dairy Bar sat next to Horsebarn Hill and resembled
a red barn itself. Menu items were displayed on a green chalkboard behind the
counter, over which was written, “Land of the Sweets.”
“Do they have paper menus?”
“I don’t see any. I can read it off to you.”
“Do they have milkshakes?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’ll have a chocolate shake.”
“I’ll get a strawberry.”
We sat at a red table in the corner. The floors
were checkered red and white.
“Is it bad that I’ve gone to the Friendly’s by
Store 24 and Sugar Shack more than here?” he said. “It’s like my roommate who
gets Dominos instead of Sgt. Pepperoni.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like
Friendly’s feels more like home even though they’re a chain because they had
one in Rockville and in Vernon.”
“Yeah. Friendly’s is birthday parties and good
report cards. We even went after my graduation last year! What’s this
place?”
“We went to the Rockville one every Friday
night after basketball games.”
“First time I heard of you was when my friend
Dan said you were hot when we were playing pickup basketball one afternoon. But
I’m blind so I judge people by their inner beauty.”
“Oh wow, how beautiful. Did you know we were
six lockers down from each other?”
“We were? In high school?”
“Unless there’s lockers in college I don’t know
about.”
“Did you think, man, that quiet, studious young
man would never drunkenly kick in a window?”
“I had you pegged as pre-med. Maybe a future
business leader of America.”
“So close. Did you take that class? Mrs.
Cappadocia?”
“Yes. Talk about all business. No, I thought,
“Why does he look so serious?”
“Did I give that away? And I wanted everyone to
think I was so hilarious.”
“You’re not going to say you were no Ben
Aurbach?”
“Nope. I’m maturing right before your eyes,
Clara.”
“Do you want to know why Ben and I broke up?”
“Other than he was a senior dating a freshman?”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Ummm, I think that’s illegal in some states. Maybe
even Kentucky. Do you know what kids used to call the freshmen girls?”
“Oh God. What?”
“Fresh meat.”
“Really?”
“And you wouldn’t say, ‘Hey I just met our new co-eds.’
You would say, ‘Have you seen the fresh meat?’ And the other dude says, ‘No, I
haven’t had a chance to peruse the menu.’”
“Oh God.”
“Oh, another one was, ‘Hey if there’s grass on
the field…..….’. Granted, guys say this stuff just to impress other guys.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m not sure. Might be the milkshake
talking.”
“ANYway, I was with Ben one night and Mark King
and Julie Kenndy at Friendly’s when a baby at the next table held a menu up to
his face and Ben said, ‘Hey look, it’s McDonough!’”
“Really?”
“I broke up with him a week later.”
“Really!?”
“Yes.”
There were other reasons but that was a factor.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said
to me. But you didn’t have to do that on my account. I’ve heard worse. But
thanks! Is that why you keep giving me 2nd, 3rd, 20th chances? Like if you
already ditched a boyfriend over me the investment better be worth it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Can I tell you something?”
He took
a big sip of his milkshake.
“Is it related to menus?”
“No. I tell everyone I work in shipping. But I
work in a sheltered workshop for the blind--and not as a social worker. I sew
patches on canvas bags all day. I get paid by the bag. Less than minimum wage!
And I collect Social Security disability benefits. My life is going places.”
“Well it’s just temporary, right?”
“I hope so. But I’m afraid no one will hire me
because of my eyes.”
“Don’t give up. I’m sure you will find another
job.”
“Thanks. I hope so.”
“If it helps, I’m doing an internship at The
Travelers this summer which I hate.”
“Why?”
“Well the job itself is okay. I’m working in
the IT department. But my boss is a creep.”
“Like he hits on you?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“What does he say?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh now you have to say!”
“I mean…..he likes to mention his girlfriend in
front of us.”
“How?”
“Well…he said she has a nice ruby fruit
jungle.”
“What?! Does that mean what I think it does?”
“I try not to think about it.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, he asked me what color underwear I was
wearing.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t remember.”
“What a dirtbag. But while we’re on the
subject….forget it, just kidding!”
“Ha.”
“Was that it?”
“Well………….then…. then he told everyone he heard
I shave my pubic hair like a mohawk.”
“WHAT!!!? This guy has a vivid imagination I’ll
give him that. Can’t he get, like, fired or something for that?”
“I complained. They said he’s been talking like
that for years and basically, I need to get a sense of humor. That’s just
Andy.”
I took a sip from my shake. Leanne Rhymes was
playing.
“Jesus. Well, I guess you’ve noticed that guys
are assholes. Except me. I’m a saint. Except when I almost burn down
buildings.”
“We had to call your RA Steve to help get you
up.”
“Oh God. Don’t even tell me what I said,
please.”
“I don’t know. It was pretty poetic.”
“Please kill me now. I didn’t use ruby red
imagery, did I?”
“You said that too.”
“I didn’t really, did I?”
“You never know.”
“Steve came into my room the next day. He said
everyone was worried about me. Said everyone thinks I’m an alcoholic and do I
think that? And “I’m worried about you, man.” Forget it. I’m killing the mood.
Never mind. I stick to milkshakes now! At least since last night.”
The opening chords to Closing Time played.
“We’ve all said some silly things. One time at
Christmas I told my sister Santa Clause wasn’t real. She was six.”
“Did she believe you?”
“No but it might have planted the seed.”
“Well better she heard it from you than on the
street. Older siblings are mean.”
“I was nice!”
“Doubt it.”
“Who was your favorite teacher in high school?”
“Very clever of you to change the subject. Mary
Fitzgerald. Never had Shirley. Mary told me I was a good writer and that we
should use concrete imagery. You?”
“Mr. Pivetta. But then I was in dance and he
was in theater so.”
“You don’t have to answer this, but did you
invite anyone else at the party last night?”
“No.”
I invited Rob. But I knew he wouldn’t show up.
“Poor Banana.”
“Obviously.”
“If you were named after a fruit, which one
would you choose?”
“Well that question is definitely a first. I
don’t know. Apple? What about you?”
“Oh man. Maybe I didn’t think ahead when I
asked. A peach? Because a peach is me with a tan? No, that sucks. I guess
Banana is the only good one. And it’s already taken. Do you think Banana wants
to put—never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on.”
“Nope I was about to make a terrible joke and
while it might qualify me for a career in IT, I’ve lost friends over less.”
“Well I’m honored you’ve decided to be such a
gentleman.”
“That’s me. Just don’t ask around.”
“Too late.”
“So why are you switching your major?”
“Oh God. Long story. I love cows.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“No comment.”
“Remember when I bought you beer?”.
“I do.”
“I can’t believe I corrupted a minor like that.
Move over, Ben Auerbach. Alcohol isn’t the answer, Clara.”
“That’s what you said every time you passed out
in our hallway.”
“Wow. I just felt you girls needed a cautionary
tale. You’re welcome.”
“What a life saver.”
“Please. Service is my reward.”
“I’m scared to graduate.”
“Yeah I was too. I’m the wrong guy to ask. I
haven’t exactly adjusted to post-graduate life well. But you will do much
better!”
“I think people don’t like you when you’re in
your 20’s. They like kids because they live in this entirely different,
dreamlike universe but when you enter the adult world everyone sees you as a
threat.”
“Yeah, my supervisor—or ex-supervisor—seemed
like that.”
“Maybe they wish they were still young too and think
you’re doing a poor job of living out their fantasies of what they used to be--or
what they wished they had been.”
“You have neither youth nor age, but an
after-dinner sleep, dreaming of both.”
“Are you okay?”
“Shakespeare. The only thing I learned in
college was random Shakespeare quotes. But yeah, like young people spend all
their time wanting to be old, old people spend all their time wanting to be
young. I think that’s what he meant.”
“So we never feel happy with whatever age we’re
at. We always want to hit rewind or fast forward, never play.”
“Yeah, when you’re young you are poor and dream
of being rich. When you’re old you’re rich and dream of being young.”
“Being older is like looking at stars through
telescopes. We only see things light years in the past.”
“But there’s no stars for young people. We
never see the future disguised as the present when we look into the sky.”
“Youth has no star!”
“We’re so deep.”
“What’s in this milkshake? I guess we solved
everything.”
“Well Clara I almost went to see Phish this
weekend in Maine. Bunch of dank dudes in a tent. Probably a lot of shrooms.
Drunk guys planting sopping wet kisses on your cheek if things really turned horrific.
This is so much better.”
“Aww….thanks?”
“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever paid
anyone in my life.”
“You might need to work on that.”
“I thought so.”
“Oh and you were right. I almost didn’t show up
this morning.”
“I gave it a 50/50 chance. Maybe 40/60. But I’m
glad you did.”
We finished our shakes.
“Well, Colin. I’m tired. But this has been
fun.”
“Best milkshake of my life. And I’ve been to
the A&W place at Westfarms Mall.”
“Me too! My friend and I used to go there.”
“Well, let’s have another one before I leave
Storrs behind for the second time. My Dad is searching for a lonely one-bedroom
apartment for me as we speak.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Will you come visit me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Well, how about doing something before I go
into exile?”
“Okay. But I can’t the rest of this weekend.”
“How about Monday? I usually sit in front of
the TV and watch the Red Sox. If that’s not exciting for you, you have to lower
your standards.”
“My heart is pounding in anticipation.”
…………………………………
My roommate Paige and her
boyfriend Brad ate popcorn on the couch and watched The Golden Girls. Brad was
well trained.
“Where did you go? On a date?”
“No. I just went to the Dairy Bar with this guy
I knew from the dorms.”
“So, a date.”
“He’s just a friend.”
“Did you lick his cone?”
Brad was another idiot. Gay guys are still
guys.
“Ewww, Brad. You’re an idiot!” Paige observed,
punching him and spilling popcorn kernels.
………………………………………
I drove to Carriage House on Monday at 7:30. It
was already starting to get dark. After a few days respite, heat and humidity
had returned. In fact, it felt like the hottest day of the summer.
A giant fan was blowing his living room. A
large kid peered though the door.
“Hey Col. Why didn’t you go to Phish?”
“Hey Evans. I don’t know. I was broke. How was
it?”
“Good, dude. They played The Beastie Boys’
Sabotage! It was pretty sick!”
“Sorry I missed it. This is Clara.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
He left.
“Did you go to any other concerts this summer?”
I asked.
“I went to Allman Brothers and Dave Matthews.
Those were….. interesting. You?”
“I went to The Lilith Fair.”
“Oh, who played this year again?”
“Sarah McLaughlin. Natalie Merchant. Bonnie
Raitt. Um, Tracy Bonham. Suzanne Vega.”
“See? I like all of them! Well Sarah McLaughlin
is maybe a bit too well- scrubbed for me, but she’s okay. I might have gone but
the guys here would sooner get caught wearing Guess jeans.”
“But you’re more evolved than that?”
“Well…..everything is relative.”
“It was an awesome show.”
Bill Clinton spoke on TV.
“Good evening. This afternoon in this room,
from this chair, I testified before the Office of Independent Counsel and the
grand jury. I answered their questions truthfully, including questions about my
private life…..still I must take complete responsibility for all my actions,
both public and private…. ……began with private business dealings…..then into my
private life…..but it is private…..even Presidents have private lives…it is
time to stop the pursuit of personal destruction and the prying into private
lives.”
“Did you watch the Inaugural Ball on MTV? When
Michael Stipe and Natalie Merchant danced?” Colin asked.
“Yes. And they sang To Sir, With Love?”
“Yeah. What happened to that?”
“You mean it didn’t seem like we’d have to worry
so much about privacy anymore?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Hope and change is now lawyers and privacy?”
“Ahhhm from a place called Privacy.”
“So much for a place called Hope.”
“Hope sucks.”
“My supervisor worships Bill so he still has
one admirer.”
“I’m sure he does. Give Bill a truth serum and
this would have been a nationally televised high five.”
“His poll numbers would skyrocket.”
“Ken Starr is the office dweeb who only wishes
he could run afoul with human resources.”
“Slick Willie.”
“It’s really hot. Want a cold drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Ummmm……well, I think we have beer. And Gatorade.
And possibly running tap water but I’ve never checked.”
“What a selection. I’ll have a beer.”
We both had Harpoons.
“I wish Carriage House had a pool.” Colin said.
“Maybe wait for UConn 2030? I don’t have one
either. It would be a nice night for a swim.”
“Have you ever gone to Crystal Lake?”
“Is that a real question?”
“But at night?”
“No.”
“I went a few years ago with a Brookside group.
No fence, it’s so easy.”
“You’re not suggesting we go tonight?”
“Isn’t it only a 15-20 minute drive?”
“I lied. I went at night a few years ago. With
Tina Lacey, Ryan Cowan and a few others.”
“See? I knew you were a trespasser!”
“Alright fine, I guess we can go if you want.”
He went upstairs and changed into his bathing
suit and we drove to Coventry Lake to get mine. Quite the roundabout route.
Crystal Lake was off Sandy Beach Road. Two dim lights
shined in the parking lot, but there were no cameras. There was a lifeguard
tower. The raft was about 40 feet from shore. It was supposedly a hot spot for
the rich until The Depression (no cars to drive to The Cape or the shoreline?)
It was pretty spartan and middle class these days. We sat on a beach towel I
brought from my car.
“Look at that moon. Can you see it?” I
said.
“Yes. I can see big things far away better than
small things close by.”
A waning, banana shaped crescent moon,
partially obscured by clouds, faintly reflected onto the black water. The lake
was shaped like a slightly elongated fish with its tail off in the distance. It
was dead quiet except for crickets and a rare passing car.
“It’s so beautiful like this,” I said.
“Yeah. Did you ever hear those stories growing
up about Jason from Friday the 13th haunting Crystal Lake?”
“Yes. You’re suggesting a serial killer in a
hockey mask could murder us at any moment?”
“No! Okay, sorry, forget I mentioned it. Plus,
nothing bad ever happens on Monday The 19th”
“I so much better now.”
“Clara…..it’s. I don’t know. It’s good to be
here with you.”
“I feel the same, Colin!”
“Thanks for giving me a 12th chance!“
“Stop.”
Silence. Crickets chirped.
“I remember when you knocked on my dorm door
one Saturday night. You wore a black sweater. Or turtleneck maybe.”
“Was I?”
He wore a blue Champion hoodie.
“I think another girl was with you. Bodyguard?”
“Totally.”
“Wow I’ve come so far. You trust me without a
third party. In the dark!”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Sorry. I should have talked to you more when
you lived upstairs. Instead of writing stuff on your door. And leaving voicemails
I guess.”
“When you told me you loved me?”
“What!? Me? I was trying to dial Leanne’s
number.”
“Oh GOD!”
“She was kind of the worst. I hated her but I
didn’t know why.”
“Get in line. She thought you were obsessed
with her. But she thought every guy was obsessed with her.”
“You were friends with Mr. Twisted Steel. I
figured I just couldn’t compete with that kind of sex appeal. And you said
Paige Cappadocia was in a fashion magazine. I was like I’m far too deep and
sophisticated for that. I’ve since realized I’m a fucking moron.”
Hard to argue with that.
“No comment.”
“Were you too classy to go to Green Road
parties in high school? I come from burnout stock.”
“I went once. I threw up.”
“Southern Comfort?”
“Purple Passion. And I got scared. The police
showed up and broke it up.”
“They made you put out the fire, toss your
beer. Then everyone drove back 20 minutes later. Which they probably knew.”
“I even smoked pot but not in high school. At a
Delta Chi party.”
“Wow, ballerinas are more than meets the eye.
Did you know Dave? Asian kid on my floor? We took so many bong hits I felt like
a hallowed out Easter bunny. Literally thought I was going to die.”
“Just say no.”
“Nancy Reagan was right all along.”
“I think I kissed some guy I barely knew.”
“I need to find a dealer.”
“You should have brought your guitar.”
“I know. But I kind of suck.”
He did suck in the dorms.
“But I think I’m better than New Haven 3rd
floor days.”
“Do you sing?”
“No. I mean I’ve been trying to learn,,
but…..no.”
“Oh stop it. Can’t you sing to me?”
“Out of the question.”
He took a large sip of beer.
“Chicken?”
“Definitely. I sound like a dying animal. Or Lou
Reed during a tonsillectomy.”
“That good? Now I HAVE to hear you.”
“I think I hate you. This is entrapment. Okay…..um,
what song?”
“Surprise me.”
“Are you just into dance music?”
“No.”
“How about REM? Don’t Go Back Toto Rockville?”
“Rockville, CT?”
“It can’t be. And who wouldn’t go back? Where
else could Brookside kids get their weed?”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Wait…..what about Oasis? Live Forever?”
“I love that song.”
“Great!”
“But just like…..a capella like this?”
“Think of it this way: it can’t be worse than a
knife attack from Jason.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Another big sip.
Three false starts. Then he sang.
It wasn’t bad. Not great, but not TKE brother
singing Stone Temple Pilots bad.
“That was good!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It was!”
“What about you? Your turn.”
“Forget it. I can’t sing. I’m the dancer.”
“How about a dance then?”
“No.”
“Okay. Can I be honest with you?”
“This again?”
“No, it’s nothing. So the last time I was here
with Dale Packard and Sean Trask and Alana Aiello and Shannon Richard and—never
mind, a few others. We, um, actually didn’t have bathing suits.”
“Oh, that’s really sad.”
“It was. So we went in without them.”
“Thank God we’re not in that predicament.”
“Totally!”
Crickets. Tires on gravel.
“But it was kind of fun, actually.”
“What?”
“You know…. …. skinny dipping. The water feels
so nice.”
“Colin…..”
“Besides, I’m blind. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed this, but I can’t see shit. Plus, it’s dark. Darkness upon darkness. The
moon is barely out!”
“No way.”
“WHO’S THERE!? Where are you? Where am I? I
need a seeing-eye dog.”
“Haha”.
“Just thinking out loud.”
“As long as we’re being honest, we went skinny
dipping when I came here that night too.”
“See? Is there anyone who hasn’t skinny dipped
here? Plus I just sang a cappella to you, which I’ve never done for another
human ever. I don’t want to say you owe me but… Listen, I’m the one who should
be worried here. Which one of us has a 20/20 vision? Think of how vulnerable I
am right now. If you think President Clinton is the only one concerned about privacy, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Okay, okay. But if you look, I’m leaving you
here to hitchhike home.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m taking your clothes with me. And if
cops show up, I will never speak to you again.”
“Fair.”
We got undressed, ran, and splashed in the
water. The water felt like a cool, gentle caress on this tropical night.
“Oh my God this really is so nice,” I said,
treading water.
“Yeah, it’s nice.”
We swam for a couple of minutes. He was even
looking away! He swam in the opposite direction. I swam to the raft. And, why
not? I climbed up and laid down. Okay, maybe dancers are exhibitionists just a
little.
“Come up on the raft.”
“I’m not sure if I can.”
“Why?”
“Never mind.”
“Oh come on!”
“Okay.”
We laid on our backs and stared up at The Big
Dipper.
I peeked out of the corner of my eye. His eyed
fixed straight up.
“It feels so much cooler now,” I said.
“I know,” he said, his voice wavering.
“Colin.”
“Yes?”
I looked over.
“I don’t care if you look.”
He half-smiled and turned. But I dove back in
the water, swam to shore, and wrapped myself in the towel. He followed.
“Well that was unfair.”
“What can I say?”
I dropped him off at 11PM.
“I’m going to be so tired at work tomorrow,” I
said.
“Yeah, me too,” he said, his voice trailing off.
“Maybe the weekend next time? Are you busy on Friday?”
“I have to go to a rehearsal dinner. My cousin
is getting married and I’m a bridesmaid.”
“So this weekend’s out?”
“Yeah, I think so. I mean unless….do you want to
go on Saturday? It’s just in Rocky Hill.”
“Oh, sure. If you think it’s okay, I’d be happy
to go.”
“Well, my grandmother might be happier if I had
a male companion. She’s always saying, ‘Have you met any handsome boys in
school’”?
“Are you sure I’d be helping the cause? She
sounds like my grandmother—I mean, she always asks if I’ve met any pretty
girls.”
“Got it. Well…you do have nice hair. She’ll
like that.”
“I’m pretty big with ladies over 50. Is she
worried you’re turning into an old maid?“
“Basically.”
“I can see how that might be a concern. If you
want, I can sell it for you and tell her I almost saw you naked.”
“I think I’d prefer it if you said I totally
saw you naked.”
“You sighted people are all the same.”
……………………………………………
My cousin Steph was 28 and a teacher in New Britain. Her fiancée Rob was 29 and
an underwriter at The Phoenix. The invitation said:
“Mr. and Mrs. Kosta Papantoniou along with Mr.
and Mrs. Richard Fasano joyfully invite you to the wedding of their children Stephanie
Popantoniou and Robert Fasano on
Saturday, August 22nd, 1998, at 4PM at
The Boathouse at Berkeley Park, 1 Danielle Drive in Rocky Hill, CT. Dinner and
dancing to follow.”
When I was five, Steph walked up and down the
jetty at Mayflower Beach without falling off once. She was my hero.
I picked up Colin at 2PM. He wore a blue shirt,
red tie, gray pants, and a gray jacket with sleeves slightly too small.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks! You look beautiful!”
The bridesmaids all wore dusty blue satin long
dresses. Thank God it was only 80 degrees.
Several
rows of white chairs were lined up on the grass facing the river.
My parents stood to the side with my
grandmother, sister, and brother.
“This is my friend Colin.”
“Nice to meet you, Colin.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I have to go join the other bridesmaids.”
He must have been traumatized. Would he say
anything embarrassing? He seemed too nervous to say much at all.
“Clara! You look beautiful!” my cousin Jenny
said.
“You too! How is Steph doing?”
“She just threw up. So hopefully better now!”
39 minutes later, the ceremony started.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the
union of this beautiful young couple, Stephanie and Richard.”
Colin sat in the sixth row with my parents on
one side and my grandmother on the other.
Steph walked down the aisle and stood in her
spot. I could hear Rob half-whisper, “Hi.” She whispered back, “Hi.” They smiled
guiltily.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Spirit….”
The priest laid Stefana crowns on their heads.
Rob shed a solitary tear which he wiped away
while turning back, fooling no one.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss
the bride.”
My Uncle Al yelled, “Yeah!” Possibly drunk
already?
The Boathouse event room sat atop a hill and a
tall flight of white stairs. A wooden walkway with railings faced the river.
The late afternoon sun splashed on the water.
“Hey, that wasn’t too painful, was it?”
“No, it was good,” Colin said.
A waitress handed us glasses of wine. We sat
against the railing and looked out. A cool breeze blew.
Everyone took turns saying, “Boy, the weather
turned out beautiful!”
“This is pretty nice,“ Colin said.
Okay, so one guest couldn’t get completely
there.
“Yeah, they were going to have it in a barn in
Harwinton or something. This is better.”
“People love barn weddings. Cow Corner—the next
wedding hotspot?”
“Its time will come.”
“Do they have a band or DJ?”
“DJ I think. Are you going to dance?”
“I really want to, but I have a debilitating
back injury so it’s just not possible.”
“Oh come on! We’ll see about that.”
“Depends, I guess. If they play Love Shack….look
I don’t want to cause a scene at your cousin’s wedding or anything, but I’ll
probably have to commit suicide.”
“Well, at least they won’t run out of wedding
cake.”
They called us in for dinner. It was a buffet.
“This is chicken, this is steak. And that’s
pasta…”
Was I being condescending? I didn’t know if he
could see that or not. He must have usually gotten by without help?
“I’ll take chicken.“
“Me too.”
Our table was in the back on the left.
“Everyone, this is Colin. He went to UConn
too.”
“Oh, what was your major?” my dad asked. Here
we go.
“English,” he forced out.
“Finally, someone who likes to read!” my
librarian grandmother said. “Who is your favorite author?”
“Umm, well, I took courses on James Joyce,
William Faulkner, Shakespeare,” he non-answered.
“Sounds like you need to read more women
authors.”
“Yeah, probably. I liked The Bell Jar. To Kill
A Mockingbird. Virginia Woolf—maybe I need to re-read Mrs. Dalloway.”
Grandma laughed. But I could feel the rest of
the table getting bored. Probably planning to crowbar the discussion towards
politics.
“The President always brags about how much he
reads. But man cannot live on mental nourishment alone, it seems,” my Uncle Gary
said.
“Who in the world is Usama What’s His Face
anyway?” my dad asked.
“More harmless than a fly. From the Stone Ages.
But the bombing makes it look like we can’t live without him as President. But
his aim was off. If only so-called terrorist compounds were blue dresses. (Laughed
at his own joke.) He’s one more blow job away from bombing Fiji!” (Uproarious laughter
now.)
When did Uncle Gary start drinking?
“Al!” my Aunt Sophie said. “There are children
at the table!”
“Apologies, apologies. The important thing is
the rain held off! Cheers!
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
I clinked my glass against Colin’s bottle. He had
switched to Sam Adams.
“Uh, excuse me everyone. Thank you for coming
today,” Rob said over mic feedback and Frank Sinatra’s The Way You Look
Tonight. The DJ cut off the music. “It’s great to see friends and family here
today. I won’t take too much time. I’m not a big speech maker and I’m not used
to having the floor with Steph around. (Laughter.) I just want to thank Mr. and
Mrs. Pap for all the incredibly hard work they put it to make today happen. And
I want to thank Stephanie for changing my life. I love you, babe. Okay, now
everyone do me a favor, drink up! Have a great night!”
A man of few words. But his wrestling buddies
were here.
His brother Alex gave the best man speech.
“Rob would show up every Christmas. Or at the
beach in the summer. He’d mention the new girl he had started dating. But we
never met her. The next time if we asked, it was like, “She was too tall.” The
next: “She was too short.” “She drank too much.” “She doesn’t drink NEARLY
enough.” ”She had man hands!” She was a close talker!” I thought, “This guy is
never going to have a long-term relationship.” But then one Thanksgiving he told
us about Steph. At Christmas he said, “I think I really like her. In fact, I
love her. (Awwwws from the women in the room.) A year later he said, “I think
I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Steph, you’ve done the impossible!”
Everyone got up to grab a piece of wedding
cake. I grabbed my 4th glass of wine. Or 5th? Colin was now
drinking Harpoon.
“Colin, are you drunk?”
“I’m always intoxicated when you’re around,
Clara.”
“Oh…my God. Can I be honest with you?”
“Do you have to?”
“It’s fine. So, your plate was originally for
this guy Matt I was dating but we broke up three months ago.”
“Oh, nowww it makes sense. Well, I seem to be
the substitute a lot. I’m used to it!”
“But I’d rather be here with you.”
I kissed him on the left cheek. He turned
bright red and involuntarily smiled.
My little brother and sister sat at an empty
table looking bored.
“Oh here’s your song!” I said.
“I’m going to puke.”
“Come on, it’s a fun song!”
“They played this at my mom and my evil ex-stepfather’s
wedding. You know the part where the music stops and she says, “something
something rusted?”
“Uh huh.”
“The DJ stopped the song and said, “Your
underwear is what?!” I should have walked out right then and there. I mean, I
should have walked out when they said, “I do” but that should have been the
last straw.”
“Well, you’re not at that wedding anymore, are
you?”
“No.”
“I’m going to dance.”
“I would join you, but I have a debil—”
“A debilitating back ailment. Yes, I heard about
that. Well, rest up.”
They played I Will Survive. My aunt Susan was
getting extremely into it, her dress partially flew up. If she had been having a
seizure, no one would have known.
Then it was Funkytown. I walked over to Colin
and forcibly dragged him on the dance floor. He moved in a vaguely dance-like
motion with a horrorstruck look on his face.
“I hate you.”
“Why? Those were some sweet moves.”
“This is why I hated Huskies.”
“Who didn’t? It’s not meant to be loved. It
should be renamed You’re Not the Problem.”
We went outside. The river was now black with
lights shining in the distance from Glastonbury under a sliver of a moon.
Outlines of black trees shone on the opposite shore. I introduced him to Steph
and Rob.
“Nice to meet you!”
“Congratulations!”
Colin went to the bathroom.
“Steph, you look so beautiful!”
“Thank you! New guy? He seems nice.”
“Yeah.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but does he
not see that well?”
“No. He can’t even drive.”
“Good. Men shouldn’t be allowed to drive
anyway.”
“Okay, she will never let that one go,” Rob
said laughing. “I kind of wondered though. I asked Steph why he was sniffing
his watch.”
She punched him in the arm.
“What? I literally thought that’s what he was
doing! I hadn’t seen that before.”
“Would you like some baklava?” an aproned tiny black
haired woman asked. It was a Greek wedding, so this was the law.
After Colin came back, we sat back down at the
table with my parents.
“….the new deck turned out nice,” my dad said.
“I just wish it would rain. My lawn is starting
to get brown,” my Uncle Dom said.
They would remain preoccupied for at least another
half-hour with lawn and homecare maintenance: the fall-back after political
discussions are banned.
“Okay, folks. It’s time to slow things down a
bit. Don’t be afraid to get out there and get cheek to cheek with someone
special!”
Tupelo Honey started.
My mom and aunt confiscated their husbands--turning
a weedwacking incident into a cliffhanger—and leaving Colin and I the only ones
left at the table. I side eyed him. He was moving his lips silently.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
“Ooo what a gentleman! I’d love to.”
I put my right arm around his shoulders. He put
his arm around mine and we joined hands. His hand was shaking. He made fleeting
eye contact. He seemed unsure of how to lead but then kind of faked it. I never
saw anyone so scared in my life.
Did he regret picking such a long song? During
the final chorus, he finally looked up and peered into my eyes for one fleeting
second and then squinted like he was looking straight into the sun. The look
said the thing he wanted most in life was to know me better. I couldn’t tell if
it was the fifth glass of wine talking, but I felt so happy.
THE END.
“
