by Bert Murray
“The other thing that really annoys me about my Dad is that he hates John Lennon,” I said.
“Has your father brought as much happiness to the lives of millions of people as Lennon has? Ask him that.”
I thought of Cold Turkey and remembered the pictures of Lennon when he was thin and weak and strung out. Cold Turkey was the most horrifying song about addiction I’d ever heard. You could hear the agony in his voice. How could such a talented and successful man be so vulnerable? It didn’t make sense.
“Why do you think Lennon got hooked on drugs?” I asked.
“He was human. He had his weakness. His vulnerability. Nobody is perfect.”
We stopped walking when we got to the stream that emptied into Sunset Lake. I looked at the water. Sunset Lake was the lake of wasted dreams. I wondered if I would ever make it through college. Three more long years seemed too much to pay for a piece of paper that would turn brown.
Why did I need a college diploma anyway? I turned to Mrs. Vesquez. “Do you know that Lennon said that God is just an ideal we use to express how much suffering we feel?”
She tossed her cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with her shoe. “Lennon didn’t know everything. Nobody does. There are mysteries. I’m not ready to give up on God yet.”
The rain had soaked the bottom half of my jeans. I asked Mrs. Vesquez if she wanted to turn back.
She reached in her pocketbook, looking for another cigarette, but she didn’t pull anything out. “One minute more.”
I looked at the lines on her forehead. She was singing a song to herself in Spanish. It was smooth and sweet, and it made me sleepy. Golden-brown leaves, carried by the wind, floated through the sky.
The rain dripped from the edges of the black umbrella I was holding. By this time, the thick fog that had spread over the campus and the lake made it harder to see. The rain began to fall in sheets, becoming heavier and heavier.
Mrs. Vesquez stared at the rain falling on the lake and suddenly turned to me. “There is no need for you to be so angry at your father.”
She wouldn’t say that if she knew him.
She continued. “There is also no need for you to be angry at Jasmine. She doesn’t matter now. What you need, my young friend, is more belief in yourself and in the future. Just aim to be original. That is what will make you strong.”
18.
ON TUESDAY I cut classes again. I had missed nearly all my classes so far in November. I watched soap operas in the lounge, then went to the athletic center’s indoor pool to do some laps. I needed to clear my mind. It was the only exercise I’d done in a month and it felt good.
When I got back to my dorm, I saw the red light blinking on my answering machine. I figured it was Liz. She called a lot. It wasn’t. It was the dean of arts and sciences’ secretary, Charlene. In a monotone voice she told me that Dean Patterson wanted to see me at 3 p.m. that day. She said the meeting wasn’t optional.
Whatever he needed to speak to me about, I knew it wasn’t good. I looked at my watch. It was 2:30. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a bag of Doritos. I ate them quickly and headed out. The Administration Building was a yellow Victorian with dormer windows, right across from the Student Center.
I arrived five minutes early. Charlene told me to sit on the wooden chair in the corner; the dean would see me in a few minutes. I had nothing with me to read, so I just watched Charlene work.
She was a heavy woman, and I noticed that her love handles spilled over the top of her skirt. She breathed heavily though her nose, probably because of her weight. There was a tacky flip calendar next to her typewriter. It was the kind that had an inspirational proverb every month. This month’s saying was “When you smile, the whole world smiles back.” I decided to try out the calendar’s advice and smiled at Charlene. She didn’t smile back. I figured it was a bad sign. She probably knew what the dean was going to say to me. Nothing good, for sure.
Fifteen minutes later, she led me into Dean Patterson’s large, airy office. He was very tall, about six-four, and was about 60. His nose was sharp as an eagle’s beak, and he had a thick mop of white hair. Sitting behind that desk, he looked like a man who held all the cards.
“Take a seat, Mr. Preston.” Dean Patterson looked down at me as if I were a pygmy.
The dean pushed some loose papers out of the way as he peered into a gray metal box. I started to sweat.
“Thank you, Charlene,” he said.
“Of course,” said Charlene, and she walked out and shut the door behind her.
The dean opened my file and peered over the top of his glasses while he slowly flipped through the pages. “Hmmm.” He mumbled something under his breath as he shook his head. I wished he would hurry up and tell me what the bad news was. I wanted to get the hell out of his office as quickly as I could.
Finally, he spoke. “Colin, what I have to discuss with you today is a very serious matter. I am concerned. Mr. Perry, your American history professor, called to tell me that you have missed eight classes in a row. You haven’t been to class in four weeks. Mr. Perry is a stickler for attendance and will fail you for this reason alone. I spoke with your other professors and they also indicate they haven’t seen you in class for many weeks.”
“I missed all those classes because I’ve had some major personal problems.” That was all he was going to get out of me. Dean Patterson was the last person I’d discuss Jasmine and Karl with. Just let him go ahead and try to get it out of me.
“Have you seen a counselor?”
“No. I don’t think they have anything to offer me.” What were they going to do? Tell Jasmine she had to come back to me? That’s all that was wrong. I’d be happy to go to class if they could do that.
“But Mr. Preston, how do you know our counseling service can’t help if you haven’t given them a chance?”
“I talk to my friends about things. That’s the only kind of help I need.” I wished he would shut up. Shut up, shut up. I’d heard enough. He was getting on my nerves. I had to get out of his office. I needed some air.
“Mr. Preston, do not waste my time here. I am going to have to give you an academic warning. It will be part of your permanent record. You may not realize it, but this is a serious situation. I think you may want to tell me what is going on.”
“I don’t want to discuss anything. It’s private,” I said. Why was he grilling me like this? Couldn’t he mind his own business? He was worse than my father. I felt like K in Kafka’s The Trial, a book we’d read in freshman Lit. Everyone was after K, too.
Dean Patterson leaned back in his executive chair. It squeaked under his weight. I averted my eyes, looking instead at his Newton’s cradle on the corner of his desk. The silver balls hanging from the horizontal bar were completely still. I suddenly had the urge to pull one of the balls and watch them clack back and forth.
Patterson’s voice got lower – it seemed more threatening. “You’re in danger of really messing up. You’d better get your act together, Colin,” he said.
What a fucking bastard! He seemed to enjoy the fact that I was so screwed up. No doubt he would relish the opportunity to expel me if I gave him the chance.
“OK, I hear you,” I said. I couldn’t take it another second.
“Then that is all, Mr. Preston. You can go.”
I stood and turned toward the door. I was pissed. I wanted to tell him off. But if I opened my mouth and said something stupid, it would just make things worse for me. Without looking at Patterson, I leaned over and lifted one of the silver balls on the Newton’s cradle and quickly released it. As I hurried out the door, I heard the clack, clack, clack of the balls swinging back and forth.
19.
I SURPRISED MYSELF and called Liz again. It was the third time that week that I’d called her. Maybe because I was lonely. Or maybe I wanted sex to distract me. I wasn’t sure. I guess I needed someone to be good to me when I was so depressed. I’d begun to crave her attention.
W
e met at midnight at the Campus Pub. We both ordered a Beck’s from Ted and sat at the bar, sipping our beers. I stared at Liz. She wasn’t as pretty as Jasmine, but she was attractive in a more full-bodied sort of way.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna be good company tonight,” I said.
“You always feel that way,” said Liz. “And we always end up having a good time anyway.”
“I thought I had it all figured out. You know, the meaning of life. It’s so stupid. I’m actually more confused now than I was a year ago. A lot of good college has done me.”
Liz nodded and touched my hand. “Your problem is that you think too much. You’ll straighten everything out. Things have a weird way of coming together. You’ll see.”
I started to peel the label off my beer bottle. I pried one end up with my fingernail and slowly pulled it away from the bottle, hoping to get the label off in one piece. The paper tore apart about a third of the way down. I used my fingernail to scratch the remaining paper and glue off the bottle.
“You know what I heard? That if you pick at the label on a beer bottle, it means you’re horny,” Liz said, smiling.
I laughed at her silliness.
“Yeah, I think I heard something like that, too,” I said.
Liz started to pick at her bottle’s label. She was able to pull the paper off in one steady pull. She held it up proudly for me to see.
“Nice job.”
She placed the label on the bar and smoothed it out with her small fingers. (Oh, What a Night) December, 1963 began to play on the jukebox and a small group of girls screamed in delight. We watched as they started to dance in a circle and sing along with the song. Liz started to sway along with the song and smiled. We finished the rest of our beer. As soon as we put the empty bottles on the bar, Ted came over and tossed them into a large metal can behind him.
“Get you guys a refill?” he asked.
I turned to Liz.
“Do you want another one?” I asked.
She looked at me, trying to gauge what I wanted her to say. She did that a lot.
“I’ll give you guys another minute,” Ted said before walking away to help another customer.
Liz had her feet resting on the bottom rung of my stool. Her skirt was so short that I could see she was wearing pink panties. I couldn’t resist.
“Let’s go to your place,” I said, sliding off the stool.
20.
MINUTES LATER, WE were lying on her bed. We peeled off each other’s clothes. Liz had lighted some candles and placed them randomly around her room. The candlelight illuminated her body. It was the first time that I really looked closely at her naked body.
She was probably about 10 pounds heavier than Jasmine, but she had a very appealing figure. Her hips were soft and round, and she had a perfect ass. She wrapped her leg around mine, and I noticed she was wearing a silver anklet.
Take on Me poured out of the stereo’s speakers. Liz suddenly sat up.
“I love a-ha!,” she said, falling back onto the bed.
“They’re okay.”
“Have you seen their video on MTV? It’s so cool the way that they mix real life with sketch drawings.”
She began to sing along with a-ha. Her voice was pretty good.
“Come on, sing with me,” she said, nudging me.
“OK.”
We sang along with the song and belted out the chorus.
“Taaaake on me! Take me on! I’ll be gone…in a…”
We looked at each other and burst out laughing, realizing that neither of us knew the next line. I was actually enjoying myself. It was the first time since Jasmine had left me.
I turned onto my side and gently moved a strand of brown hair away from Liz’s eyes. She stopped laughing and leaned in to kiss me. The kissing became harder and our hands moved aggressively over each other’s bodies. Liz sat up and pulled the pink heart-shaped box off the shelf and took out a condom. She handed it to me. I looked above her bureau at the large framed photograph of Liz and her sister getting a tan at the beach in Hawaii. Liz looked pretty damn good in a bikini.
“Come here,” she said, pulling me toward her.
I lay on top of her and entered her. But things got weird, out of control. I started to think about Jasmine! I tried to get her out of my mind, but I couldn’t. When I came, I wasn’t thinking about Liz at all. Jasmine’s green eyes, red lips and naked body were all I could see. Picturing Jasmine in my head while I was making love to Liz was fucked up. She deserved better. I had to pull myself together before I ended up really hurting her.
After we finished, Liz nuzzled against my bare chest and stroked my hair. My head started to ache.
“Are you staying over?” she asked.
“No. I’m gonna go.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just need to get back to my room.”
I got out of bed and started to gather my clothes from the floor. Liz sat up. She looked like she really wanted me to stay. I tried to think of something that would make her feel better. “I’m glad that we hung out tonight. I’ll give you a call soon,” I said.
“Since I don’t have any classes on Monday or Tuesday, I’m going to go home early for Thanksgiving.”
“If we don’t connect before break, we’ll definitely hang out after.”
I left the room. I felt confused.
PART THREE
1.
THE CAMPUS WAS empty by the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Most professors canceled their Monday and Tuesday classes to give students a longer holiday. I decided to stay at Elerby until Wednesday morning so I could try to get some class work done. At least that was the excuse I gave my mom. The truth was that I didn’t want to spend any more time with my parents then I had to. I wanted to keep the holiday short. The last thing I needed was Dad lecturing me about my grades.
I’d spoken to them a couple of times since the breakup, but I could never get myself to tell them what had happened with Jasmine. Part of me was embarrassed to admit that she dumped me. The other part was worried that my parents would say I was better off without her. I wasn’t ready to hear that yet.
Wednesday morning I boarded Amtrak. I’d finally finished one of my papers that was due. The paper was for British lit and was about a Thomas Hardy novel, The Mayor of Casterbridge. I had done a pretty good job, I thought, in analyzing the main character, Michael Henchard. Henchard suffered a lot and was a real outsider. I understood him perfectly. I hoped professor Parker would give me a decent grade. I still had about six other papers to write before the semester was over. The train pulled into Penn Station at 2 o’clock. I took my time hailing a cab on Eighth Avenue.
With all the traffic, it took 30 minutes until we pulled up at the gray canopy in front of my family’s apartment building at 83rd and Lexington. Sam, the afternoon doorman, gave me a loud hello and asked if I were enjoying all the girls at college. Gritting my teeth, I nodded quickly and took the elevator to the 12th floor.
“Mom, it’s me,” I said, opening the front door of our apartment with my key.
“Colin, you’re here!” Mom rushed into the foyer and gave me a hug. “You should have called. We had no idea when you were coming home, so I told your father that he should go play racquetball with Joe Hanson. He really needs the exercise. He’s been working so hard the last few weeks.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m home for four days.” I hung my coat in the hall closet.
Mom reached for my duffel bag. “Give me that, Colin. I’m doing a wash later, so I can do your laundry.”
“No. Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll deal with it later. I’m going to go unpack now.”
“If that’s what you want. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
I dropped the duffel bag in the middle of my room and collapsed onto my bed. I stretched my arms. It felt good to be in my old room. It felt safe. I looked around and saw my record collection and my books. Nothing had been touched since I’d last been home. Elerby seemed fa
r away. I’d left my college life behind me. There was no Jasmine. No Karl. No worries about flunking out. It had been such a crazy semester so far. I suddenly realized how exhausted I felt and shut my eyes.
The next day I woke up and for a moment I had no idea where I was or how long I’d been sleeping. I looked around and remembered that I was home in New York City. I looked out the window at a red tugboat going by on the East River.
I sat up to get my bearings and suddenly realized it was Thanksgiving. Holidays at home were often difficult, but Thanksgiving was usually a good one; it wasn’t religious. Dad wouldn’t ask me to go to church, and I wouldn’t have to say no again.
I could hear a cacophony of voices outside my door, probably coming from the living room. I was still wearing the same clothes I’d had on when I arrived. My duffel bag was in the middle of the room, but it had been emptied. Mom must have taken out all my clothes and washed them.
Sitting in bed, I remembered one of my dreams. Actually, I don’t know if I dreamed it or remembered it. Or dreamed about my memory. About a day at the beach in Southampton when I was 6 years old. Mom and Dad used to rent a house at a different beach each summer.
You couldn’t go swimming that day. The red flag was up. The waves were high, white and fast. They showered and sprayed way up on the sand. The sky was full of fat gray clouds. I had a large yellow shovel and a green pail. There were seagulls walking sideways.
I was making a castle. I had dug a canal that carried water to form a moat around it. An older boy who was about 10 ran over and kicked my castle a few times. He did enough damage that I knew I had to start over.
I yelled at him, but the waves swallowed my voice. The boy walked away without saying anything. I was very angry.
