date. I have to see you. You have to become mine and no one else’s!”
She was wearing a camel’s hair winter coat and high woolen socks and over her auburn hair a snug white wool hat with a fleecy, red woven ball at the top. Directly in from the out-of-doors, with red cheeks and a slightly runny nose, she looked like the last girl in the world to give anyone a blowjob.
“Hello, Marc,” she said.
“Oh, yes, hi,” I said.
“I did that because I liked you so much.”
“Pardon?”
She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair—thick and long and not cut short with a little crimp of curls over the forehead, as was the hairdo worn by most every other coed on the campus.
“I said I did that because I liked you,” she told me. “I know you can’t figure it out. I know that’s why I haven’t heard from you and why you ignore me in class. So I’m figuring it out for you.” Her lips parted in a smile, and I thought, With those lips, she, without my urging, completely voluntarily … And yet I was the one who felt shy! “Any other mysteries?” she asked.
“Oh, no, that’s okay.”
“It’s not, ” she said, and now she was frowning, and every time her expression changed her beauty changed with it. She wasn’t one beautiful girl, she was twenty-five different beautiful girls. “You’re a hundred miles away from me. No, it’s not okay with you,” she said. “I liked your seriousness. I liked your maturity at dinner—or what I took to be maturity. I made a joke about it, but I liked your intensity. I’ve never met anyone so intense before. I liked your looks, Marcus. I still do.”
“Did you ever do that with someone else?”
“I did,” she said, without hesitation. “Has no one ever done it with you?”
“No one’s come close.”
“So you think I’m a slut,” she said, frowning again.
“Absolutely not,” I rushed to assure her.
“You’re lying. That’s why you won’t speak to me. Because I’m a slut.”
“I was surprised,” I said, “that’s all.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I was surprised too?”
“But you’ve done it before. You just told me you did.”
“This was the second time.”
“Were you surprised the first time?”
“I was at Mount Holyoke. It was at a party at Amherst. I was drunk. The whole thing was awful. I didn’t know anything. I was drinking all the time. That’s why I transferred. They suspended me. I spent three months at a clinic drying out. I don’t drink anymore. I don’t drink anything alcoholic and I won’t ever again. This time when I did it I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t crazy. I wanted to do it to you not because I’m a slut but because I wanted to do it to you. I wanted to give you that. Can’t you understand that I wanted to give you that?”
“It seems as though I can’t.”
“I–wanted–to–give–you–what–you–wanted. Are those words impossible to understand? They’re almost all of one syllable. God,” she said crossly, “what’s wrong with you? ”
The next time we were together in history class, she chose to sit in a chair at the back of the room so I couldn’t see her. Now that I knew that she had had to leave Mount Holyoke because of drinking and that she’d had then to enter a clinic for threemonths to stop drinking, I had even stronger reasons to keep away from her. I didn’t drink, my parents drank barely at all, and what business did I have with somebody who, not even twenty years old, already had a history of having been hospitalized for drinking? Yet despite my being convinced that I must have nothing further to do with her, I sent her a note through the campus mail:
Dear Olivia,
You think I’ve spurned you because of what happened in the car that night. I haven’t. As I explained, it’s because nothing approaching that had ever happened to me before. Just as no girl ever before has said to me anything resembling what you said in the bookstore. I had girlfriends
She was wearing a camel’s hair winter coat and high woolen socks and over her auburn hair a snug white wool hat with a fleecy, red woven ball at the top. Directly in from the out-of-doors, with red cheeks and a slightly runny nose, she looked like the last girl in the world to give anyone a blowjob.
“Hello, Marc,” she said.
“Oh, yes, hi,” I said.
“I did that because I liked you so much.”
“Pardon?”
She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair—thick and long and not cut short with a little crimp of curls over the forehead, as was the hairdo worn by most every other coed on the campus.
“I said I did that because I liked you,” she told me. “I know you can’t figure it out. I know that’s why I haven’t heard from you and why you ignore me in class. So I’m figuring it out for you.” Her lips parted in a smile, and I thought, With those lips, she, without my urging, completely voluntarily … And yet I was the one who felt shy! “Any other mysteries?” she asked.
“Oh, no, that’s okay.”
“It’s not, ” she said, and now she was frowning, and every time her expression changed her beauty changed with it. She wasn’t one beautiful girl, she was twenty-five different beautiful girls. “You’re a hundred miles away from me. No, it’s not okay with you,” she said. “I liked your seriousness. I liked your maturity at dinner—or what I took to be maturity. I made a joke about it, but I liked your intensity. I’ve never met anyone so intense before. I liked your looks, Marcus. I still do.”
“Did you ever do that with someone else?”
“I did,” she said, without hesitation. “Has no one ever done it with you?”
“No one’s come close.”
“So you think I’m a slut,” she said, frowning again.
“Absolutely not,” I rushed to assure her.
“You’re lying. That’s why you won’t speak to me. Because I’m a slut.”
“I was surprised,” I said, “that’s all.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I was surprised too?”
“But you’ve done it before. You just told me you did.”
“This was the second time.”
“Were you surprised the first time?”
“I was at Mount Holyoke. It was at a party at Amherst. I was drunk. The whole thing was awful. I didn’t know anything. I was drinking all the time. That’s why I transferred. They suspended me. I spent three months at a clinic drying out. I don’t drink anymore. I don’t drink anything alcoholic and I won’t ever again. This time when I did it I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t crazy. I wanted to do it to you not because I’m a slut but because I wanted to do it to you. I wanted to give you that. Can’t you understand that I wanted to give you that?”
“It seems as though I can’t.”
“I–wanted–to–give–you–what–you–wanted. Are those words impossible to understand? They’re almost all of one syllable. God,” she said crossly, “what’s wrong with you? ”
The next time we were together in history class, she chose to sit in a chair at the back of the room so I couldn’t see her. Now that I knew that she had had to leave Mount Holyoke because of drinking and that she’d had then to enter a clinic for threemonths to stop drinking, I had even stronger reasons to keep away from her. I didn’t drink, my parents drank barely at all, and what business did I have with somebody who, not even twenty years old, already had a history of having been hospitalized for drinking? Yet despite my being convinced that I must have nothing further to do with her, I sent her a note through the campus mail:
Dear Olivia,
You think I’ve spurned you because of what happened in the car that night. I haven’t. As I explained, it’s because nothing approaching that had ever happened to me before. Just as no girl ever before has said to me anything resembling what you said in the bookstore. I had girlfriends
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