tried to stand up, but that was impossible, so he hopped and hobbled toward one of the tables pushed against the wall. Diane followed him. That was the consolation.
She looked great, with her hands on her hips and her short haircut like an exclamation point and all her girlish elements, too, the cologne and the smooth skin, and the fine blond hair on her forearms and the exasperated look on her face, which was the look above all others that drew him. She said, “You were standing practically on top of me. You didn’t give me an inch to move!”
He said, “I was just trying to get through. I wasn’t standing there.”
“I bet that hurts.”
“Well, yeah. Yeah, it does.”
“It’s swelling right up. I can see that from here.”
“Maybe it’s broken.” He thought first about Earl Butz, about how he was going to get across campus without a car.
“It’s not broken.”
“How do you know?”
“Nothing cracked. I would have heard something crack.”
It was true that she had been that close, and closer. Closer than any other girl since he’d come to college. He smiled. She said, “Shit. Now I suppose I’ve got to find you a way back to your dorm. What’s your major?”
“Agronomy.”
“Are you kidding? Where are you from?”
“About a hundred miles from here.”
“I can’t believe it!”
Clearly, she was really angry. He said, “You don’t have to do anything, except maybe take these tickets and go get us a couple of beers.”
“I don’t like beer.”
“Well, get yourself a Coke.”
“Diet Coke.”
“Get that, then.”
“All right, all right.” She stomped away. Now this was a girl, Bob thought, who was not like any girl he knew, and this was the girl he wanted.
Across the room, Mary was standing half-hidden by a post and watching Keri. She was sure that Keri hadn’t seen her, which was just fine, because if she were to see her, she would certainly come over in a friendly way and start asking questions. Of all the roommates, Mary had found Keri the least compelling. She aroused in her neither incipient antipathy nor incipient affection. Keri’s beauty, which the other girls often commented on, looked right out of a magazine to Mary, and white girls in magazines reminded her of the Barbie dolls she had had as a child. They were around, and sometimes she played with them, but her mother always called them “those things,” as in “Put those things away,” or “Those things are the silliest-looking things I’ve ever seen.” Thus Mary had held Keri in low regard, until now. Now Mary watched her and marvelled.
Her face was flushed, her blond hair disordered from dancing. The skin of her neck and shoulders shone with perspiration. Two beers had put her in a laughing mood, and four guys were standing near her, staring at her and laughing with her. Others, farther away, were attuned to her, too, and kept glancing in her direction as if they couldn’t help it. She sat half on a table with her foot on a chair—the purple skirt showed lots of leg, and it was good leg, long, well defined, and smooth, but the most interesting thing about her to Mary was not that she gave off light and heat for the first time that Mary had seen, but that she also gave off safety. There wasn’t a single man looking at her. Looking at her had turned them all into boys. This was an aspect of Barbie-hood that Mary had never given any thought to, that Barbie created Ken, anatomically incorrect to the very core of his brain, where he understood as well as he understood his own name that Barbie was inviolable.
Inviolable was exactly what Mary herself wanted to be, safe here at the university, safe back in Chicago, safe in her future, safe without thinking about it or looking around her or waking up in the night wondering whether the doors and windows were locked. Though her Chicago neighborhood was not the frequent scene of gunfire, she would have liked to walk safely there without wondering about which
She looked great, with her hands on her hips and her short haircut like an exclamation point and all her girlish elements, too, the cologne and the smooth skin, and the fine blond hair on her forearms and the exasperated look on her face, which was the look above all others that drew him. She said, “You were standing practically on top of me. You didn’t give me an inch to move!”
He said, “I was just trying to get through. I wasn’t standing there.”
“I bet that hurts.”
“Well, yeah. Yeah, it does.”
“It’s swelling right up. I can see that from here.”
“Maybe it’s broken.” He thought first about Earl Butz, about how he was going to get across campus without a car.
“It’s not broken.”
“How do you know?”
“Nothing cracked. I would have heard something crack.”
It was true that she had been that close, and closer. Closer than any other girl since he’d come to college. He smiled. She said, “Shit. Now I suppose I’ve got to find you a way back to your dorm. What’s your major?”
“Agronomy.”
“Are you kidding? Where are you from?”
“About a hundred miles from here.”
“I can’t believe it!”
Clearly, she was really angry. He said, “You don’t have to do anything, except maybe take these tickets and go get us a couple of beers.”
“I don’t like beer.”
“Well, get yourself a Coke.”
“Diet Coke.”
“Get that, then.”
“All right, all right.” She stomped away. Now this was a girl, Bob thought, who was not like any girl he knew, and this was the girl he wanted.
Across the room, Mary was standing half-hidden by a post and watching Keri. She was sure that Keri hadn’t seen her, which was just fine, because if she were to see her, she would certainly come over in a friendly way and start asking questions. Of all the roommates, Mary had found Keri the least compelling. She aroused in her neither incipient antipathy nor incipient affection. Keri’s beauty, which the other girls often commented on, looked right out of a magazine to Mary, and white girls in magazines reminded her of the Barbie dolls she had had as a child. They were around, and sometimes she played with them, but her mother always called them “those things,” as in “Put those things away,” or “Those things are the silliest-looking things I’ve ever seen.” Thus Mary had held Keri in low regard, until now. Now Mary watched her and marvelled.
Her face was flushed, her blond hair disordered from dancing. The skin of her neck and shoulders shone with perspiration. Two beers had put her in a laughing mood, and four guys were standing near her, staring at her and laughing with her. Others, farther away, were attuned to her, too, and kept glancing in her direction as if they couldn’t help it. She sat half on a table with her foot on a chair—the purple skirt showed lots of leg, and it was good leg, long, well defined, and smooth, but the most interesting thing about her to Mary was not that she gave off light and heat for the first time that Mary had seen, but that she also gave off safety. There wasn’t a single man looking at her. Looking at her had turned them all into boys. This was an aspect of Barbie-hood that Mary had never given any thought to, that Barbie created Ken, anatomically incorrect to the very core of his brain, where he understood as well as he understood his own name that Barbie was inviolable.
Inviolable was exactly what Mary herself wanted to be, safe here at the university, safe back in Chicago, safe in her future, safe without thinking about it or looking around her or waking up in the night wondering whether the doors and windows were locked. Though her Chicago neighborhood was not the frequent scene of gunfire, she would have liked to walk safely there without wondering about which
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