From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

Welcome to part 6. Once again, if this is your first time here, you may click on the following link(s) to catch up on Part 1 thru Part 5.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

**** THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION.  Any semblance to a person, place, or experience is 98.8% fabricated. 

****  Also, I’d like to call attention to the featured image, by the very talented, Chelsea McKenzie.

 

A Road Trip, Getting to know you, and a SHOCKING revelation

Anyone moderately acquainted with the partaking of adult beverages knows that there are times when a little is enough. There are other times when the drink goes down smooth and easy, and more than a modicum of effort and experience is required to summon the resolve to avoid over-indulgence. Then there are those instances when the currents are strong and the motivation sufficient to accept the escape the liquor promises, to leave it out there and fully commit to pushing the envelope. I’m not talking about a college frat boy who drinks to near toxic alcohol levels, I just mean reaching and then sustaining the desired level, just past normal tolerance. I say by way of disclaimer that one should always respect the inebriant spirits and interact with them responsibly.

I sat and watched a muscle-bound young man across the bar. Sporting a tight Tee shirt, jeans, and red tennis shoes, he was with a group of about ten people, some sort of reunion I think, or so it appeared. He seemed genuinely happy to see all of his friends and was hittin’ it a little too hard a little too early as if the celebratory occasion had sparked a desire to recapture a season of the past. I was his age once, back in the day, back when I thought I knew the world, I thought I’d seen some stuff. Maybe it was just me, but when I was his age and entered into a bar or club, I’d assess the room, just to get the general “lay of the land,” you might say. I’d note the ladies that were there accompanied by guys, then I’d note who was with who. Finally, I’d look around and find the biggest baddest dude in the room. He’d be the one to keep an eye on if things turned south and hands came into play. The term for it now is “situational awareness,” but back then if there was a phrase for it, I wouldn’t have known it. Not that I frequented places for the purpose of looking for trouble, no, just the opposite. But when there is a combination of youth, alcohol, and testosterone, sometimes it just can’t be helped.

At any rate, there are times when men drink in remembrance, times when a man drinks to forget and there are times when a man drinks purely as an aid in contemplative thought. Then there are times when all of the alcohol on the planet won’t squelch the static in a man’s head. He drinks and he drinks, and he orders up the bottle, as I did earlier, but that was just for a moment, I instructed Charla to put to bottle away. When she returned, I continued my story.

“Now one might think that we would have been undressing each other before I had the room key in the door.  I can attest that was one of the scenarios that passed through my mind while I waited earlier on the balcony. But that wasn’t the only one. I imagined that we might go out, maybe to an upscale restaurant or something like that. Consequently, if a bet was offered, I would have bet the line on the former, but I would have bet and lost. But I didn’t count that as a negative. The truth is that while I awaited her arrival, I dealt with a full spectrum of notions as to what the night would be like, and as a young buck, there were certain umm, “biological processes” that needed to be addressed, and the sooner the better. For whatever reason, I found myself as nervous as I was the night of my first “formal” date back when I was 15. I think that our first days apart got to me a bit, almost regretting that we started on the fast track. At the time, I couldn’t fully comprehend the notion of a sexual relationship without feelings and more importantly without commitments. That first night, we just let it all go, threw it to the wind and we yielded to our “baser” selves. I know now that there is nothing wrong with that behavior, at least in that it is casually accepted, but back then, a young male of the species not only had to battle the teachings of a young girl’s parents, but we also had to battle strong religious beliefs and interpretations as well. Ultimately, yes, sex without feelings and commitments is and always has been a bad idea, but that is an entirely different discussion. I tell you all of this today because I believed from the start that our time together was more than a “wam bam.”

So it was, that at the time I unlocked the door, I could have gone either way. As it turned out, we went both ways, but in the correct order. I had spent much of the previous week reconciling the fact that we had been so intimate, so in-tune with each other, and so, so, so; words fail me here. Yet, I kicked myself for not knowing more of her, who she was as a person, her hopes and dreams. That kind of stuff. I asked if she would like to go out somewhere, to eat, or to a club or something and she indicated that she had an early class the next morning and just wanted to make the most of our time together. It seemed that she had held similar thoughts that I had during our time apart, so we sat at the small hotel room table and talked for a while, somewhat nervously at first, but as it was with her, we found a languid rhythm. We moved from the table and chairs to one of the beds and lay across it, fully clothed and atop the covers. Hours passed like minutes, just talking, touching from to time, a kiss here and there, and before we realized it, midnight had come and gone. She noted the time and got up to get ready for bed and I did the same. As she exited the bathroom, I approached her, stared deeply into her eyes, and took in her casual beauty. I locked her hands in mine, pivoted our bodies so that her back faced a tall dressing mirror there on the wall. I stepped in close, kissing her lips, face, and neck, and over her shoulder, the mirror provided a perfect view of the curve of her body from behind. She wore an Ole Miss tee shirt, and as I kissed her I lifted the shirt and the reflection in the mirror revealed that there was nothing underneath. I stepped back an inch or two, raised her hands above her head, and firmly pushed her against the wall, taking control, our kisses more fevered, hearts beating faster, and we stayed locked together stepping towards the first bed, removing clothing and jerking covers back at the same time.

Later, as we lay in a heap, breathless and sweaty, she spoke of the fact that she had feared that I had thought less of her after our first weekend; that we may have become intimate too quickly, and that I had seen her as just another conquest. I raised up above her, kissing her forehead and eyes, and admitted that I had harbored the same fears.  We both agreed we didn’t want our relationship to be based primarily on sex. Though we both laughed that the sex part was pretty great. In part though, these were merely words, just vapor that disappeared as soon as it left our lips. But it is the way it is with a girl in her late teens and a guy at twenty, sex was going to play a large part of any couple at that age.

The next morning, I heard her getting dressed for class and I stirred a little when she kissed me and told me she would be back soon, but I slept on for another hour or so. I slept, but it was a fitful and restless sleep, dreaming that I was doing something wrong by staying in a hotel room, alone with a girl. I know now that behind those dreams was the guilt associated with the far-reaching influence that my Sunday school teachers and especially my mother had on me from miles away.

Finally, I threw back the covers and put on a tee-shirt and red double knit stretch nylon coaching shorts that we all wore back in the early ’80s. It was then that I noticed a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. Apparently, sleep had eluded my girl because she had sketched an elaborate drawing of mushrooms and butterflies, revealing to me that not only was she outgoing and confident, but she had an amazing talent for drawing. The sheet was folded, and she left a note on the inside saying that she had class and an errand to run, but she would be back soon. I sat on the bed, I read the note again and I studied the picture. I was just in awe of a green-eyed girl who had captured my heart and my mind, while simultaneously pushing back the gnawing feeling building inside that I just wasn’t good enough for someone like her. I shook my head vigorously as if the act might catapult the negative thoughts from my mind. The thought process was if the thoughts no longer occupied space in my mind, then somehow, they didn’t exist and if they didn’t exist, then how could I have had the thoughts to begin with.

I turned on the TV and discovered for the first time in my life that more than 3 channels were available and that there were 24-hour sports channels, 24-hour news channels, and then, my world changed forever when I learned of the existence of HBO, a 24-hour MOVIE channel. We certainly had nothing of the kind out in the country where I lived. This kept me occupied until she rejoined me.

We ate burgers in the room and spent the afternoon with her showing me around campus and around town. I saw and was not surprised by her level of comfort there so far away from home. She seemed to have adapted well and was obviously adept in making friends as she constantly waved at and spoke to various people we encountered on campus. She was already popular but it was more than that. She carried herself well socially with anyone we came into contact with, be it other students, professors, or campus staff. With kids, adults, children, hell, even the pets of people we came across, she was just bubbly, personable, and people seemed to feed off of her every word. I was proud to be with her, but also fell a bit of a dullard when she introduced me to her acquaintances. By the time we made it back to the hotel to clean up and get dressed for the evening, I began to wonder if it was all a “class” thing and that I had just somehow been dealt a cosmic bad hand in life because as comfortable and confident as I was at home, I felt socially inept when it came to conversing with strangers and older adults. Once again, a wave of uneasiness jolted through my senses. Once again, I pushed away that feeling in my core.

That night, at a series of parties from one frat house to another, I watched her as she morphed into a social butterfly, beautiful, dressed casually, but cute and in step with the latest fashion. I didn’t stick out too bad with my jeans, topsiders, and only one IZOD shirt, but would have fit in a little better had I worn khaki shorts and an extra IZOD, but she said I looked fine. She’d bounce from group to group, practically knew everyone on campus, and she introduced me as her “friend” sometimes while others, she introduced me as her “boyfriend.” I didn’t allow the semantics to bother me, regarding the difference only because we had not really defined ourselves at that point and I was interested in knowing myself.  Occasionally, I’d believe that I noticed her being a little friendlier with one guy in particular, and I played it off as my imagination, but who knows. It was little things.  She laughed a little more at his comments, seemed a little more attentive, but I didn’t know, and chalked it up as jealousy and once again, pushed it down deep. Then there were a couple of times when I’d catch her glancing at me, holding onto every word I spoke, laughing at my stories, and touching my forearm when interacting with me. I was a little surprised but not disappointed when she suggested that we go back to the hotel, and she told her friends that she was tired and that we had a long day tomorrow with the first football game of the year.

After making love that night, I crashed hard and dozed off quickly with her in my arms, her back to me. I awoke a couple of times during the night, only to see her silhouette sitting at the table, but the combination of fatigue and alcohol consumption robbed me of the ability to say or do anything other than roll over and drift off again.

I awoke the next morning at around six o’clock. She wasn’t in the bed with me, so I wandered into the bathroom and there she was, fully dressed and standing at the mirror, applying make-up. When I asked if she was attempting to slip out on me, she reminded me of a sorority thing that she was required to attend before the football game. We made plans to meet later and without much more conversation than that, she left in a rush, pausing only to kiss me on the cheek and to give my butt a little squeeze. Had it not been for the squeeze, I would have worried that I had done something wrong and that I was in some sort of trouble with her. After I showered and dressed, I left the room to find some breakfast and I went to meet her in time to go to the infamous Grove for pre-game festivities.

If I hadn’t felt out of place before, I certainly did at the Grove. There were red and blue tents everywhere with linen table cloths and real dinnerware. There was a line of limousines dropping off well-dressed people, with large wicker baskets, pewter bowls, and pitchers and I even saw caterers there, serving the more affluent alumni. Some even had chandeliers hanging in their tents. I found the whole scene a bit ostentatious for my liking, but then again, it was all pretty cool. I guess it was at that point that I first thought about the possibility of one day climbing the wall and pondered the likelihood of one day having wealth of my own.

I noticed after the game that she had seemed a little distant and I was reminded of her sitting at the table in our room alone in the dark.  It seemed that she was contemplating something and I weighed the possible outcomes and found none to be in my favor. A couple of times, I asked if she was okay and she replied that she was just tired with little explanation beyond that. Later we ate dinner at a restaurant in town I noticed that she ate very little, more or less stirring her food around, and again, I asked if she felt ok and she said something about getting too hot at the ballgame. By that time, my mind was reeling and the emerging whispers that I had easily silenced throughout the weekend were getting louder and more impossible to silence. But she did things like smile big at me and squeeze my leg under the table and youth and inexperience allowed me to convince myself that everything was ok. Back at the hotel, I took the cooler of beer down to the ice maker for a refill and realized then that she hadn’t accepted any offers for beer. I really thought this odd behavior, especially given that on our first weekend together, she matched me beer for beer. I combed my memory of the previous night and throughout the day that day and realized that she hadn’t had a single drink to my recollection since I’d rolled into town, but when I inquired about it, she said something about the “freshman fifteen” and left it at that.

That night, it was she that slept while I took a turn at the table, sipping beer and replaying every moment since we’d met. I sipped beer slowly and pondered the possibilities and after three or four hours, I had no more to go on than I did when I sat down. Giving in, I eased into bed and she rolled over and kissed me and asked if I was okay. I just wrapped her in my arms and we were still in that position when daylight streamed through the crack in the curtains and I realized that we had slept until around 9 O’clock.

Check-out time was 11:00, so I eased out of bed and began to gather my things and to begin packing to leave. At least as much as possible without waking my sleeping beauty. At a quarter of ten, I decided to wake her, and she sat up briskly in the bed, head in hands, saying, “oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep this long. Why didn’t you wake me?” I apologized and told her that I hadn’t wanted to disturb her. We got up and showered together, took time to make love one more time, then we dressed and rushed downstairs to check out.

I followed her back to campus and we stood outside her mustang and talked, beginning to say our goodbyes. I asked her again if she was ok. She squared off with me and looked me straight in the eyes. I saw tears welling and I knew at that point that the deep-seated feelings I had been having all weekend were not for nothing. I said, “That’s it! You are ending it between us. I knew something wasn’t right. I ….” She shushed me, saying that wasn’t it at all. Then she made me promise that once she said what she had to say, that I would get in my truck and leave and that we would talk over the phone later that night. I tried to argue. Tried to tell her that we could get through ANYTHING if we worked together, but she was stubborn in her resolve and would not accept it any other way than me walking to my truck and leaving. She said, “I know this is a shitty way, but this is the only way I can do it. I love you, but this is the ONLY way.” Reluctantly I agreed. Saw no other way really, at the time.

So with all of the preamble behind us, she looked me in the eyes, she kissed me hard, and her voice trembled as she spoke. She said, “It isn’t time to worry just yet, but I’m beginning to myself.” “What is it? Tell me!” I asked. She couldn’t look me in the face when she said, “I’m four days late.”

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