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THAT WEEK, WHEN I FELT like I was beginning to come alive for the first time in a very long time, started with one phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Clay. This is Rajesh Maharaj. From U.W.I.”
What in the world did Rajesh want? It had been ages since I had heard from him. I had met him as an undergraduate some twenty years before and had graduated when he was still switching majors trying to decide in which direction to take his life. He had settled on psychology but was now working as an insurance salesman – not at all surprising since he loved to talk. He probably was the one person I knew who took all seven years that the university allowed to earn his bachelor’s degree.
“Hey, Rajesh. What’s up?” I said without enthusiasm, as if the years had not passed and we had only spoken the day before. He sounded pretty much the same: a high-pitched voice, disgustingly saccharine for a man, as if he had a glucose solution running through his veins instead of blood. He was always smiling and I sensed that he was smiling like the Joker on the other end of the line.
“Boy, I still have those books I borrowed – you had lent me.” He never could finish a sentence the way he started. He always had to change the structure midway. It was like all the synapses in his brain were not working together as a team.
“Don’t worry about it, man.” Those textbooks are probably outdated anyway.
“Clay, when I was on campus, I used to hang out with a girl... I’ve lost touch with almost everybody since I graduated. Anyway, this girl – a woman really – was telling me recently that she hardly has any good male friends. She lives close to you; maybe you might like to meet her or something?” What? He’s offering me his seconds? Just how desperate does he think I am? He was still talking as I reeled from the shock. “Do you mind if I give her your number?”
“Not a problem, Rajesh.” I doubt that we have the same taste in women, but what the hell? It can’t kill me.
“Thanks, Clay. I always respected you, man.”
I put the receiver down and laughed a good, long hearty laugh. Was Rajesh Maharaj feeling so sorry for me that he was setting me up with one of his old conquests? Was the word out that I was still single and having trouble finding a woman? I may be getting on in age, but one thing I never wanted was to date one of my friends’ exes. Insecurity? Hardly. I just did not fancy the idea that the young lady in question would be comparing me with the friend when it came to enjoying carnal pleasures.
That was why at university I tended to hang out with girls who did not have a reputation. Of course, thinking about it now, a girl without a reputation probably only meant that she was good at keeping skeletons in her closet.
Generally, I did not go after the girls from the faculty of social sciences or from the faculty of humanities. Those were the hot girls. And on a Thursday afternoon when they had a four o’clock lecture at the main auditorium, all red-blooded males found themselves at that end of the campus for the sideshow: Black girls, white girls, Indian girls, Asian girls, girls with big chests, girls with ample behinds, girls in shorts, girls with flat stomachs, girls tossing hair from left to right, girls with big, broad smiles showing off their dimples and white teeth, girls who knew they were the center of attraction and who were glad for one afternoon of their lives that they were girls.
I enjoyed the show, too, but all I did was look. Other guys, more daring than me, did a whole lot more. I liked the girls in the natural sciences faculty. I liked a good conversation. I liked hanging out with girls who were not vain and who cared about things in life that really mattered, like poverty and God and music and good literature. So I got close to Marilyn.
Marilyn was the only child of schoolteacher parents. She was not only bright, but funny, eloquent, and like so many other girls I hung out with, had beautiful penmanship. We had the same melancholy temperament which meant that we had impossible standards of perfection, were ambitious, but also had very dark sides to our nature. Our social circles were limited to the other co-eds in the Tuesday night Christian meeting for “fun, fellowship and evangelism”, as the posters advertised.
I visited Marilyn regularly on St. Catherine’s Hall, the girls’ dorm. I knew from the looks that the other girls gave me that they did not approve of my visits, not because they did not approve of my seeing their unpainted faces and disheveled hair as they made their way to the communal bathroom or kitchen, but I could sense that they did not approve of the relationship that they imagined that Marilyn and I were having. (Later on I learned that a man became more attractive to other women only when he is in a relationship.) They would avert their eyes, shaking their heads almost imperceptibly, and I could hear their screaming thoughts: “Why are you wasting your time with that fat mama when I am here?” Marilyn had a weight problem but that did not matter to me for she was my dearest friend at the time and I had no romantic inclinations toward her at all. And I thought she knew that too – at least until the day she gave me “the talk”.
“Clay,” she started without warning as I dropped her off at her dorm one Tuesday night, “I know that we have a lot of great times together and I want you to know that I really like you.” Oh-oh. “You’re like the brother I never had.” Whew!
“Of course. Where is all this coming from?”
“I just wanted you to know.”
And knew I did. I had always known.
*
I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT I would marry an older woman since I liked to hang out with older women and was very comfortable in their presence. The guys my age had minds that needed to be put away to ripen before they could catch up with mine. Marilyn was five years older than I was and being her friend and the brother that she’d never had, I was her logical choice for a date at her dorm’s valedictory dinner.
She looked lovely in her blue dress that evening. I still have the picture of us – me in my grey pin-stripe suit – in my photo album. She looked happy wearing my corsage and we had a great time of conversation and laughter at the dinner table, oblivious to everyone around us. I found it remarkable that after two years of friendship, we still had interesting things to learn about each other – like the fact that she slept on satin pillowcases so that her skin would not wrinkle prematurely. Soon her final exams were going to start and after that she would be migrating to Canada to continue her studies in biochemistry.
After the dinner, we strolled arm-in-arm along the stone footpath lined with scentless, nameless flowers that seemed iridescent in the moonlight as we made our way back to her room. Holding on to my hand, she opened the door and led me inside. The lights remained off and my heart raced when she kicked in the door, closing it behind me. What have you gotten yourself into now, Romeo?
Her hands found my zipper and I felt her warm fingers on my immediately erect penis. Down came my underwear and she pressed into me. Then she started clawing me as her lips reached up to mine. I allowed her to kiss me as I struggled to find just one excuse to bolt.
I had never known how strong Marilyn was until she grabbed me by my arms, spun me around and pushed me down on her bed.
“What the...?” She flipped on her bedside lamp and searched the top drawer of her dresser until she found something. Her face glistened with perspiration as she shoved a condom in my face.
“Wear this.” She looked at me, concentrating more on my mid-section – the look of a hungry man in front of a dinner table settling on her face. “I like it slow, Clay.” She licked her lips.
She was sweating now as she ripped the clothes off her body. I just lay there in confusion looking at her as if some evil spirit had taken possession of her. This was not the sweet, gentle young lady that I knew.
“Ready?” She looked disappointed to see me lying there with most of my clothes still on. “What is the problem?”
I looked down and her eyes followed mine south of my belly button. The most important member of my team did not want to play, it seemed. He never did when I was placed in a situation where there was no desire for the woman. It was like a protective mechanism and I had discovered it in my teenage years, much to my embarrassment. Her mouth dropped. She looked at me for an explanation.
“I just had a real exhausting day. Sorry.”
She shook her head, not wanting to waste the moment. “You want a blow job at least?”
“I’d better go. I think it would kill our friendship if you did.” I got up and dressed.
She nodded her understanding and I left, happy that I still had my underwear on.
I lost touch with Marilyn after she migrated to Canada.
