Young, Only Once

33

Chapter 1

I sat patiently on the edge of the twin bed. It was almost dawn outside the large bedroom window. My gaze was on the tree line, a half mile away across an open field.

The side screens of the window allowed a slight, already warm breeze into the room. Music from early morning songbirds filtered through the haze of this late August day.

There was stirring in the bed behind me. She slid across the sheet and was now seated alongside me, her long black hair cushioning her head upon my shoulder. Michelle's skin, soft yet firm, felt good. I turned my head slightly, breathing in deeply the essence that was Mikey.

What are we doing?, she mumbled sleepily.

Taking in the greatest show on Earth.

The darkness had receded. The eastern sky was cloudless, brilliantly illuminated with red, orange, and pink. Sunbeams were poking above the treeline.

Did we buy tickets for this?

None required for those with eyesight, who can see.

We continued our silent vigil, sunlight peeping between the distant trees. The new day was only moments away.

What are we seeing, exactly?

A ritual older than life itself.

So this is what morning looks like.

At the beginning of a beautiful day.

Mother Nature had set the stage. We waited in anticipation for the performance to begin. After another thirty seconds, it did.

There!

Where?

The sun just rimmed the treeline. The earth just moved beneath our feet.

Mikey groaned and her head rolled off my shoulder. The bed moved beneath us as she undoubtedly sought out her pillow.

I remained transfixed by the scene outside the window. Several deer entered the field, prancing and playing before continuing along their path.

Hank.

Mmm

I can't get back to sleep.

You're welcome.

I turned slightly, taking in Michelle's apartment bedroom, another twin bed, unpacked boxes scattered about, the faint odor of cleaning fluids indicating the expected arrival of tenants. Breathing in deeply I again sensed Mikey's scent, something I had missed during the summers separation. I closed my eyes and drifted back to our unexpected meeting, almost five long months earlier.

Hank?

I turned to look at Michelle. Her elbow was in her pillow, her hand supporting her head. She began a slow yawn, so I admired the rest of her, the tan lines demonstrating a sharp contrast between her light olive hue and the dark bronze of a summer's recreational effort. Her straight black hair framed beautiful facial features and as the yawn subsided it was replaced by a growing smile.

I gazed into her large brown eyes, fully awake.

She winked. Just to say we've had the experience... would you like to celebrate the arrival of sunrise this morning?

* * *

Ah, college daze, the start of my senior year at Collegeville, a Midwestern state university of about fifteen thousand students. Seventy percent of the student body came from the City, three hours distant. Two hours in the opposite direction was the start of Vacationland, a four-season tourist destination. Ours was viewed as a safe little academic enclave, free from physical danger and nasty radical ideas which permeated more substantive Universities. The Collegeville public relations machine clamored incessantly about world class opportunities and cutting-edge growth, but the truth was they had never strayed far from their original mandate of churning out schoolmarms and shopkeepers.

This was the mid-seventies, with a rather brutish recession going on in the real world. Where better to be gainfully unemployed then pursuing a Bachelor's degree? A recent cover story of a national news magazine proclaimed ours the age of the one night stand. While this didn't describe my behavior pattern, I had seen enough evidence to agree with the articles salient point. People were out of control. The result was exhilarating, so long as you didn't personally become caught up within the frenzy. Responsibility and balance seemed the logical keys to making the most of this, my final year of school.

My academic career had been slightly different from most. I had always been slow. Given enough time and concerted effort I could usually catch on, but others were much quicker. My freshman year of college presented three problem areas, highlighting my relative slowness.

The first was dormitory assignment. I was arbitrarily placed into a new experimental concept, co-educational housing. As such I was one of four freshmen among five hundred upperclassmen, my three roommates all being seniors. I was normally introverted; my social and conversational skills just didn't seem to develop well during the year.

The second problem was the Business Administration department. The courses were simple and I easily achieved A's in most of the classes. However, the entire process smacked of remedial education. Halfway through Winter semester I discovered the Business Department itself was on probation from the North American accrediting body.

Then there was the entire area of finance. My first year was paid one hundred percent by scholarship and grant monies, available for only one year. I went to the financial aid office where I was blithely informed that, like most of the other fifteen thousand students, I was expected to sign my name to a horrendous mountain of debt to complete a Bachelor's degree. I was slow to understand this advice. In fact, I never accepted this sage wisdom from the learned university's hallowed halls. I was so dense that I never comprehended why, after four years of concentrated effort, I could expect to receive both a sheepskin and account statement for many thousands due and payable.

The net result was that I dropped out of school following my freshman year. Due to initiative completely my own, within one week I was punching a time clock at the steel mill in Capital City, forty miles from the farming community of Stony Point where I lived. During the next fifteen months I upgraded to a better quality used car, took a few junior college classes, lived in an apartment in Capital City for a short time, and had a romantic relationship which did not end well.

When I returned to Collegeville after the one year absence I had enough cash, well managed, to completely pay for three more years of college. Unfortunately, I had not factored in double digit inflation, with college costs rising far in excess of general inflation. Fortunately, I had been asked to return to the steel mill for two successive summers, so the original goal was still met.

These thoughts and others filtered through my mind as I walked from Mikey's apartment toward my own. There were thirty buildings within the apartment complex, each with twelve units. Her building was the furthest back, overlooking a large field. Mine was across the parking lot, about centrally located.

School was to start on Monday and we had each arrived Thursday. During our telephone conversation a week earlier she had tactfully suggested I not help her move in when her parents drove her up from the City. As the parents helped their daughter settle in for the start of her junior year they did not necessarily need to meet the guy who had begun sleeping with their daughter late the previous Spring.

The telephone conversation also contained a surprise. Michelle announced she had gone on the Pill. I understood both the practical and emotional implications of such an announcement, having heard a similar statement earlier in my life. That situation had not worked out. I could only hope Mikey was...somehow different.

I approached my building and considered what the coming year held. Whereas Mikey's roommates were all arriving today, Friday, my three roommates arrived the same time I did.

The Boys of Paradise were back in town. The four of us represented different sections of the state. We held summer jobs of construction, auto factory, steel mill, and park ranger. We had all been in a big hurry to return to Collegeville to begin our final year.

Paradise was our base of operations, the same apartment we had occupied the previous year. We lived the way young guys would choose to live with no mother-figure to act aghast or totally horrified. Paradise was a state of mind. Our door was always open. We had quickly become the social center of our small building, people coming and going all the time, staying five minutes or three hours, whatever their agenda. It was not unusual to find a dozen people within the apartment at one time. It was not unusual for twenty or thirty people to stop in during any given evening.

I opened the external door to our building and entered. The previous afternoon the Boys of Paradise had held a brief board meeting. We had established a loosely defined goal for the year: we were going to get drunk. We were starting the latter part of August and hoped to sober up by graduation come May.

Let the memories develop and accrue.

Chapter 2

The air conditioning was running full throttle in the basement Student Grille of the student center building. When full the Grille could seat perhaps eight hundred people, with many exits and several large windows allowing the sunshine in. It was slightly past one o'clock. One of Mikey's roommates was going to drop her off at two. We were going upstairs to the bookstore to purchase Michelle's supplies, and then load them into my car before making a couple more stops.

There was a large, full insulated cup of black coffee on the table in front of me, along with a small notepad and ink pen. By now Mikey's roommates had probably arrived, along with thousands of other students pouring into the community. Thus far there were few people within the Grille, none I recognized for easy conversation. Plenty of time to relax. Plenty of time for reflection.

When I had returned to Collegeville after a one year hiatus it was with a plan. I was the paying customer, the student. The university was accountable to the customer, not the other way around. There would be no more crap about paying top-dollar tuition in exchange for remedial education provided through the Business Administration department.

My plan included three basic components for a solid educational foundation. The first was to play the game well enough to earn a degree, but under my conditions. No more 101 courses, taught mostly by otherwise unemployable graduate students. Even if I was slow, I needed a tenured professor demanding excellence from the students. I would take courses in several disciplines, at my discretion.

Naturally, this attitude landed me in trouble. The previous Winter I had been called into the Academic Counseling office for a stern finger-shaking. Budgets were allocated and resources flowed based upon student declarations of Majors and Minors. I was a loose cannon, along with several others, who as a sixth semester student had yet to commit.

I marveled there were a few other kindred spirits who also understood. And I still had yet to commit to a Major and Minor.

The second component was to learn what I wanted to learn, when I wanted to learn it. The University contained an extensive library open from seven AM to one AM. I would spend six-seven hours per day studying and attending class; my second education would receive two-three hours of study per day, not including the sports page. I was determined to follow up on whatever whim or interest that caught my attention at a given moment.

The final component was social development. The goal was to meet one new person a day and converse with them for ten minutes. There were many perspectives on life, different modes of living which I had no direct experience of. Conversing with others provided insight and also the opportunity to observe varied psychologies, a subject I had not studied.

I had to adjust the goal of this final component, changing the time from ten minutes to five for the young women I met. After five minutes a woman might perceive I was hitting on her and become defensive, bringing a boyfriend into the conversation. Or she would start nodding enthusiastically, hoping I was hitting on her and thus angle for a date invitation. There were not many who could last ten minutes for direct dialogue.

The notepad now contained some doodling. Coffee was gone, so I went for a refill. When I came back to the table there were still twenty five minutes before Michelle's arrival.

* * *

My second year of college I had to make a decision on living accommodation. All the people, juniors and seniors I had known my freshman year in the co-educational dorm, had graduated. Socially I had to start all over. By temperament I would have preferred a house or apartment. I realized such arrangements depended upon chemistry between like-minded roommates, and I knew no one in Collegeville to share a dwelling with. Thus by default I chose a dormitory. Fortunately, my new roomies included one junior and two sophomores, reasonable personalities, and we got on well.

The educational plan I had devised was put into practice. I did not spend much time around the dormitory. Still, within a relatively short time I met dozens of new people. I found it very easy to meet people as compared to my freshman year, probably just because I was two years older and had some life experience.

Between the dorm, library, new classes, student center Grille, and natural curiosity I met perhaps a couple hundred people as the year progressed. My mind effortlessly created mental files for each new individual. Information included name, mental picture, impressions, snippets of conversation, shared experience, gossip, and anything else indicating personality or predilection. There were also a few empty files in my head, people I would like to meet but had not as of yet simply because it was not possible to meet everyone.

One of these empty files contained a mental picture but no name for a certain young lady who lived in my dormitory Quad. I had noticed her for the same reason every other man in the world would pay attention: she was a beautiful young woman. The file information told me she was about five foot eight, olive complexion, straight black hair half way down her back, trim, shapely, and always had a casual smile. Obviously from the 'charm'em, don't alarm'em' school. She seemed down to earth; she did not exhibit a sense of entitlement or royalty as one might expect from a beautiful young woman.

Eventually, the school year came to an end. I never did discover the young woman's name.

Junior year began in the apartment complex with the original incarnation of Paradise. The four of us were all in our third academic year, though three of us were a year older than our academic standing. What we all had in common was a blue collar background and highly social nature. And beer.

Among my daily adventures I noticed the beautiful young woman lived within the same complex as Paradise. I would occasionally note her walking across the large parking lot toward one of the back buildings, though I did not know which one.

Her file had expanded within my mind. Around the public spaces of campus I would see her frequently. I noticed the lovely young woman always had some guy or other at her elbow. The same had been true back at the dorm; occasionally she would leave the lobby area with what were obviously dates. What I had noticed was I never saw her with the same guy twice. Obviously she had options and an active social life.

I had learned the public spaces away from campus, and individually or with groups made the rounds of nightlife. A few times I had seen the young woman, always with some guy, in the same locations. A couple times in such venues we had made eye contact. She had smiled in response.

One mental file, with picture, nameless, with a few impressions.

There were hundreds of files behind my eyes with a continual information flow.

Thence came the second week of March, cold, with snow still piled high. I was in some building, going to or coming from some classroom or lecture hall. The corridor was the usual bustling chaos of people in motion. A bundled figure from the opposite direction stepped directly in front of me, causing me to stop abruptly and the person behind to run up my back.

The individual standing before me was the beautiful young woman.

Hi, she said, with natural poise. Your name is Hank, right?

Yeah.

I'm Michelle. My friends call me Mikey.

My friends call me Hank. I'm really Henry.

Well Hank, also known as Henry, it's nice to finally meet you. I think it would be fun to get together sometime.

Sure. Unfortunately, I'm going out of town this weekend.

That does happen, she replied, not missing a beat. Some other time then. I'll look forward to it.

She walked away, headed in the opposite direction.

I continued along. The file opened within my mind. Michelle, aka Mikey. Up close, really beautiful, not just cosmetics, fine balance of feminine facial features. Called me by name, probably learned from some mutual dorm acquaintance. To finally meet, implying previous observation. To get together, not an expectation of formal dinner date. No address. No phone number. Candid confidence up the wazoo. Yet... down to earth, matter of fact, approachable for the near future at least. Well traveled among the young menfolk and capable of managing them. Seemed to be intelligent.

Back up to the well traveled and management bit. Always a guy close, but none of them around for long. By logical extension...there might be occasional lulls in her social agenda. How to fill that dead space? Shake the bushes. On a given day approach half a dozen guys not yet dated, as she had just done with me. In her case, the net result was probably six date invitations, with maybe three allowed back for a second opportunity. Fills a social calendar for a couple weeks. Repeat the exercise four or five times per semester. A cost effective way to dine out, take in every movie, concert, sporting event in sight.

And a beautiful young woman certainly was not limited to just a college campus.

The mental file closed. Technically, Michelle did not qualify as a new person met under my social criterion of five minutes conversation with a woman. We had conversed for perhaps thirty seconds. This was an all-time record for me, length of time required before a woman hinted at dating behavior. Further communication/information would be needed before a fun get together sometime. The file Michelle aka Mikey shifted to the area designated 'on hold'.

It was two weeks later, the snow gone, an early Spring upon us before I saw Michelle again. I was on the top floor of the library in the remote back section where the academic journals were found. Few people populated this space, part of the reason I enjoyed conducting my second education within the area. I glanced up and was surprised to see Michelle approaching. I would have thought her social life was back on track and she had completely forgotten about me.

Here you are, she said calmly. I saw you come into the library and I've been looking for you.

I must apologize in advance for sounding like a broken record, but this weekend I'm leaving town again.

May I borrow your ink pen?

She pulled my notebook toward her, turning it over and opening it. On the back page she wrote her address and phone number. Now I'm sure you know where to find me.

We talked for perhaps ten minutes. I explained the concept of second education, with back issues of hundreds of academic journals surrounding us. I might be immersed within any given subject, Cultural Anthropology, Political Economy, Norse Mythology, whatever attracted my attention. By this point, after almost two full years of inquisitive behavior, I had amassed a headful of useless information which I found thoroughly entertaining.

She actually did not say much, allowing me to prattle on for her amusement. When she arose from her chair to leave it was with a matter of fact 'I'll see you'.

I watched as she walked away. The conversation had contained no unusual vocabulary or turn of phrasing. Now the onus was upon me to decide what, if anything, to do.

I drummed my fingers on the library table. In the first instance, I did not see why she might be attracted to me. I liked the guy who looked out of the mirror, but he was not leading man quality. I was a farmboy who had spent a year and a half working in a steel mill. I had many interests in life, but Michelle knew none of them.

A second point involved the dating process itself. I did not do it very often, but had found the activity aggravating. The clock was ticking. First, second, third date protocols. Where was it leading, how to measure progress, expectation versus reality, constant observation, assessment, judgments being passed.

I would much rather be friends with someone. If romance developed beyond that point then fine, but the base had to be friendship with easy communication.

Michelle had stopped by the exit door at the far end of the large room. Her back was toward me and some guy was talking with her. He seemed to do all the talking, as had been the case with me not ten minutes earlier. He disappeared from my view for a few seconds, behind a bookcase, returning with a jacket and books in his arms. He opened the door for her and they both departed.

What was conventional wisdom? Easy come, and quick to wander off. If it seems too good to be true, then prepare to sing the blues. If you don't want your heart swept back to you in a thousand shattered pieces, then never fall in love with a beautiful young woman.

Competition didn't bother me. With someone like Michelle there would always be guys around. I didn't mind elbowing my way through the crowd, one time. Then it was her responsibility to figure out what to do. Over time, from a distance, I had observed how she managed a relatively active social life. She was certainly entitled to her own experience of life.

As was I entitled to my experience of life. Socially, I had noticed personal growth and development. I could converse with almost anyone. I was perfectly satisfied to travel alone. I enjoyed every minute of Paradise, our apartment constantly filled with people and diversity. I had no fear or hesitation when it came to basic conversation and relating to people, male or female, individually or in groups.

But Michelle was a dating proposition. She had approached me directly, unusual within my experience, and had done so twice with expectation. The expectation was simple. Get together. A date. Something I normally did not do.

A bit of romance certainly would not hurt things, possibly with this person Michelle. I was not going to stand in line. I could never accept being cycled through someone's agenda, one or two dates, then seeing her with other guys.

My Ego appreciated the brief attention and interest of a beautiful young woman.

My Heart did not need the brief attention and interest of a beautiful young woman.

Ergo, for varied reasons, I could afford to take no initiative toward Michelle aka Mikey. The closed mental file moved from the designated area 'on hold' to the dusty bin of 'inactive'.

A week and a half later, the first weekend in April, the weather was unseasonably warm with temperatures in the eighties. The temperature still hovered at that point early Saturday evening as I was enjoying our usual crowd of twelve to fifteen within Paradise. I was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, seated in a living room chair, back toward the door. It was shortly after seven. Loose conversation centered on whether we all wanted to go out later and which destination was preferred.

I noticed a presence, standing next to my chair. I glanced up. It was Michelle.

Hi, she said, in an easygoing tone. What are you doing?

Ah...feeling almost naked, now that you're standing here.

Then put your clothes on. I'd like to go out.

As I was putting clothes on in my bedroom I had to chuckle. The door to Paradise was open to everyone. The woman had walked in and would be walking back out with what she wanted. A date. With me.

All dating pressure was off me. This was her initiative. I could settle back and relax, enjoy an impromptu evening. I had nothing to prove. She had a scheduling availability and I did not really have anything planned. This was more the casual friendship style I preferred rather than the formal dating structure she obviously knew. Any points made would have to originate from her.

As we left Paradise I noticed every set of male eyes was riveted upon Michelle.

We went to the Meet Mart, a cavernous bar/dance hall at the edge of campus. Since it was still early there were not many customers. We ordered a drink and watched band members fiddling with their equipment. Mikey talked about music within the City, where she was from. She described various nightclubs, concert venues, and impressions of various groups she had heard.

The place began to fill up. Our drinks were empty, the waitress approaching.

This group was here last fall, Mikey said. They're really not that good. Do you want to stay?

I picked up on her hint and we left, passing the line formed at the door, waiting to get in. We headed back to my old wreck, the convertible I called Basic Transportation.

My weak attempt at conventional dating behavior was now exhausted. It was barely eight-thirty. Since this was her idea, I would just open the floor and follow the lead. We arrived at the car.

What would you like to do, Mikey? I reached down to unlock the passenger door.

It's a warm night. I think...we should just go for a walk.

Sure, I agreed, closing the door after her. Now where did one go for a walk on Saturday night in Collegeville?

I went around the car and opened the door, which Mikey had unlocked, and slid in behind the wheel.

Any particular location? I enquired.

There's a large park behind the apartment complex. I've never been out there. I think that would be fun to explore.

It was almost dark and she wanted to go exploring in the park. I knew her to be one hundred percent safe with me, but there had been reports recently of bad things happening to college co-eds after dark. Perhaps later in the light of day I might mention this dating technique of hers wasn't the wisest policy.

I drove back to the complex and parked close to my building. We got out of the car and began strolling. We were both dressed in jeans and light jackets, the weather being highly variable in early April. We came to the park, which was actually an open field of about eighty acres. We began walking. By now it was dark, with a quarter moon hanging in the sky. We walked along casually, side by side.

So Mikey, where did your parents meet?

Are you asking about my ethnicity?

Diplomatically.

They met in France.

Paris?

Marseilles.

Mediterranean France.

That's right. Mother is French. Dad is Jordanian. He graduated from the engineering university in Marseille. I was born in Jordan.

Amman?

Yes. You've heard of it.

Map of the world. Middle East. Jordan. Amman, capital city thereof. Not exactly esoteric information.

You'd be surprised how many Americans can't find the Middle East on a world map.

By now we were moving in complete darkness with no nonverbal cues for our conversation. I actually found this quite refreshing, concentrating solely on her voice.

So when did you move here?

I was six when we moved to the US. My sister was two.

Just the two of you then?

There's another sister, then my brother who just turned eight. They were both born here.

Four is the optimal family size?

My mother told me once I should plan for two, but make allowance for a couple mistakes.

Ah. So I'm guessing your youngest sister is... seven years younger than you.

Yes, Mikey said, surprise evident in her voice. How did you know that?

Just working with the information you've provided. Women often accuse men of not paying attention. Would you like me to recite your family history back to you?

Please do.

You're a love child. That's the result of love between a young couple, which is not necessarily the same as being the result of good central planning. You were welcomed into the world by loving arms, but your parents decided not to do that again for a while. When you were three your parents decided you needed someone to play with, so along came your sister. She was planned. The family moved to the New World. Your parents had a celebration, the result being your youngest sister, an oopsie pure and simple. Your parents now had three beautiful daughters of which they were justifiably proud. But your father is from the old country, and wanted a son to carry on the family name. At this point your father might have had to talk your mother into another trot around the racecourse. She proved to be a good sport, and that's when your planned brother arrived.

Michelle was silent for a moment as we continued walking.

My mother never told me that story.

You should talk with her sometime.

We continued along in pitch darkness, the partial moon hidden by cloud cover. We came to a corner and turned ninety degrees.

...So my father had an opportunity with an international firm. The assignment was in the City, which is why we moved to the U.S. After three years he and two other engineers he worked with decided to start their own company. They were in business for eight years, before selling out to their chief competitor at the top of the market. Dad now works for his former competitor.

Does he miss running his own company?

He says finances are more stable now. He said he never felt so alive as when they were running their own company and everyday struggling to stay afloat. One thing he doesn't miss is the constant minor details of general administration.

We came upon a small collection of logs and trimmed tree limbs. It seemed a good location to settle in for a break. We were seated perhaps three-four feet apart, Michelle just being a form in the blackness. The temperature was still warm, my jacket not really needed. The background sound was that of crickets and bullfrogs.

It's peaceful out here, Mikey mused.

You structure a pleasant date.

'You don't date very much, do you? I've never seen you with anyone."

I'm a little slow, especially when it comes to dating.

I think I've noticed, she laughed. Why is that?

I have other things going. In Collegeville I've been on two dates the past two years. Both times I felt late for the door halfway through the evening. They just didn't work out.

You can't expect to find magic every time you go on a date.

True enough. But there has to be some reason to go through the exercise. I have my subjective criteria, and I can identify quality. That's only half the game because the other person also has their subjective criteria. I find that sorting through the variables within standard dating behavior is aggravating, so I don't date much.

Then what are you looking for? Mikey's voice asked.

A musical metaphor. Each of us has a note, or chord that defines us. We seek harmony for our chord. That implies we harmonize with someone else's chord. It doesn't need to be perfect pitch, just beautiful music.

I like your metaphor, the voice acknowledged. I think of a date as a short story. Each date begins with a blank sheet of paper. Time passes and a new story develops.

You must have quite a collection by now.

You've noticed that I date quite a bit.

Yeah.

Well, I have. And I don't want you to think of me as arrogant or conceited, because I'm not. Dating has been very easy for me, and I realize I have been fortunate in that regard. Truthfully, most of my short stories are just empty pages.

The reason being?

I think you identified it as subjective criteria. And times I've been late for the door halfway through the evening. Don't get me wrong; I've known a few occasions where I've had a wonderful time. More times than not...just wasting time.

Okay. Back to your short story business. Are we staring at a blank page?

Oh, no, the voice replied confidently. There's enough material right now for at least three and a half pages.

Really.

Would you like to hear the opening sentence?

Sure.

In the beginning, there was the Rock Star.

I had to think about this for a moment. Where did that come from?

You don't know?

Apparently not.

Last year in the dorm the other girls gave you that nickname. I didn't know your name, actually your nickname Hank until the end of the year. And the girls were right. You look exactly like the Rock Star from the City. He has a new album and I was looking at it the other day.

I resemble a photograph.

I met him last summer after one of his concerts. He's kind of short. You could be his taller twin brother.

Alright. Moving along smartly, page two of the story, new paragraph, introductory sentence.

Sure. 'I cancelled my dinner date so I could try to find the Rock Star'.

You did something like that?

Of course. Otherwise it wouldn't be in the story.

Why did you do that?

Because I knew you were here this weekend. A friend was driving me back from the library about five o'clock, which was nice of him since I don't have a car. We passed your building, and I saw you and your roommates entering the building. So, when the guy who was taking me out to dinner came at seven I told him I had a headache. Then I came looking for you.

Why did you do that?

Because I wanted to go out with you. I've told you that twice in the past month.

We talked for hours non-stop, seated on that log in the darkness. I was not wearing a watch and lost all track of time. Finally, I stood up and started us directly across the field toward the apartment complex. Her hand immediately sought out mine and we walked hand in hand, chattering along in the darkness.

Any life goals? I asked rhetorically.

You mean career?

Personal. What makes you tick?

My personal goal is the same now as when I was seven years old. I'm not going to tell you because you'll just laugh at me.

No laughter will be forthcoming Michelle.

Mikey. I like the sound of your voice when you call me Mikey.

Mikey it is and shall remain.

When I started school here at the age of seven it was the first time I was in a classroom with boys. I decided what I wanted was a quiet boy who was really nice. I was going to make him the happiest boy in the world. That's it. It's still my goal.

We finally came to the complex parking lot. As we stepped beneath the mercury lights I looked at the voice I had been conversing with for hours in the blackness. I was almost shocked to see the voice belonged to this beautiful young woman I had observed from afar for a year and a half.

Her building was the first we came to and as we walked up the sidewalk I arrived at a decision. She had the capacity to be friends. Even if I did not care to fill space within anyone's agenda, I could ask her for a date. As we approached the exterior door of her building I screwed up my courage to do just that.

She opened the door with one hand, the other still within mine. She smiled and gave my hand a slight tug. I followed her, the proper gentleman escorting a lady safely home. She took out her key and deftly opened her apartment door. The date request was on the tip of my tongue.

Come on in, she said, calmly. I have some cola in the refrigerator.

She led me inside. I removed my jacket, folded and placed it upon a chair close to the door. We continued talking, Mikey from the kitchen. I sat down on the sofa and noticed a clock reading ten till four. We had been talking continuously for almost nine hours.

Why did you lower your voice? Mikey asked, placing two glasses of soda upon the coffee table and settling on the opposite end of the sofa.

I don't want to disturb your roommates.

There's no one here. All three of them have boyfriends where they come from and they all go home most weekends.

As the conversation flowed I perceived Mikey would be agreeable to future social activity. The question now entering my mind was whether I could be bold enough to steal a kiss on the way out the door from this, our first date.

And it was time to bring our first date to an end. The clock read quarter past four as I placed my empty glass on the coffee table. I noticed Mikey hadn't touched hers.

I arose slowly to leave. Mikey stood up quickly, took two steps and turned off the light switch. Within two seconds she was in my arms and we were involved in a passionate first kiss, no thievery required on my part. Her tongue was exploring my mouth and I held her close, not tight, massaging her back with intermediate pressure of my fingertips. This romantic initiative was all hers and I was determined to respond until she desired to bring it to an end. We remained in this blissful state for a long time until slowly, reluctantly, finally she brought it to conclusion.

We were silent as she took my hand in hers. She led me, toward the door. As I began to retrieve my jacket she gave a slight tug. I followed as she led us... to a hallway... through the darkness, and she closed the bedroom door behind us.

Little red flags began waving within my mind as Mikey found my arms and began a replay of our livingroom kiss, only more urgently. She reached up and began unbuttoning my shirt, our lips locked together, deep breathing emanating from her. This was too much, too soon, for an impromptu first date. It was what I wanted, certainly, but much too quickly her initiative was proceeding, peeling my shirt off with eager hands.

Mikey backed away and in the darkness disrobed, wasting no time. I gradually removed my clothes, much slower than her flurry of activity. She was already in bed as I leaned over to remove my socks.

And think. I didn't want her viewing me as a tomcat on the prowl; I didn't want to see her as fast and loose. She had dragged me away from my lethargy earlier in the evening and we had conversed for hours like old friends. I wanted to believe there was something possible with Mikey. Probably like dozens of other guys.

Sex on a first date was not a good idea for anyone. There were simply too many unknowns.

I slowly straightened up. She had the blanket pulled back and she lay still, obviously waiting for me to join her within the small bed. I did so, and enjoyed the sensation of discovering someone new, as was very evidently her mindset, too.

The exploration, massaging, kissing, nuzzling and silent becoming acquainted was extremely rewarding with this shapely young woman, and I assumed she was gaining some pleasure from the experience also. My hormones were highly charged, my body ready for action, but I had to slow down and also slow her down. This could be managed. We needn't get carried away.

My hand was on her back, massaging. From within her came a slight trembling, a small shiver. She had her fingertips carefully exploring between my legs.

It's okay, Mikey, I said, finally breaking the silence. We can just be together and that's fine.

She let out a sigh. The quivering within ceased and she relaxed. We adjusted so that we were on our sides, her back to my chest, my arm around her. I breathed deeply, enjoying the closeness, the moment, the texture of her breast against my forearm, shapely fanny against my legs. I concentrated on her earlier statement, the goal of finding a good guy and making him the happiest guy in the world. I perceived she might very well possess the power to accomplish her goal.

Mikey moved. She turned within my arm, facing me. She used her hands to push, tug, indicate my body movement, and then slid beneath, her knees rising on either side of me.

I arose to immediate attention while simultaneously the red flags within my mind were now accompanied by clanging alarm bells. She had not called timeout. I wasn't wearing a condom. That could only mean that she was on the Pill. Current or immediate past lover. Or lovers.

With her hand guiding she bid me enter her soft, warm, moist, inviting environment.

As we began moving in unison I kicked myself for being so slow, stupid and easy. Her mental file opened itself and I saw dozens of male faces, together with Michelle. None of them for very long. She had picked me up this evening and I had gone with her without a seconds hesitation. I was now in the middle of a one night stand, a concept I found distasteful.

Our unified motion had intensified and I had to back away. I briefly concentrated on the bio-feedback technique of total arousal, with simultaneous total relaxation. Michelle's hand eagerly guided me back inside. We began again, slower.

Maybe she had an argument with her seven o'clock dinner date, and I was convenient spite she could throw in his face. Perhaps there was a weird rock'n roll fantasy in play and I was a surrogate. Maybe the short story was actually a conquest scorecard, a method for keeping track of the guys she churned through her bed in this apartment, empty on weekends.

I felt stupid, and a fool for being manipulated by this woman, simply for casual sex.

As I increased our speed I wasn't necessarily angry with Michelle. I was disappointed in myself for not seeing this coming ahead of time. She began making low moaning sounds and I assumed this to be a well-rehearsed segment of her lovemaking approach. I felt violated and used within her scheme of casual, first date sex.

And we were now both vigorously moving, close to our ending. I could see no reasonable way out. She was on the Pill. I would deposit my genetic contribution to its natural destination and then just ease away, her requirement and conquest being complete.

I stopped suddenly, the muscle contractions transferring what had been mine to deep within her. As always when this happened brilliant white light exploded within my mind. A rocky road. A step, in the right direction, escaping my past. If not with Michelle, then she at least was a step toward the goal of maybe, possibly, finding love.

Again.

I disengaged and sank back into the sheets. Michelle immediately came over the top, her hands in my hair, her soft, tender breasts on my chest, smothering me with kisses.

I awoke. Sunlight was streaming through the window. The bed was empty. I blinked to determine where I was. Michelle was standing in the doorway. She turned and walked confidently toward me, her modest breasts jiggling naturally. She slid into bed, close, and gave me a good morning kiss with mint-flavored breath.

If I had been a fool, briefly, one time, it was with an intelligent, beautiful, shapely young woman who had chosen me.

Eventually I found my clothing and was preparing to leave. I was putting on my jacket. Michelle was standing behind the sofa, dressed in her robe, her arms crossed.

I looked into her large brown eyes. They were intense, darting, searching.

A glimmer of hope appeared. She had the capacity for friendship. She was nineteen. I was going to be around for another year. Maybe something could be salvaged from this experience. Casual friendship if nothing else, occasional conversation.

But nothing to do with dating or any agenda of hers.

What are your plans for the day? I asked, rhetorically.

I have to spend the day at the library.

Campus was a mile from the apartment complex. From this building at least another quarter mile across the parking lot. Michelle didn't have a car. Her roommates weren't around.

Would you like to go to brunch this morning? I asked.

Is that where you're going?

Only if you go with me. Then I'm spending the rest of the day at the library.

I'd like that.

I'll be back in an hour.

I'll be ready.

* * *

It was now five minutes past two in the student center Grille. Our two o'clock meeting time here was a ballpark figure. My notepad was covered with geometric patterns and general chicken scratching.

As usual when I tried to figure out what went through a woman's mind I was one hundred percent wrong. That proved to be true the previous Spring. Michelle came looking for me on a warm April evening and we'd been inseparable the rest of the school year.

The week following our meeting we were just together. We found each other every day and we were like long lost friends. The following week was Spring break. Mikey had a job she worked during vacation times. I had some old business, but I pushed it out into the summer so as to clear my weekends for the remainder of the semester.

When we came back from break we picked up where we had left off a week earlier, each of us eager to be together. I lost the chip on my shoulder about the one night stand, probably when we were intimate a second time. This time had been slightly different as she called a diaphragm time-out. This change in her chosen technology puzzled me, but she didn't explain and I posed no questions.

Mostly I enjoyed the discovery of Mikey. Very quickly I knew her as a smart individual, a step above the typical Collegeville student. This fit a profile of some students attending our university. Conservative people sent their smart daughters here, to avoid exposure to liberal ideologies. The same people also sent their dimwitted sons to become physical education instructors.

What I experienced with Mikey was the opposite of what I had observed for a year and a half. The two of us were together. Other guys still buzzed around her, and it would have been unusual if that was not the case. From what I saw she exhibited social grace, diplomatically dispatching them. On a couple occasions overly aggressive guys approached when Mikey and I were together. Her response had been to slip her hand inside my elbow, an unmistakable hint that she had other interests besides them.

From my side there was no extensive retinue of admiring females I constantly had to beat away with a stick.

The time I enjoyed most was the four or five weekends in her empty apartment. We sat, fully clothed, close together on her sofa, listening to classical and jazz music from the university radio station. We just talked for hours, occasionally nuzzling, kissing, but mostly allowing the free form conversation to flow. Eventually we'd wander back to the bedroom and that was great fun, but was anti-climatic for me. Quite often I was slow. I recognized this was a special time with a special person and did everything I could think of to enjoy the experience.

End of semester and summer were almost upon us. Mikey's mother had a friend who owned several exclusive women's clothing boutiques throughout the City. Mikey worked for the woman during her school vacation periods, usually evenings and weekends. I was returning to the sweltering grit of the steel mill in Capital City, though they couldn't guarantee a full summer, the gathering clouds of the next recession on the horizon. Still, only six to eight weeks at a well-paid union job would take care of the remaining financial requirements for my final year of college.

We sat down twice with a calendar to figure out convenient times for us to get together over the summer. We could not find any time. We were both on evenings, and she was working every weekend. The City suburb where she lived was three hours driving distance from Stony Point.

College is a never-never land where almost anything seems possible, including implausible relationships. I knew reality had a nasty habit of rearing its ugly head, more so than Michelle, two years younger than me. I viewed Mikey as a special person, though we had only been acquainted for about six weeks. Now there was a three month separation ahead of us. There would be telephone conversations, maybe a few letters, but nothing like the constant communication we had known.

This was the main reason I had not fallen in love with the beautiful young woman. If anything, whatever the definition, was to occur then it would come after gradual, mutual development. She might become easily bored with me and take up with any of numerous options that had not even presented themselves yet. I simply had no way of knowing, and thus guarded my heart.

When we did say goodbye for the summer she was cheerful, upbeat. I was apprehensive. I had not made a commitment to Mikey; therefore I could not expect the same in return. I wanted to believe in fairy tales, but hope is oft times disappointment deferred. Sometimes what is required is a leap of faith based upon what you know and perceive. I sensed I was going to make this huge leap for the beautiful young woman and organize myself accordingly.

The long summer vacation did end.

Precisely at five o'clock the previous evening Mikey arrived at Paradise, rushing past my three roommates and throwing herself into my arms.

It was now quarter past two and Mikey came through the door, glancing about. Twenty, still five foot eight plus whatever heels on her shoes. Jet black hair, long and straight. Dark bronze tan. Khaki military style blouse, a gleam of gold at her throat, jeans freshly pressed, creases down the legs.

She sees me, and is striding purposefully toward me.

A smile lighting up her beautiful facial features.

My heart skipped a beat.

I was one lucky SOB.

Chapter 3

I was seated at the Grille in the student center about three thirty, waiting for Mikey so I could drive her back to the apartment complex. It was a Tuesday, Labor Day being two weeks past. The place was half full, thinning out. I had been talking with a friend but he was gone now.

Phase I seemed to have concluded, initial attraction and what used to be called courtship or romance. I gave up trying to figure why she had chosen me for involvement. Sometimes you just don't dwell upon silly questions. The first two weeks of Fall semester were a continuation of what we had started the previous year.

Phase II was now here. We had settled down a bit. I had no idea what constituted a worthy continuation, having no previous experience in such matters. I suspected consistency played a major role. I resolved to be dependable.

My heart was my own. It was a deliberate decision on my part not to fall in love with Michelle. Part of me still could not believe we were for real. I knew...there would be bumps in the road.

I guarded my heart. There were anticipated stress points ahead. I would have to develop coping mechanisms, probably on the fly. I did not know if I was up to the task. Michelle could provide a graduate level seminar in the inherent requirements of pleasing a beautiful young woman. She could flit away and leave me empty handed at any time. This could be a long road of paying close attention with no guarantee of success.

Still, I was willing to give my best just short of emotional commitment. The previous Thursday we had gone to a sparsely attended concert. When I had told Mikey we would be enjoying a guy playing violin she didn't exhibit much enthusiasm. When the curtain came up for the ninety minute performance of a Frenchman with his jazz ensemble, Mikey fell in love with the music of Jean Luc Ponty. On the way home I filled her in on the back story of how a guy classically trained came to play originally with Frank Zappa. Over the weekend in Mikey's empty apartment we listened to the three Jean Luc Ponty albums from my collection, along with two albums of the Brazilian jazz vocalist Flora Purim.

Mikey arrived at the Grille door. Not unusually, some guy was walking with her. They talked for a moment, then he walked away, a smile on his face.

She entered and easily found me in my normal central location. Her notebook landed on the table with a thud and she slid into the chair across from me.

Doing anything important tomorrow? she asked.

Nothing critical. You?

No. I feel like doing something tonight.

What do you have in mind?

Let's go roller skating. Do you know how to skate?

It's been a few years.

Then you know.

I did not recall ever seeing a roller rink in Collegeville. Where are we going? I asked.

There's a town about twenty miles away with a rink. We went there once as a dorm social. The floor was in pretty good shape.

It's Tuesday. Are they even open?

Sure

How do you know?

I called. They're open from seven to ten-thirty. Let's go.

And we did. We laced up our skates and cruised onto the floor. There were maybe twenty high school kids and parental figures about. I knew Mikey to be graceful and athletic. Within five minutes she demonstrated complete mastery of roller skating: spinning, twirling, traveling backwards, using one skate and extending the opposite leg. I could only admire as I tried to remain upright.

One thing had to change though. I slowly made my way to the front counter. The proprietor proved to be a reasonable man. He had an extensive collection of forty five rpm records and agreed to play them instead of that crappy disco music I so detested.

As I slowly entered the floor Mikey came flying around to the strains of Treat Her Like a Lady by the Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose.

I gradually came up to speed, falling only three or four times. Mikey worked with me. Toward evenings end I was actually skating backwards for the first time. I wouldn't have advised anyone to be in my path, but it was an accomplishment with Mikey's guidance.

On the way home we were quiet. I had noticed this development as part of our relationship, Phase II. We communicated extensively, but incessant chatter between us occasionally was interrupted by periods of silence when we enjoyed just being together.

Any deep secrets? Mikey finally asked.

None I can think of.

Oh, come on. Everyone has deep secrets. Did you know I enjoy rollerskating?

Not before tonight.

And now you know. That was one of my deep secrets. There must be something you enjoy doing that you haven't told me about.

There actually were a few secrets, one deep, dark one in particular, but I wasn't prepared to share it.

I go ice fishing.

Tell me about it.

It's not something I live for. Maybe once or twice a winter I go out on a small lake down by where I live.

Is it fun?

I guess. Gets me out of the house in winter.

Are you going this winter?

I might.

Then I'm going ice fishing with you.

And freeze your fanny?

Well, as long as we're ice fishing together then I'm willing to freeze my fanny. Are there any small lakes around here?

A few, but I don't know anything about them.

I pulled the old wreck known as Basic Transportation into the apartment parking lot. We climbed out of the ancient convertible. We embraced for a goodnight kiss. When that was finished she held my hand in hers, giving a slight tug. I hesitated.

Hank, are you feeling guilty again?

A bit. It's nice all your roommates are gone each weekend.

They like you. You're very considerate when you're in the apartment, and they appreciate that.

But Katey...

This is the third year Katey and I've roomed together. We've talked. She has a boyfriend back home and she understands.

She pays rent and should be entitled to sleep in her own bed.

She doesn't have a problem with sleeping on the couch one night a week. Trust me. It's alright.

My hand followed Mikey's hand all the way to her apartment bedroom.

The time passed pleasantly enough. It was fully two weeks later before Mikey became bored and restless again, a Wednesday afternoon the first week of October. We were seated late afternoon in the student center Grille, where we always managed to hatch any number of plans, with hundreds of people milling about.

Ever heard of Apex? Mikey asked.

Little crossroad town about thirty five miles from here. I've driven through it. Why?

Do they have a bar?

Probably. Yeah, they do

I think we should go there.

Tonight?

Sure.

I scratched my head. What's your infatuation with some bar out in the boondocks?

Well, I was at the library and a guy sat down across from me. I knew he just wanted to talk and I had work to do. I asked him if he had a state map in his car and he said he did. He said his car was in the parking lot and I told him to go get the map. Of course I know the closest parking lot is a half mile from the library. He left his books on the table and went after the map while I continued working. When he came back I told him he had to find a cluster of lakes within forty five minutes of Collegeville. He did, and the closest town is Apex. Since it was time to come over here, I gathered up my books and thanked him for his effort. He asked what I needed the information for. I smiled and told him I was going ice fishing. The guy probably thinks I'm crazy.

So what are we doing? I asked, for clarification.

The bar in Apex probably has a pool table.

Yeah.

A jukebox with country and western music.

Yeah.

Patrons who drive pick-up trucks.

Okay.

"And beer. Where better to discover information for our ice