Laurence's
affections had not been easily daunted, but after an official
squelching like that, it was irrational not to move on. The
fact that his next quest was equally unattainable, merely delayed his
discovery that he labored under a delusion.
Tyne
was a feminist, with a deceptively sunny disposition, and Laurence
found her receptive to conversational advances in the library. To be
sure, Tyne was friendly, but it was really because she had nothing to
lose. Tyne hated men. She was to the female sex, what those who
sported an ear-ring in the right ear, were to men.
Laurence
would sit and study, attempting to better his mind and his lot, while
Tyne sat across from him, and watched humanity. Blow jobs in the
bathroom, skinny dipping in the pool at midnight, hurried trysts in a
remote corner of campus, where the campus cops regularly cleaned up
used condoms; Tyne knew about it all. She listened to Laurence
converse on Marx and Lenin, flag burning and the various evils of
unions, all the while building the impression that Laurence was a
stubbornly ignorant idiot.
After
some time of this, and collecting on the prospect of a free meal or
two, Tyne's humor led her to pass Laurence a book. “Young Goodman
Brown,” was a novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne, that portrayed a
peculiar fiction. The novel begins, with Goodman Brown pursued by
growing Satanic paranoia. After one wild experience, he writes it all
off as preposterous, but he is never quite sure of his peers again.
From
Tyne's point of view, there was no way to specify with exactitude,
what inspired Hawthorne's plot, but she had a good idea it was
ignorance and religiosity combined. She wondered just what Laurence
would make of such a vignette.
For
Laurence's part, dreaming of Tyne didn't have the fascination of the
fire Karyn had kindled. She didn't hold his sexual interest, and his
attentions waned. However, allowing his thoughts to return to Karyn
after reading “Young Goodman Brown,” was unfortunate.
There
is a Russian saying: “It could be worse, Ivan.” It is intended as
an exhortation to be thankful for such benefits as you may enjoy,
kind of like the biblical exhortation, “Count your blessings.”
However, it is also a blue print for devising punishment, and in
Laurence's life punishment was proving to be the rule.
From
Laurence's perspective, “Young Goodman Brown,” modeled reality.
It was a trail of bread crumbs to lead him to discover what caused
such things. However, the analogy of bread crumbs might prove to be
too apt; birds eat bread crumbs, and just as the end of a rainbow
cannot be apprehended, the truth about his peers was proving elusive
to transfix.
Tyne
was a manipulative witch, and Laurence would begin trying to
understand, using the very flawed premise that Tyne was a true
friend. After all, he reasoned, she was the individual who had passed
him the informative book!
Since
Tyne was not a romantic prospect, Laurence next decided to go to his
dad for advice. Harold Shield had been a “world peace,” baby, and
Laurence was his dad's intellectual superior. It is tricky, at best,
to sieve out good counsel, from the proffered results of many failed
experiments. To add to the discussion, Laurence was as disinclined as
any other son or daughter, to ask a parent how to relate to the
opposite sex. His dad had selected his mother, and Laurence didn't
want to marry his mother. Nevertheless, he stoically asked the
obligatory question:
“Dad,
how did you meet mom?”
The
truth was unattractive. Harold had been a drug user in college, and
he met his wife in the smoky haze of a marijuana trip. The one thing
that moral, upright communists will never share is women, and this
had defined the 1960's protest of Russian communism. The two had
lived in a commune, and Harold had not been KJ's only boyfriend. The
putative arrival of their son had triggered their marriage.
The
two had not started out, “in love,” but their affections had
grown very real before Laurence could walk. Now, looking at the (to
Harold's mind,) accomplishment of a lifetime, he did not want to lose
such respect as his son bore him, nor tarnish Laurence's love of his
mother.
“We
met at a peace protest,” he lied. “We were arrested together.”
Over
the next thirty minutes, Harold Shield labored to imbue Laurence with
the wisdom that, if one can only spend enough time together, anyone
can interest anyone. Toward the end of Harold's monologue, Laurence
was getting bored, and had sufficient good sense to note ironically,
that whether enough time together could interest a woman or not, it
was sufficient condition to bore almost anyone. He resolved to be
more interesting.
Laurence
applied for an internship, at the law firm of Crandle and Hewlett,
but received no response. Reflective by nature, Laurence attempted to
know himself better than most, but he failed to reflect on certain
things that should have been unavoidable. He saw no connection
between the lack of interest at a law firm, and his major, of
History. The firm was neither interested in employing a dabbler as a
“gopher,” for the summer, nor in providing references, later, for
said dabbler.
Glumly,
Laurence took a job at a second hand book store, stocking, sorting,
and occasionally re-shelving paperbacks. There he met a young lady
named Dale. Dale was from Texas, and soon noted that Laurence was
taking an interest in her. She did not wait for him to deliberate.
Within a week, during a conversation in the break room, Dale braced
him with the question, “Have you ever had a wet dream?”
If
this question seemed excessively personal, Laurence could see that it
was candid. However, he failed to demonstrate the presence of mind to
lie about it. “No,” he said. “Have you?”
This
unthinking folly drew a laconic, “Yes,” in reply. Dale was not
about to let Laurence get away with such foolishness.
Ask
a stupid question, get a stupid answer. The silence lay between them
for a moment. In a vain attempt to recover his dignity, Laurence
assailed her with embarrassment. He would not pull his punch; Dale
was asking for this one.
“How
did you lose your virginity?” Laurence asked her.
If
Dale had predicted it, her answer would have only been quicker by a
micro-second. “I lost it to a horse,” she responded. Then, after
an artful pause, she added, “Wait that didn't come out right, did
it?” She was a cynical child.
Laurence
was now twice as embarrassed as he had intended for Dale to be. “You
mean you lost it riding?” he asked.
Dale
knew that she must needs avoid the characterization of, “hot to
trot,” so she was careful how she replied. “I was real saddle
sore, too. I was never a tenderfoot though,” Dale finished.
Dale
knew that she had won the exchange, but Laurence did not know he had
lost. Oblivious, he went on to ask very many details of life on the
farm, and openly accepted every word for truth.
Holding
the upper hand, Dale began to inquire into Laurence's past. Who were
his friends? What were his accomplishments? We have the time
together, she reasoned. We might as well be friendly. Laurence was
about as interesting as one of his history books.
Dale
was satisfied with the state of affairs, when she and Laurence had
concluded this exchange, but before the summer was over, Laurence
came to the conclusion that he “liked” Dale.
Ever
courageous, he bravely asked her out. “Faint heart fever won fair
lady,” he told himself.
For
Dale, the offer was incongruous. Her libido had not rested, and she
had passed through the lives of three other guys, by the time
Laurence concluded that he should ask her out. From Dale's point of
view, he was as slow as molasses. She lamented how poorly Laurence
would fair, if called upon to compete head to head. She did not
perceive the offer of a date to have the meat of consummation. She
was more interested in a man who would, “bust a move.”
Dale
replied with a diplomatic hint: “I have a boyfriend,” she told
him.
If
Laurence had received the benefit of this limited goodwill, he would
have proceeded to ask every other prospect he espied, if she did, or
did not, have a boyfriend. Instead, he went on carelessly believing
that female pulchritude was a buffet on unconditional offer, ready,
prepared and waiting for his royal summons.
The
summer passed away, and Laurence didn't even get a date.
