Mirrors of Narcissus (16 page)

Such brazen confidence, far from putting me off, amused me. Did such braggarts exist in real life? Could he possibly live up to his promise? Or was it merely the come-on he used with all boys?

I was laughing at his talk, but his eyes were on me all the time, mercilessly measuring me. “Guy, have you ever thought of repeating that experience you had in high school?” he asked.

I halted in mid-stretch and sat up straight. The suddenness of the question had caught me completely by surprise, and I felt a flush spreading across my face. My nipples felt tight and tense.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“I mean, of exploring your feelings
vis-à-vis
another man. Specifically yours truly.”

I was suddenly brought back face to face with the fact that he was gay and I was gay and he found me intensely desirable. A part of me wanted to accept. I knew that sex with him would be different. I could go to bed with him without feeling the sense of competition that I would inevitably have felt with a younger guy. And with Golden, I would feel none of the fear or shame which I usually felt about my own sexuality. He was so understanding, and so much more experienced.

But I knew I wasn’t ready to think of him in a sexual way. And I still wasn’t sure how much I wanted him to know about me. I had never had openly gay sex—it had always been furtive, secret. Perhaps it was this very furtiveness which, for me, was part of the attraction. Would open gay sex have any enticements for me? And with an older man?

The answer was no. For now.

Maybe it was the blunt, straightforward way he’d propositioned me. If he’d been more romantic about it, I might have considered it more seriously. With a sinking feeling I realized that perhaps his previous confession to Christine and me in the student union had been a mere preliminary for this—his proposition. That thought cheapened all that had gone before. Yet I refused to believe he thought of me as an easy pick-up.

But how to refuse? I knew that if I did, he wouldn’t press the issue.

Seeing I was troubled, he said lightly:

“That’s all right. I don’t want you to feel under an obligation.”

“I’m flattered by your invitation,” I said, “but I really don’t think I’m ready for it right now.” Even as I said it, I felt ridiculously prudish.

“The offer will always remain open. Just give yourself plenty of time to think it over. And if you do decide you want to, just tell me anytime. Because if you’re curious about gay sex, you couldn’t have a better teacher than me.”

“Oh?” I looked for a humorous expression on his face, but saw he was quite serious. “I think I’d better finish the rest of my jogging now.” I got up and he did, too.

“I think I’ve rested enough, myself.”

“Unfortunately, though, it seems our routes are different, professor.”

“Whatever you say.”

I slipped back into my sweatshirt and resumed the interrupted jog. I was glad he couldn’t see how short of breath I was, as my heart was pounding furiously.

5

After class on my way up to my room, I checked my mailbox in the lobby out of habit. The mail usually came at about one o’clock every weekday so it should have arrived by now. Scott subscribed to several magazines of a literary nature, and he was eagerly looking forward to the latest edition of one of them. I checked, but it hadn’t come in yet. Instead, there was a postcard for me. It was from Professor Harding, my chemistry teacher. I hadn’t attended his class for several weeks, intending to drop it, and now he was inquiring about my intentions.

I knew I had to file a petition to drop his class. I’d been putting it off for weeks, and my midterm grade for the class had been an F. Which wasn’t surprising because I hadn’t attended a single class since early in the term, when I’d decided to drop it.

Without even bothering to go up to my room, I turned around and went straight to the administration office to get the necessary paperwork. Thinking I’d be able to take care of everything there, I was dismayed when the girl behind the counter told me I still had to go to the professor’s office to get his signature. I checked his schedule printed on the postcard. He would be in.

Professor Harding’s office was in Makra Hall, the science building. When I knocked on his door, his somewhat high-pitched voice said, “Come in.” Heavy-hearted, I entered.

He was one of those dreary scholars for whom the world outside his special field of study was of no interest. On top of that, he had a sarcastic and spiteful nature, and mean-looking eyes. His nose had a pinched look about it, and his forehead was domed, arrogant in its imperturbability.

“Well, Mr. Willard, what have we got here?”

“It’s a petition to drop your class, sir.”

“Oh?” He accepted the slip of paper and examined it as if he’d never seen one before. “And why, might I ask, are you dropping?” He let the petition fall onto his desk as if he’d lost all interest in it.

“Well, I’ve discovered that your course is way beyond my level.”

“Did you have the necessary prerequisites for the class?”

“Yes. I got a B in high school chemistry.”

“And I take it you had something of a rude awakening when you learned that college chemistry was a wee bit more challenging than high school chemistry?”

“Somewhat.” A faint spark of anger leapt into my heart.

“You were aware, of course, that you are attending one of the most competitive schools in the state? If you weren’t up to the challenge, you shouldn’t have come here in the first place.” He had a maliciously pleased expression on his face as he saw my reaction. “If you’re like most of the freshmen who come here so hopefully in the fall, only to leave so disenchanted before the end of first term, you’re probably more familiar with the inside of a disco than with an open textbook.”

“Maybe a disco has more to teach me about life than a chemistry lab.” I wanted to smash his self-important face in, but I needed his signature to clear my record.

“Then maybe you should become a professional dancer.” He looked at my body. “Or a professional whatever.”

“Will you sign the paper. Please.”

He looked at me one more time with a smirk, picked up his pen, scrawled on the petition slip and handed it back, then returned to what he was doing as if I’d been dismissed from his thoughts in an instant.

As I stepped out I heard behind me: “Good luck, Mr. Willard. They tell me that life outside the campus can be every bit as tough as the inside.”

I took the paper back to the admin office, then went straight to the dorm. I pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and drank it down at a single draft. Despite my anger, I was able to dismiss the smug professor from my thoughts immediately. It was only Scott now who could claim my attention.

He still hadn’t come back. He’d told me this morning that he was likely to go straight to the library after his last class of the day. I would have liked to go straight to see him but I knew I would only disturb his studies. Instead, I went down the hall to the lounge hoping to kill some time before Scott came back. Frank was the only one in, and he was sitting alone, watching a cop show. I didn’t feel like joining him; from his eyes, he looked stoned.

“Have you seen Scott around?” I asked, as a way of taking my leave as quickly as possible.

“No. Anyway, you wouldn’t find him here in the lounge; that guy’s a regular grind.”

“Right. Thanks.”

He turned his attention back to the TV, watching it blankly, seeing nothing. I went down the hallway to Kruk’s room and knocked on his door. He was always in.

He looked surprised to see me when he opened his door.

“Hey, Kruk. What’s up?”

“Not much.”

“How about heading down to the rec building with me and shooting some pool? I feel restless today.”

“Isn’t Scott with you?”

“No. He’s cramming for a test or something.”

“I’m not much of one for shooting pool. Would you like to come in and join me?”

“Sure.” I’d never been inside his room before, only talked to him from his doorway. As he closed the door behind me, I spotted a bottle of brandy on his desk. “I didn’t know you were a drinker, Kruk. I thought you only liked sucking on sugar cubes.”

“I’m not. Today—is different.”

“What’s up? You finish your term paper?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh.” I felt inexplicably sad at being reminded that people like Kruk, too, had birthdays. The loneliness of the room struck me. Why was Frank, his roommate, down in the lounge? “Well, let’s celebrate. Call the other guys.”

“No. If you don’t mind. Just us two. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You should have told me beforehand, Kruk.” I opened the bottle while he fetched two glasses. It was cherry brandy, and, when I tasted it, was a bit too sweet for me, but I pretended to drink it with gusto. “Happy birthday, Kruk. How does it feel to be of legal age now?”

“No different,” he laughed. “Besides, the legal age doesn’t seem to matter for anything these days.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“You look a little bit preoccupied today, Guy. Is something the matter?”

“Me? No. I’ve just come back from dropping a class I was failing. That should be cause for celebration. I guess.”

“What class was that?”

“Chemistry.”

“You should have come to me. I would have tutored you, Guy.”

“I know. I just seem busy with so many other things these days. Have another drink, Kruk. Let’s forget our troubles.” I poured for him.

He took a sip of his brandy; he drank it as if he were taking medicine. Indeed, his face became more and more blotched-looking as he drank, with bright red spots appearing on his forehead and cheeks. I would have bet anything that this was the first time he’d gotten drunk. I urged more brandy onto him and he drank it without protest.

“Tell me something, Kruk,” I said, as a blissful numbness began to steal over me. “Have you ever been in love?”

He looked startled. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Well…of course. Gee, I guess everybody’s been in love.”

“If you don’t mind my prying, who was she?”

After an initial hesitation, he began to tell me of his love life. As I listened, I grew more and more saddened at the unfairness of things. Kruk was a gentle and sensitive soul, just unlucky to be born unattractive. Ever since junior high school and all through high school, he’d nursed a secret crush on the school beauty. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never said a single word to her, though they shared several classes. He had only watched her from afar, content to worship her hopelessly, without the faintest expectation of ever revealing his feelings to her.

“You should have at least tried something, Kruk,” I said, knowing all the while that it would have probably been hopeless.

“You don’t understand, Guy. She wouldn’t have wanted to be seen even talking with me. But that was okay. For me, she was a goddess—literally—and I was happy to worship her in secret. Back home I have a scrapbook—”

He’d cut out pictures of her from the local newspaper, when she made homecoming queen at his high school, when she became the town’s Miss Fire Prevention Week, when she received a citation from the mayor for her efforts in charity drives. As he told me of the cult he’d made of idolizing her, I felt embarrassed for him. But I realized it might be good for him to open up about his secret like this. For all I knew, this was the first time he’d ever told anyone about it. I didn’t know why he’d decided to tell it to me today, but I suddenly felt a piercing tenderness for his bloated, unsightly body, his pockmarked face, his thick-lensed glasses, his loneliness and sorrow.

“Kruk, believe me, I know what it’s like to love someone, and not be able to tell them. I’m going through the same thing now.”

“What?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tried to focus his eyes on me. “You? Come on. What about Christine?”

“It’s someone else, Kruk. I’m in love with someone else and I don’t have the slightest chance in the world of letting that person know.”

“I can’t believe this,” he giggled. “You? If it can happen to you, it can happen to anyone. Now I don’t feel so bad.”

“Great. Let’s drink to that.”

“All right.” He looked straight at me trying to focus his eyes. “Does this mean you’re breaking up with Christine, Guy?”

“I wish it were that easy. It’s much more complicated than that. I wish all of life were so much simpler.” I picked up my glass and drained the brandy at a gulp. Because of its saccharine flavor it was difficult to swallow, but I did my best. “Here, have another drink.” I was in his room, drinking his brandy, and I was acting as the host. But he seemed to want it that way.

“Hear, hear.” His smile was angelic. He appeared to be listening to bells ringing from high above.

“You know, Kruk, between you and me, you’re probably the happier one.”

“Oh, I’m happy, all right. Never said I wasn’t.”

“You should be a philosopher. What’s the secret?”

“The secret? There is none. Absolutely none. Once you understand that, you’re halfway there.”

“We’re halfway through this bottle, if that’s any progress.”

“Oh, it is. It is.”

“Drink up. Oh, and did I tell you happy birthday?”

“You did. And did I tell you that it’s better to have loved unhappily than not to have loved at all? I’m quoting now.”

“Damned philosopher.”

“I’m getting drunk, Guy. I can’t believe it: I’m getting drunk.”

“Empty that glass, Kruk. This is no time to brag.”

“There is no time for sorrow.”

“Is that a quote, too?”

“Who knows?”

“And who cares, Kruk? Who even cares?”

“Hear, hear. Who even cares? No one. Absolutely no one,” he almost shouted.

“That’s the spirit.”

I don’t know how long I was in his room. It seemed a short time. When I tried to pour him some more brandy, however, I discovered we’d finished off the bottle. I staggered down the hallway to my own room intending to get some beers from the refrigerator, but by the time I got there, found I’d changed my mind. Scott wasn’t back yet. I decided on the spur of the moment to take a nice long shower and go to bed.

I undressed and, leaving my clothes scattered on the floor, walked uncertainly into the shower stall. The blast of cold water felt good. I let it hit my face for a long time before turning the hot water on. The jets of warm water were the most soothing thing in the world.

I thought of Scott’s naked body and instantly felt a hard-on blossom, as if it were no part of me, a sudden iron rod poking straight up against my stomach. I hoped he would come back now—burst into the shower stall and see me in this condition. I would stand here just like this. I was drunk and didn’t care. I wanted him to see my erection. I was hornier than I’d ever been.

I dried myself off and made my way to Scott’s bed. There, I dropped the towel onto the floor and got under his covers. Imagining him in bed with me, I squirmed my hips against the mattress. It felt good. Then I lay still, my head resting on his pillow, my breathing beginning to return to normal.

The room spun slowly around and around and I willed it to stop. I wanted Scott to hurry up and get back, for tonight would solve everything. In my drunkenness I kept muttering: “Who even cares? Who even cares?”

I lay waiting for him, long, long minutes. I pictured him coming though the door. I pictured him seeing me in his bed.

Some time later—I must have dozed off—I heard the door open. My face was turned to the wall, and I heard him bustling about at his desk for a moment before that sound suddenly ceased. He must have seen me in his bed and stopped. I listened all the while, pretending to be asleep but in reality wide awake now, with a hammering heart.

He shook me.

“Guy. What’s the matter?”

I mumbled some drunken, incomprehensible protest.

“Darn,” he said. He seemed to be thinking for a while. The obvious explanation for my presence in his bed would be that I’d come in drunk and mistaken his for mine. But would it be too far-fetched for him to see through my play-acting, to read my desire, my invitation, my confession? A tiny part of me waxed hopeful on this forlorn possibility; everything depended upon his next move.