Long Days, Long Nights
It’s been over a year and a half since I submitted anything and I still can’t believe how many responses I still get. Hate to have kept ya’ll in suspense, but things for yours truly have been hectic. However, that does not mean that it has been lonely.
Since I last wrote, I’ve completed my first degree and have begun working on my second. I no longer live in Georgia having crossed the MississippiRiver into Louisiana to continue my studies. Since then I’ve been on the run, doing whatever work that has been thrown at me in order to become a college professor. But again, that does not mean it has been lonely.
***Again, I vouchsafe that these are real experiences. Names and places have been altered to ensure the privacy of myself and those involved.***
*** I’d been in grad school for four months and I was just getting an idea of what and where my career would take me. I’d come into a good program with a fairly good staff and several nice colleagues. In my short stay, I’d already managed to build a good position in amongst the other G.A.s (or Grad Assistants) and found myself a member of an elite clique within the social/political hierarchy. In other words, I have a GOOD thing going.
The opportunity had definitely come at the right time. My hometown had run dry of fresh possibilities. A crude way of saying that the dating scene was dead but let’s be honest here. I’m an intellectual, Jewish wiseass. Here in the South where one is surrounded by upper class – sorority – ultra conservative – Christian “Southern Belles” that is the worst handicap a guy can have. “What’s the opposite of Christopher Reeves? Christopher Walken!” Is NOT a good icebreaker.
The Soleman was starving! From those of you who’ve read my previous stories know, I’m pathetic when it comes to self-control and women. (Ok so I’ve gotten lucky and had a few girls jump into bed with me.) I don’t think my aged father realized how much more of a blessing rather than a warning that he gave me when he said, “Watch out for those Cajun girls. They’re crazy.” Amen.
As it was, four months into my first semester that I had my first real opportunity to taste the local “cuisine.” I’d moved into a row of townhouses down by the river that divides the town in two. I was in a nicer section away from the low rent homes and noisy joints that typically mark a college town. Fortunately, we also get a different breed of woman out here. Small duplexes and row apartments interspersed amongst suburbia. This isn’t the atmosphere for the wilder types like apartment complexes and none of the dredges that come from dorm refugees. A cleaner side if you will.
My own neighborhood is a private community, a mix of retirees, upper middle class, and more domesticated college students. The block I live on has two urban professionals and 8 sets of college kids. I live alone myself, my dog, Rip, to keep me company. There were several gorgeous women, but they were either spoken for, or simply immature. What a nice cliché.
The nice thing was the pair of sisters living two doors down. Leslie was the petite, older one, barely standing up to my chest in her constantly bare feet. Let it never be said I have no will power. Lori was the younger, but more boisterous of the two. At 5’7” she looked the part. However I can say nothing has ever tickled me than watching little Leslie chew out her “little” sister, something Lori’s boyfriend, a marine sergeant, not have enough guts to do.
Alas, their precocious nature set me aside as something akin to a brother. Honestly I was cool with that. Leslie also had a boyfriend, so both girls were already spoken for. And my own schedule would never allow for a decent, healthy relationship. Hell, there wasn’t even time for a good fuck buddy! In retrospect, I think all three of us subconsciously realized that and it was because of that we were relaxed around one another. Boy scouts honor, I was my complete unadulterated self.
It sucks…but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If I’d never been in this position, I’d never have had this latest experience.
*** I was always closest with Leslie, not to say that Lori and I didn’t have as rich a friendship. Not only did I help her with a paper (English degrees do have a purpose!) but she’d also set food aside for me on night I got home late from the office and didn’t have time to cook for myself. But I diverge. Leslie…
Leslie’s boyfriend had stationed out in Iraq for already a year. He had already completed his term but was staying on for additional six for personal reasons. He’s also a career jarhead and, as Lori explained it, wouldn’t mind seeing a rise in rank a little faster than what’s average. Sometimes this led to a bit of conflict between Leslie and her beau, his career versus writing her a letter.
I’m not at all dissing our troops, and I’m not playing the “other guy” here. This war has unfortunately brought some ambitious people to the forefront and often let personal relationships go on the slide to feed their drive. That’s exactly what I told Leslie when she showed up on my doorstep at 11 o’clock at night looking to vent.
I won’t justify her late visit nor will I try to justify what happened that night. At the time I’d just completed grading finals, my own work completed and handed in a week before. So after a grueling 72 hour stint running files, records, and grade sheets between the various official offices (say that three times fast) I came home that evening completely intent of getting ripped, no connection to my dog.
I’d had a couple of beers and given Rip his favorite treat. Picture if you will a strung out, wrung out grad student sitting on a GoodWill, secondhand couch drinking Woodchuck cider and a oversized English pointer lapping Killians Red out of a chafing dish. Good times. And good times dictate better smoke.
Leslie had left a note on my door earlier in the day stating that she was due in that night and wanted to talk, so I left the front door unlocked and the front light on. Thoroughly relaxed I sat down to watch some TV when Leslie called to give me an estimated time of arrival and an offer for a couple of crawfish po’boys. I left Rip on the couch with his beer and ran upstairs for a quick shower.
I had just stepped out of my bedroom when I heard the familiar rap (shave and a hair cut) of Leslie. I opened the door to find her balancing a couple of take out boxes and her purse. Rip returned her cheery greeting with a sullen beer fart and he skulked upstairs to crash on the futon in my office. As per tradition we sat opposite each other from across the coffee table and the venting began.
Trent (her beau) had gone into another tirade because his CO was making him go home for some R&R, evidently not buying the “good soldier” routine Trent had been playing up. People, I cannot begin nor will I ever understand how a guy with so much to come home to (i.e. the sullen blonde tearing into a Po’Boy while tearing into her boyfriend) would be willing to sacrifice that for personal gain.
As always I didn’t have to say much before her anger lost steam and she slumped back into my pathetic couch sated. “Oh, hey,” She said popping up and digging in her purse. “My friend down in Alec (Alexandria) hooked me up. How about we forget this shit and roll one?” And with that plopped a small baggy of grass onto my table.
I broke out a pack of rolling papers and sitting Indian style on the floor, began to clean a bit for a joint. I was still fresh out of the shower, sitting there in a tank top and jeans with my damp hair in my face. About the hundredth time I flicked the same annoy hair out of my eyes, Leslie let slip a little giggle.
She was still sitting on the couch adjacent to me. By now she’d slipped off her sandals and was reclining back on the tattered mound with her feet stretched out towards me. Absorbed in what I had been doing I’d never noticed and now found myself inches from her cute size 6 feet. Bubble gum pink nails facing up at me. I suppressed a gulp and quickly looked back at her face. (Did those damn things wink at me?!)
“What’s up?” I asked, putting the finishing touches on a nice bomber.
“I was just musing on how funny it looked with you down there. Like some servant.” She grinned. “All I need are the two other guys to fan me with palm leaves.”
I closed the back door and blinds as she lit the tuber. I sat on the couch with her and we caught up on what’s been going on in our lives, trading inside jokes. And got plastered. They say pot is a cortical suppressant, but it didn’t help me not to jump when she swung her legs into my lap suddenly. “Ah Dave, you’re awesome. You cook, you got the looks and attitude,” She sighed. “Unfortunately all my single friends are bitches.”
“So I’m awesome, huh?” I replied between chuckles.
“Oh, Hella yeah.” She said, taking a puff. “We…that is you…need some attention.”
“I got you girls, that’s all I need.”
She patted my hand…which accidentally somehow was on her right foot. That’s the nice thing about being a foot guy; you can cop a feel off women you’re familiar with, without getting smacked. Reflexively I gave a light squeeze. Usually this happens holding hands so it’s only natural. Needless to say it was the best pick up line I ever used.
“Hm, That’s nice. I’ve been driving in those fucking platform all afternoon.”
“Well, you did say I looked like a servant earlier, I’ll be one for…hm..” I glanced at my watch, “One hour and I’ll give you a foot massage.”
Damn she looked cute bouncing up and down like a child with a new toy. “Deal.”
