disappointment to him because I never cared for repairing car motors, or taking watches apart and putting them back together, that sort of thing. I happen to be completely unmechanical.”
“I’m not very mechanically inclined, either. In a way, your dad seems a lot like mine. I haven’t even told my dad yet that I’m majoring in creative writing. He would probably have a fit if he knew.”
“But you’re gonna have to tell him someday.”
“I know. And I don’t look forward to it, either.”
“I can understand that.”
We were silent for a while. As I’d guessed, Scott seemed to be the serious, scholarly type, though not the kind who concentrated on studies to the exclusion of everything else. He was highly intelligent, and his vocabulary was much larger than that of most of the others in the dorm. He was someone I could learn a lot from.
But there was something defenseless about him. I didn’t know if it was because he’d led a sort of sheltered existence, but I felt that the ugly realities of the world would someday hurt him. Already, I found myself entertaining a protective feeling towards him. I wanted him to be as little hurt as possible.
Suddenly I asked: “Do you have a girlfriend, Scott?”
“Yeah. Though I don’t know whether you’d call her a girlfriend or not. We write to each other at least once a week, but it isn’t what you’d call ‘serious.’” He shrugged and didn’t seem too concerned. “How about you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Girl named Christine.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s different. You have to meet her—she’s not like any girl you’ll ever meet. And I think she’s one of the most intelligent people I know. She’s here on a scholarship or something. But she isn’t a grind—she likes to have fun. And there’s a mystical side to her, too. She believes in the occult—you know, astrology, tarot cards, the whole works.”
“She sounds interesting.”
We’d arrived at the student union. The cafeteria was crowded and there was a long line.
“Looks like it might take a while,” I said.
“I don’t mind waiting. If you don’t.”
“No. Not at all.” A secret wish had gradually been blossoming within me as we’d walked side by side. I was hoping with all my heart that he was gay. I envisioned a friendship between us, exclusive and inviolable, based upon mutual sexual attraction. Not with me secretly pining for an unattainable other, wallowing masochistically in the hopelessness of my desire, but an open, reciprocal relationship of two boys loving each other.
It was the first time I’d felt that way about any of my friends.
3
Before introducing them to each other, I first wanted to tell Christine about my new roommate. We were having lunch at a burger restaurant east of the campus. The weather was pleasant so we were sitting at an outside table just beside the sidewalk.
“So what’s he like, this new roommate of yours?” she asked. She bit into her cheeseburger.
My excitement at meeting Scott was still very much with me. “He’s nothing like Jonesy,” I said, “At least I won’t have to clean up after him or anything like that. It’ll be a great change not having a slob for a roommate.”
“That’s nice.” She didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm at all. I knew she’d just had a fight with her own roommate, and I was praying she wouldn’t bring up the subject of my moving in with her.
“And don’t worry, Chrissie: he won’t be making passes at you, either. He seems to be a gentleman, a very shy type. I think you’ll get along great with him. He wants to be a writer.”
“A writer type, huh? That sounds interesting.”
“I suppose you want to analyze him and everything.”
“Well naturally. Someone who wants to be become a writer must suffer from all sorts of complexes. What a gold mine for study!”
“He doesn’t exactly seem to be a neurotic type, to tell you the truth. If you ask me, he seems to be better
“I’m not very mechanically inclined, either. In a way, your dad seems a lot like mine. I haven’t even told my dad yet that I’m majoring in creative writing. He would probably have a fit if he knew.”
“But you’re gonna have to tell him someday.”
“I know. And I don’t look forward to it, either.”
“I can understand that.”
We were silent for a while. As I’d guessed, Scott seemed to be the serious, scholarly type, though not the kind who concentrated on studies to the exclusion of everything else. He was highly intelligent, and his vocabulary was much larger than that of most of the others in the dorm. He was someone I could learn a lot from.
But there was something defenseless about him. I didn’t know if it was because he’d led a sort of sheltered existence, but I felt that the ugly realities of the world would someday hurt him. Already, I found myself entertaining a protective feeling towards him. I wanted him to be as little hurt as possible.
Suddenly I asked: “Do you have a girlfriend, Scott?”
“Yeah. Though I don’t know whether you’d call her a girlfriend or not. We write to each other at least once a week, but it isn’t what you’d call ‘serious.’” He shrugged and didn’t seem too concerned. “How about you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Girl named Christine.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s different. You have to meet her—she’s not like any girl you’ll ever meet. And I think she’s one of the most intelligent people I know. She’s here on a scholarship or something. But she isn’t a grind—she likes to have fun. And there’s a mystical side to her, too. She believes in the occult—you know, astrology, tarot cards, the whole works.”
“She sounds interesting.”
We’d arrived at the student union. The cafeteria was crowded and there was a long line.
“Looks like it might take a while,” I said.
“I don’t mind waiting. If you don’t.”
“No. Not at all.” A secret wish had gradually been blossoming within me as we’d walked side by side. I was hoping with all my heart that he was gay. I envisioned a friendship between us, exclusive and inviolable, based upon mutual sexual attraction. Not with me secretly pining for an unattainable other, wallowing masochistically in the hopelessness of my desire, but an open, reciprocal relationship of two boys loving each other.
It was the first time I’d felt that way about any of my friends.
3
Before introducing them to each other, I first wanted to tell Christine about my new roommate. We were having lunch at a burger restaurant east of the campus. The weather was pleasant so we were sitting at an outside table just beside the sidewalk.
“So what’s he like, this new roommate of yours?” she asked. She bit into her cheeseburger.
My excitement at meeting Scott was still very much with me. “He’s nothing like Jonesy,” I said, “At least I won’t have to clean up after him or anything like that. It’ll be a great change not having a slob for a roommate.”
“That’s nice.” She didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm at all. I knew she’d just had a fight with her own roommate, and I was praying she wouldn’t bring up the subject of my moving in with her.
“And don’t worry, Chrissie: he won’t be making passes at you, either. He seems to be a gentleman, a very shy type. I think you’ll get along great with him. He wants to be a writer.”
“A writer type, huh? That sounds interesting.”
“I suppose you want to analyze him and everything.”
“Well naturally. Someone who wants to be become a writer must suffer from all sorts of complexes. What a gold mine for study!”
“He doesn’t exactly seem to be a neurotic type, to tell you the truth. If you ask me, he seems to be better
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