Mitchell College - Thames Log Yearbook (New London, CT)

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Oh? Yeah You're all right. And also beautiful. I'm glad. When do the lights come on? They're on. See? Over the low rock wall, a long way down and below and beyond, the city was turning on its night lights, keeping the evening sky as bright as it could, while dense purple clouds brought on the fog of darkness. With the breeze came the crickets who sat all around, out of sight, talking about us. Amy? Hm? Let's go back to your place. Nwhyr' Q'I'm hungry. !For tea and oranges that come all the way from China? She giggled. She sat up, the long, dark curve of her spine crisscrossed from the blanket's folds. She fished a twig from her hair. I-Iow about the brown shreds of leaves? You're really beautiful. I want to smoke. And it's going to get cold now. You're much too lovely to have a runny nose. All right. Tea and oranges and smokes and a long relaxed evening. Can I drive back? Nope I can't trust myself sitting behind you! Bastardo. You win. Maybe next week? Sure. Next week. We have all the time in the world. 1111414111211 All the time in the world. There must be. I can see - what - five hundred stars right now, and they're perfectly motionless. And the man in the moon with his howling expression of . . . anguish. Anguish because neither of us is really sure what's going to happen to time right now. Will it stop? Probably, since I can't move. How do I know I can't move? I can't move because I don't dare move. Something is liable to hurt. So I'm okay. Nothing hurts. Except my right leg tingles. Itches. Like to drive me crazy, as they say. Look. I don't care. If time wants to stop, let it stop. But not now. Please, don't let it stop right now. Who's that? Are you the man in the moon? You look middle-aged. Balding. Big jowls. And you look scared. Don't cryg it's no big thing, man. But I'd like to ask you a question, sir, if I may. Where did you put my bike? It's over there? Where you keep looking when you're not looking down at me: Okay, thank you very much, sir. I'd better look. See if it got bent up. See if moon-man remembered to shut it off. Okay, I'll look. I'm looking. Come on. Let's look. Come ON! God damn head, TURN!! Oh, jesus. I'm really hurt, I can't move my head. And I've gotta itch. Like a sonofabitch. Ha. Ha ha!!Great. A sense of humor, with me to the last. Ha ha. Please, head, please turn. just sort of fall over that way. That's it. Come on. Oh, wow. Hey, moon-man. Your car is eating my bike. Look. Seriously, look! It's almost done eating my bike already! See? My bike is . . . oh, God, my bike. Hey, moon-man. My bike is almost all the way up into your windsh- ield. Lump in my throat. I'm frightened to death, man. I'm frightened to die. And now I know for sure that I'm going to die. Because look where my bike is. It's inside your car. !!!

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Last Night's Ride by Thomas H. Finnegan june bugs, rabbits, and chuckholes. Not to mention rocks, railroad tracks, and drunken drivers. In spite of all that, I like riding at night much more than in the daytime. Fewer cars. Cooler. The very comfortable black of night amplifies all these sensations and feelings a millionfold. Nosier, crisper, stark vision and non-vision. Following the quartz-iod- ine eye as it bounces and trembles and shows the roadsigns to come. I'm not a padiddle, l'm a bike. Bikey? Hell, they're all bikeys! Shit. Taillight's out again. Where's that connector? Ah, forget it. It comes on once in a while. Tell The Man I never saw it. Been watching where I'm going. Thunder. From the blur of tappets and ticks and the fiery throb, the frenzied pulsebeat racing faster, faster. Sensual. Mellow and strong and it's half the thrill of riding. The eye skitters around ahead, and bigger bumps blip the throttle. A burst of rumbly, throaty noise. A clamoring request to get on with it. Try fifty-five hundred, six grand. Pure gut sensation. What could be aesthetic about something so crude? We're not so suave after all, I guess. Ninety. And I feel so free. God damn taillight!! Look at that - I can even see the little blue flash where the connector touches the frame. Will that do, officer? A blue taillight? No? All right, I'll fix it. On the run. On the fly. I'm Flyyying. Hi. Well, where do I stick the damn thing? 1,11 tape it up. You're kidding! Right now?! Yeah, man, I'm very talented. What's that noise? Hom. CAR!! lkllflklkik As the car passes, Amy and I wave animatedly at its gawking occupants. She is sunbathing in her bright green- yellow bra. They probably saw it from miles away and careened all the way across town and up into the park just to catch a glimpse of some skin. Cretins. Can a semi-nude girl lying on a blanket possibly look elegant? Amy is like that. Many of our friends have confided that they think her the most attractive young woman they've known. She has all the prerequisites - very handsome features, soft and thick mahogany hair which all but smothers her throat and her shoulders, an unmistakable, fetching look of demureness. And she's mine. She will look devastating when she's carrying a baby someday. Amy? Hm? Look. Incandescent orange. I would never have believed a sunset could be so boldly colored. She gazed at the receding light for a moment. How can we treat them as cliches? How can we be so insensitive? It's all your fault, lovely lady. We'll have to make every person on earth line up and pass by here, to see these sunsets while lying on a hilltop with you. Then they'll seef, Theylll see how alluring her smile is. Theylll see how completely irresistible she is. They'll also see those two grey squirrels who just romped up over the grassy crest of our hilltop, and, like curious but timid children, hesitated, star- ing at us and listening to us, before they finally winked and chirped at each other and scampered off to play their own loving little games. Or at least I hope they play loving little gamesg I'd like that for them. All living creatures should play frisky, sexy games. Amy? Hm? You're all right.

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lk ll' lk ll' lk ztHrn?55 You're a great lay. From out of her serene face came those big blue, searching eyes looking over at me. A trace of hurt, a little bewil- dered. Did you have to say that? The dim green light peering down through a floating layer of smoke wanted to know, also. I looked at her very carefully, and something turned sad inside. I'm sorry. You know me, darling. I didnit want you to look at me that way, Please don't feel bad. The whuff of lavender sheets. Their rise and the slow, ballooning fall as they clung again to her body's profile. The rich brown treasure of her hair as it is flung away by the hand which now cups her cheek. The disarming, smooth mold of her neck, shoulders, breasts. And still those imploring eyes. I'm sorry. She softened her gaze. Oh, it's my fault, too. It just sounded like . . . another language. I mean it just didn't fit the mood. It hurt. I am sorry, Amy. Damn. Why did I have to say that?,, There came from her a slight jolt which was a tiny laugh. She tumed and traced the line of my nose with a slender, gently arched finger. She jolted again. What's so funny? She now wore her free, ingenuous smile. Which filled with her hair as a summer breeze came in over us. It brought us back to life. You are! You should see yourself pour! I'm funny when I pout, huh? She teased at my lips. I teased at her lower ribs. She squealed and her cheek fell off her hand. I'm funny, huh? She shrieked and began to flay away at me, at the bed, at the breeze. I'M funny?! Let's see how funny YOU can be!! Q And I wrapped her in purple satin and bore my laughing, struggling captive away from her bedroom and across the dimly lit living room, where she tried to cave in my skull with a huge, tasseled pillow. I fought off her counterattack, and with a cruel laugh I held the quaking, screaming corpse head down over a bottomless pit of perfumed bubble bath. Last chance, Amy! Do ya give??! In reply she smothered my grinning face in a great expanse of billowing lavender. With my most villainous chor- tle, I poured her hysterical bronze form ever so slowly into the mountain of bubbles which exploded slowly, beauti- fully, around us. The room was laughing at our struggle, echoing louder and louder, the patches of suds floating everywhere, the last tail of satin the only clue to our disappearance as we drowned ourselves frantically, lusciously, voluptuously. ilklklklk Watching her breath forming large, rolling clouds under the street light, I stopped and looked at her pensively. There was no way to hold back the coy advance of our smiles. And she's beautiful when she smiles. She kickstarted the bike, bare feet, bathrobe, and all. Next week? I promise.