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

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She WAS thinking it. Then I discovered that I had only a quarter inch of milk. Oh, wow, Uh, Chris. What do I say now? You're not going to believe this, either. She said from the other room, What -- no milk? About halfway through our coffee and cinnamon toast, we heard the furnace quit. After learning from the oil company that they could not bring any oil until late evening, I excused myself and went down to the garage stalls and siphoned off a small bottle-full of oil from the tank by propping bricks under two of its legs. I primed the burner and ran back upstairs and into the bathroom to Wash my hands and brush my teeth, which smelled, I thought, faintly like heavy fuel oil. When I entered the studio I observed the thermostate set at seventy- four but reading fifty-eight. Cold air blew from the baseboards. Chris, in the meantime, had pulled the blankets and bedspread from a sofa-bed, she sat on it in a tiny ball, shivering, silent, forlorn, wary. The sun reflected the brightness of the exposed sheets. I took her hint. I crossed the room under her shifting glare and sat next to her. She still looked directly into my eyes, as if to detect the first sign of any advance. I said very quietly, You probably won't believe me if I say I'm sorry about all this. I moved to kiss her lightly and found I had to lean further than I had expected as she withdrew. In order to save my balance I put out my hand awkwardly, and it came to rest on the pile of blankets - directly on her thigh. Too sur- prised myself to do anything else, I followed through and kissed her briefly and softly. When I moved by head back to see the pleasurable expression on her face, I saw her staring very wide-eyed at me. I began to form an apology, but she spoke first. Could I ask, just out of curiosity, what cologne or aftershave is that? Fuel oil, number two! I joked, but she appeared to take it seriously. At this very uneasy moment, I debated whether to move or not to move, as Chris sat perfectly motionless, watching me closely. Seeing in her gaze the rapt invitation I presupposed, I looked at the pyramid of bed covers pulled around her and whispered very romantically, May I come inside your wigwam ?', Stop it, she said. I began to unwrap her covers teasingly, as the furnace sputtered to a halt. Stop it or I'll scream. I was so surprised by her remark that I stopped, looked at her, and laughed softly. I continued my work. No sooner had the chuclde left my lips than she did scream. RAPE! I froze, flabbergasted. RAAAPEl!l As I began to extricate myself, thinking of my nosy landlady only a few hundred feet away, Chris mistook the direction of my movements and flailed away at me with her fist. It caught me on the bridge of the nose. Lights flashed, a formidable shockwave of nausea ran through me, and my nose ached exceedingly. We both sat there for a minute, equally stunned. She probably expected to be beaten angrily into submission. So did I.

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Our conversation during the drive concemed jeff, whom we both agreed was a fine fellow and would be sorely missed, and what-kind-of-music-and-books-and-movies-do-you-like. After hearing her choice of each, I commented at moderate length on those subjects. She looked very cold. Once inside fit was still warm, so evidently there was still fuel oilj, we turned on some music and I banged on the stereo to get the left side to work, I asked her to excuse the piston and cylinder I had left on some oily paper on the throw rug by the door, the engine cases which were baking in the oven, and the noisome odor of sizzling Motorcycle Gearbox Oil. We paused for a moment to admire the view from the front windows, and, looking at the long expanse of freshly-fallen snow, Chris asked about neighbors living nearby. I helped her remove the tall winter boots she had worn to clamber up the sidewalk - which I still hadn't been able to shovel. We walked to the kitchen. Okay, Chris, you are in for the surprise of your life. I can make one hell of a breakfast! If it's eggs, bacon, juice, pancakes, sausage, coffee, and toast, that is!', She smiled. What is your pleasure, barefoot miss? Well, would an omelet be too much trouble?v Trouble?! Nothing would be too much trouble for you, my most attractive guest and breakfast companion! Why don't you go ahead and sit down out in the other room and enjoy yourself while I prepare an omelet with all the trimmings? Go ahead, Chris, I'1l be done in a few minutes! Read a motorcycle magazine or something! Go ahead! She agreed and walked back to the other half of the room, where she picked up a TIME and sat on one of the sofa- beds. What's on the cover of the magazine, Chris? I can point out articles of interest you might enjoy. Tell me what's on the cover - I know them all! Itis not the one with the new Kawasaki, is it? In that one is a really good pictor . . . I had opened the refrigerator and discovered one egg remaining in the box. Uh, you're not going to believe this, Chris . . . She came around the corner with a look of apprehension. What? I only have one egg. There was a rather stony silence, and her face appeared a bit strained. Finally she smiled and spoke. That's all right. I'll take something else. Okay, then, how about pancakes? Don,t you need eggs to make pancakes? Uh, heh heh. Yeah. Well, wait!! I grabbed the box from a shelf. We're in luck! If you're not too hungry, we can make a few small ones! How about it?'! Sure, Tom, that will be fine. She went back to the sofa. Our somber silence was broken only by the stereo's plaint for better and more conscientious record care. I'm really sorry about that, Chris. I should have thought of it when I fixed eggs yesterday morning. I realize what you must be thinking. I'm sorry. Okay? No, no, it's quite all right, Tom. Really!

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It was her turn. You incredible bastard! You unthinking, unfeeling, heartless, unimpressive, self-centered, clod son-of-a-bitch! YOU WORM! ! I was almost on the verge of tC2.1'S, partly from the pain and partly from the shock of what had happened. I concen- trated very intently on restraining myself. Ever since the first time you opened your mouth, you tumed me off. Ever since your first sermon, I've been una- ble to cultivate my interest in you as a person. Even though I wanted to. But you're a nothing! Two hundred minuses and no plusses! You couldnit even leave a bit of mystery over what kind of person you are. You couldn't let our relationship quietly reveal the facets of your personality. You couldn't make our friendship a series of stones weld overturn to find new secrets and revelations. No, from minute one, you came on like a landslide! 'Hi, I'm Tom Finne- gan, and here's what I think about everything in the worldl' GOD, what GALL! ! ! There was a strong stinging sensation around my nose, and I had to blink my eyes furiously as they glossed over. Warm blood trickled onto my lip. That sight slowed her down a little. She dabbed a Kleenex at the base of my nose. I'm probably as sorry as you are, Tom. I would never have believed that his could happen. But it may do us some good. It will certainly do YOU some good. It will help you to do it right next time? I could hear the plowing rush of my landlady coming across the yard as she hastened to catch all the gory details, and satisfy her misgivings about renting her studio to a non-church-going, motorcycle-riding, unmarried young man. Could you take me home now, please?,' The God damn Yamaha that had burst out across the line on a false start came back around and forced his way in between my Bultaco and the red Maico who had been only inches away from me to start with. I had a nasty vision of the three of us going down in a tangle of handlebars. I dreaded first-lap, first-turn mishaps, as I always pictured myself at the bottom of a twelve-foot pile of bikes and riders. Tom! said a voice which was totally drowned out by the horde of screaming two-strokes. My left hand barely touched my helmet as we all did likewise awaiting the start. Hey, Tom! My helmet was resting on the bars, for God's sake, so ready was I to grab the clutch lever and - Hey, FINNEGAN!!! Somehow I heard that, and looked across the Yamaha and the Maico to the fence, and instantly I spotted Bruce and his girl and a marvelous-looking, long-haired young lady. He was pointing to her and saying something I could not make out. Finally, he stopped, thrust his hand into his pocket, skimmed through his change and keys and held up a coin, a broad smile on his face. Oh? I thought.