Tufts University - Jumbo Yearbook (Medford, MA)

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Dorothy had woken up. She was beautiful in her sleep-smelling clothes. No, Norman, she yawned, looking goofy-beautiful, pushing aside Norman ' s impressive bulge. Not until you finish your resume. There was a time when you would stop the world for a ball, mused Norman, smiling at recurring visions of Janis running through fields. She did not answer. He returned to his typewriter and typed ACTIVITIES, and sat back in thoughtful wisps of smoke. Activities like playing the harmonica on the quad on wintry after¬ noons? Like doing LSD on the Library hill discussing the Diamond Sutra? Like running for student class president with a campaign entirely consisting of bathroom graffiti? Remember the dream about the campus party, about a guy who comes to a frat party and sits in a corner all night while strippers dance and a band plays and everyone has a good time, except him, and at the end of the party he goes home and hangs himself. Norman, psyched out to write this story, asked Zukie and Leo Di Genero and others in and out of his room to describe parties on campus, and recorded the two hour symposium and wrote its transcript, of which an exerpt follows: Norman: Zukie: Leo: Zukie: Norman: Zukie: Nelson: Bartholomew Leo: Janis: Nelson: Spacy: Nelson: Norman: Zukie: Janis: Norman: Zukie: This story ' s gotta be fluid, I gotta use real characters, like you guys. How would you act when you ' re partying? First of all, I wouldn ' t show up until 10:30. He ' d be fashionably late! And I ' d bring my own pot, cause everybody ' s cheap at Pufts. And I ' d probably bring my own booze, I hate the guilt-trip of drinkin ' up somebody else ' s. Yeh, but what about the people you meet? All different, man. Some nice, some unfriendly bastards, some wild, some indifferent, some downright pathetic, depressing, even! OOhh! How poetic! :Some geeks! Some get drunk, some smoke pot, some eat out their assholes! Some just lookin ' to jerk off their desire for a mother. And a lotta Princesses from Scarsdale! Hey, Nels - You ' re from Scarsdale! I know! And I ' m ... I ' m the exception that proves the rule! Wait a minute. Don ' t we have fun at parties? YEH, Man! It ' s the dance of life! We need more parties. We ' re just a bunch a wild orangutans lost in the jungle. And sex — I knew this guy who wanted to do a survey about promiscuity on campus, y ' know, how many women would say yes to a guy without hesitating. He walked around, ask ing women if they wanted to fuck. He got four no ' s, two maybe ' s but not right now, and one positively yes! and he stopped his survey and a year later they were married! Shit! He shoulda asked me. What about parties? Aren ' t we — Yeh! Let ' s have one! Break out the wine! Got any papers? 20

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ACTIVITIES stared back at Norman like an empty beer can, and he noticed that during his recollections he ' d mysteriously typed a sentence on his resume next to ACTIVITES: Life is just a game, you fly your paper plane, there is no end. Dorothy read it over his shoulder. What ' s it mean? Did I do it? Of course you did it. What ' s it mean? It means I don ' t know anything worth writing for this resume. What about the magazine you started on campus? Y ' mean Pigeon-Ink? That sloppy thing? That ' s ridiculous. I tried to get on the staff of the Sightseer but they only wanted typists. I submitted countless poems and stories to the Pufts Lit Magazine but I heard nothing and I never got the copies back. Shit, I didn ' t do anything here. You organized Fester Enterprises, cooed Dorothy, stroking his hair. Yeh, a group of maniacs putting together a gigantic party. An affair that lasted all day and all night and we gave away eleven kegs of beer and fell into debt. And the campus cops closed it down, people complaining about drunken students pissing on nearby cars — Shhh! cooed Dorothy. Now you ' re complaining, and that ' s not right. But what shall I write for ' ACTIVITIES ' ? Don ' t write anything. Come and sit down on the bed. A century of passionate flowers rained on their upturned faces, an hour of bliss floated slowly by. Janis you are everywhere Janis you are everything Janis . . . I love it when you call me Janis, whispered Dorothy, her eyes moaning. You are Janis. But you are also Dorothy. I don ' t understand. Norman yawned, snuggled close to her, feeling the warmth of her eternal flesh. I ' m me. Your mind plays these games. But I feel it, replied Norman, muffled voice coming out of soft flesh. To you I ' m Janis when I ' m running wild and free, and I ' m Dorothy when I wanna stay at home, in my own room. To me, they ' re just a variety of attitudes in my life. But before you were free, loving, and now you ' re a drag, pushing — You need pushing. You cannot wallow in my love and feel sorry for yourself. You gotta stand up and do something. I push because . .. because I love you. Norman was perplexed. He couldn ' t respond. He couldn ' t say I love you, because he meant it too deeply. Words would shake him up, distort the image, turn real love into Hollywood romance. Real love cannot be uttered, Norman had no words. Someone actually loves me, thought Norman in a trance, someone actually tries to help me and I only get mad and she still tries, she actually digs my being! 22