Page Utilities
Alix Kates Shulman, Farrar, Straus and Giroux (page 6 of 6) Page 6 of 6
In 1984, when he suddenly reappeared in my life after a thirty-four-year hiatus, Scott amazed me by recalling the name and address of the motel, complete with our room number (26). What I remembered was that for all my swagger, we spent a good half hour sitting on the bed talking before taking off our clothes. As we try now, in 2005, to reconstruct our early courtship, the passage of more than half a century has left only a few images undimmed and undiminished. For me, the layout of the room, the smell of woolen blankets even in summer, the Big Ben clock ticking on the night table, and, most vividly, his hard, smooth biceps pressed against my cheek while we made love, and afterward the bedsheets soaked with his sweat (“It was summer, what do you expect?” he protests defensively when I read him this passage); for him, the shock of seeing my black pubic triangle as I emerged naked from the bathroom. When I question him and probe for more, nothing comes; he can’t remember anything but what he’s told me already. It can’t be only a result of his brain injury, because I, who once prided myself on my memory for detail, retain of that faraway time only the few images I’ve recorded here from which to infer what our affair meant to me, to us, what really happened.
That summer, though we did manage several quick couplings in the car, we never returned to the motel or made love in a bed again. Nor did we speak of the sex we shared, even though when the botany course ended, we both registered for zoology, giving us six more weeks of class together, plus weekend afternoons in my parents’ garage dissecting the frog we stole from the lab in order to study for the final, and our regular Saturday nights. What kept us from going back again? Embarrassment? The risk of being caught? The expense? Perhaps it was my unspoken understanding that although the romance was of a high order, the sex, like most sex between the inexperienced, was not worth the risks. Like any 1950 Heights High girl, I feared being carried away and losing control, which could lead, in those pre-pill years, to pregnancy, exposure, ruin. As for him, if he’d felt apologetic for merely kissing me, how much more so must he have felt over having sex with me. Having demonstrated to each other our daring and audacity, perhaps prudence induced us to quit while we were ahead.
From To Love What Is by Alix Kates Shulman, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. Copyright © 2008 by Alix Kates Shulman. All rights reserved. To view or the book, go to www.amazon.com. For more information about author Alix Kates Shulman, go to www.alixkshulman.com.
