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A backward glance
Jan. 7th, 2005 09:03 amA few tattered memories this morning.
July or August 1989. I am spending an evening with my close friend and former college roommate. We've been out for dinner and a carafe of wine. We brought more wine home and we are now camped out in her living room watching movies on the VCR. I'm sprawled on the sofa and she is sprawled on her recliner. Crossing Delancy drones on the tv.
"How many men have you actually slept with?" her question is seemingly out of the blue, but I'm sure it's sparked by the familiarity of our college conquests when we shared living space and the movie we're watching--not to mention we are by now quite drunk.
We started counting, each of us, quiet and to ourself. I'm finding it a bit difficult actually and I'm not even 30 yet. The drama teacher, do I count him? I think so. Key, Casey, Mike, the trumpet player--the one who was diabetic, I can't remember his name now. The other Mike, the one we both shared, Kevin, John, Roger, Tom, Dave, The BritRail guy, those three dudes from RADA in London that one wild night, Robert...
We stop a few times to ask "well what are we counting; full on sex? oral?" We agree to count everything. Uh oh..that increases my count dramatically. I think of Rusty, Doug, my friend Pat's brother..
"OH MY GOD!" She sits bolt upright and shrieks. I look over at her in mild surprise. "Eight guys! I am slut!"
I'm up to 15 in my mind already. If she thinks she's a slut at eight, I don't even want to know what she'd think of my status.
=-=-=-=-=
One winter night when we still lived together I was in my room with the door closed and the heat on. I was sitting up in bed reading, or studying, I forget which now. I heard her come in and I heard the front door shut against the cold. I heard the rumble of a male voice and I knew she was not alone. That didn't bother me at all. I listened more closely only because it was not a voice I recognized and I wondered who this new guy was. I heard them go into her room. Our beds shared the common wall between our rooms so I could hear some movement, some low toned conversation--but I could not distinguish words. I went back to my books and didn't give them much thought until I heard one of her high-pitched, infamous blurts.
"My god! How many women have you killed with that thing?!"
I stuffed a pillow to my face to suppress my giggles. Five minutes later I heard the front door slam shut. Apparently 'he' didn't take that as a compliment.
This was well over 20 years ago.
Sheesh...the things I remember!
~ Red Silk
July or August 1989. I am spending an evening with my close friend and former college roommate. We've been out for dinner and a carafe of wine. We brought more wine home and we are now camped out in her living room watching movies on the VCR. I'm sprawled on the sofa and she is sprawled on her recliner. Crossing Delancy drones on the tv.
"How many men have you actually slept with?" her question is seemingly out of the blue, but I'm sure it's sparked by the familiarity of our college conquests when we shared living space and the movie we're watching--not to mention we are by now quite drunk.
We started counting, each of us, quiet and to ourself. I'm finding it a bit difficult actually and I'm not even 30 yet. The drama teacher, do I count him? I think so. Key, Casey, Mike, the trumpet player--the one who was diabetic, I can't remember his name now. The other Mike, the one we both shared, Kevin, John, Roger, Tom, Dave, The BritRail guy, those three dudes from RADA in London that one wild night, Robert...
We stop a few times to ask "well what are we counting; full on sex? oral?" We agree to count everything. Uh oh..that increases my count dramatically. I think of Rusty, Doug, my friend Pat's brother..
"OH MY GOD!" She sits bolt upright and shrieks. I look over at her in mild surprise. "Eight guys! I am slut!"
I'm up to 15 in my mind already. If she thinks she's a slut at eight, I don't even want to know what she'd think of my status.
=-=-=-=-=
One winter night when we still lived together I was in my room with the door closed and the heat on. I was sitting up in bed reading, or studying, I forget which now. I heard her come in and I heard the front door shut against the cold. I heard the rumble of a male voice and I knew she was not alone. That didn't bother me at all. I listened more closely only because it was not a voice I recognized and I wondered who this new guy was. I heard them go into her room. Our beds shared the common wall between our rooms so I could hear some movement, some low toned conversation--but I could not distinguish words. I went back to my books and didn't give them much thought until I heard one of her high-pitched, infamous blurts.
"My god! How many women have you killed with that thing?!"
I stuffed a pillow to my face to suppress my giggles. Five minutes later I heard the front door slam shut. Apparently 'he' didn't take that as a compliment.
This was well over 20 years ago.
Sheesh...the things I remember!
~ Red Silk
