Post by goldenmyst on Apr 1, 2019 21:01:22 GMT -6
Where Does Old Love Go?
Our professor keeps the classroom deliberately dark so that with its Cathedral high ceiling it will provide a church-like feeling for us young poets to show respect for the craft with the sacred silence.
There is a projector machine to put up our work that we especially want to share with the class. But each time a young woman takes advantage by placing her poetry directly into the machine without waiting for the professor to do the honors. Her poems are invariably about sex.
So after one class, I dare to approach her. She brashly tells me what she thinks of me, that my ego trip is to sit at the throne of the group which makes me the beating heart of pomposity in her book.
She shakes her lush curls and laughs like a medieval witch on the hunt to expose hauteur. Then she dashes out of the room like Peter Pan on the run from a Broadway show which ran too long.
I chase after her in hot pursuit until we arrive at the abandoned football field with its knee-high grass. She pushes the mower over the tufts and I yell, “Soledad!”
She shouts back, “Yes, this is my only solitude!”
And I watch her make a path through the grass while blazing a trail through life. Our paths cross and merge into one swervy road. She holds me in her arms. She is twenty-one, a freshman in the local college, but she is wise beyond her years. As we lay together in the dorm room on a cool, crisp, fall morning, the gas heater warms my bareback. I feel sweat drip down my spine as her soft fingers gently stroke the length of my back.
Cassie says, “I shall whisper my truth into your ear. Remember this. Love is not a trap, but rather it is liberation. True freedom means forgetting all that you have learned. To be fully open to the Goddess one must be an empty cup, ready to be filled with the ecstasy of union with the divine. The past is dead, and we must live only for the moments which trickle by and vanish into nothingness.”
“Your words make me sad.”
Later that evening we sit in the tea shop. “Cassie I see in your dark eyes the fire of a fanatic.”
Cassie says, “Let me hold your hands.”
I say, “The intensity of your gaze wipes away all of my pretenses.”
Cassie clasps my hand between hers. “You seem so far away, so distant.”
“I’m right here for you. Let me squeeze your hands. Feel me. I haven’t gone anywhere. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Your hands are cold. Let me warm them. You seem so self-absorbed lately. You’re crying. What brings those tears?”
I say, “Your words this morning made me sad.”
“Mmm, this tea is so good. Don’t be sad my love. If life is a dream and it is a happy dream, then it is good. Your stare is penetrating me. What brings on such strong emotions?”
“So you think what we have is fleeting and insubstantial? Years from now, you won’t look back on this moment and feel joy? The past has no meaning? Our first kiss is a moment passed and dead?”
Cassie says, “Don’t fret over my words, my love. You needn’t take life so seriously. You make me laugh. I’m so embarrassed. Of course not silly, I will always remember you with joy. It’s just that the only time which is real to me is the present. It’s like once I’ve seen a movie, I might remember it fondly, but I don’t watch it again usually. If I do it doesn’t mean the same thing it meant originally, because I am a different person. Each moment I am born again into the present. We can’t recreate or relive the past. It is gone, forever. Does this disturb you?”
“I think the past still lives. All the people and events from creation to the present, coexist on some higher plane of existence.”
Cassie implores me, “Look at my face my dear one. Don’t you see the glow of my love for you? It is in my smile and the sparkle in my eyes. Please love, let’s not dig deeper into this. Let’s try to agree to disagree. Maybe we each have part of the truth. Let’s make love, not philosophy.”
“Your words ring true. All this is really trivial. Yet I feel a chasm opening in the depths of my heart. It splits me apart. Even after all our nights of passion I feel lost.”
“Oh don’t feel lost. Let’s walk in the park. Isn’t it refreshing out here in the cool air? You know my professor has a crush on me. He stared at me in class and smiled when I walked up to get my papers. He’s given me straight A’s for what I consider mediocre work. All my girlfriends agreed with me. You look nervous. You’re not jealous, are you? Come, come, my love.”
“Of course I’m not jealous. I trust you.”
“You know I’d love to sleep with my professor. He’s quite handsome and virile looking.”
“Please don’t do that to me, Cassie. Don’t stab me in the heart like that. We’ve been true to each other. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Feel my fingers on your lips, now Shhh. Here, I will give you a kiss. Don’t worry love. You hold a special place in my heart. Nothing can take that away. Ahhh, let’s stop at this shop and dine on clam chowder. Clam chowder can make things all better. Don’t you love New England?”
“I want to know your professor’s name.”
“What does it matter? He has nothing to do with you.”
“The hell he doesn’t. I want to know the bastard’s name!”
“His name is Henderson, Michael Henderson. I’m tired of playing these games! When you decide to grow up, call me. I’m out of here. Goodbye.”
Years later I sit in my living room looking at her picture. I feel the pain like it was yesterday. And so I dial the phone.
“Is this the Bowdoin main office? I’d like to be put through to Professor Henderson.”
The professor answers, “Hello who am I speaking with?”
“We have a mutual acquaintance, Cassie Brown. I am shocked that you seduced one of your students.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. Those are unsubstantiated allegations. I’m going to hang up now. If you harass me I’ll call the authorities.”
I look up Cassie on the internet and call her. “Hi there Cassie, remember me, John your old friend from college? I don’t want or need anything. I just wanted to talk.”
“John how lovely to hear from you. I’m in the middle of getting my kids ready for school. Can we talk later?”
“Cassie you once told me the past is dead. All these years I pondered that. Now I understand. The past is truly dead.”
“Oh, I was just babbling. Don’t believe anything I said back then.”
“You were my teacher. I’m forever grateful to you. You are a film I enjoyed but don’t want to see again. Our love became a cliché. Neither of us wanted to watch a rerun. So these are the final credits. Now I’m the one babbling.”
“No, you’re not. Your words are wise. But I really must get to my children.”
Have a good life. You really were the star of my motion picture.”
Cassie recites, “If you don’t get in that plane you’ll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”
“Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart. What could be more fitting parting words? I have no better words to author or quote. So for my closing credits, I’ll say live, long, and prosper. I know, not very original.”
“You never were good with goodbyes.”
“I’ll just say au revoir.”
“I swoon when men talk to me in French.”
“It’s the only French word I know.”
“You said that to make me laugh, didn’t you?”
“I love to make you laugh.”
“You gave me the giggles. Now I’ll leave you with Bonjour.”
“Can I consider us friends?”
“We are friends for life my friend. Goodbye, for now.”
Our professor keeps the classroom deliberately dark so that with its Cathedral high ceiling it will provide a church-like feeling for us young poets to show respect for the craft with the sacred silence.
There is a projector machine to put up our work that we especially want to share with the class. But each time a young woman takes advantage by placing her poetry directly into the machine without waiting for the professor to do the honors. Her poems are invariably about sex.
So after one class, I dare to approach her. She brashly tells me what she thinks of me, that my ego trip is to sit at the throne of the group which makes me the beating heart of pomposity in her book.
She shakes her lush curls and laughs like a medieval witch on the hunt to expose hauteur. Then she dashes out of the room like Peter Pan on the run from a Broadway show which ran too long.
I chase after her in hot pursuit until we arrive at the abandoned football field with its knee-high grass. She pushes the mower over the tufts and I yell, “Soledad!”
She shouts back, “Yes, this is my only solitude!”
And I watch her make a path through the grass while blazing a trail through life. Our paths cross and merge into one swervy road. She holds me in her arms. She is twenty-one, a freshman in the local college, but she is wise beyond her years. As we lay together in the dorm room on a cool, crisp, fall morning, the gas heater warms my bareback. I feel sweat drip down my spine as her soft fingers gently stroke the length of my back.
Cassie says, “I shall whisper my truth into your ear. Remember this. Love is not a trap, but rather it is liberation. True freedom means forgetting all that you have learned. To be fully open to the Goddess one must be an empty cup, ready to be filled with the ecstasy of union with the divine. The past is dead, and we must live only for the moments which trickle by and vanish into nothingness.”
“Your words make me sad.”
Later that evening we sit in the tea shop. “Cassie I see in your dark eyes the fire of a fanatic.”
Cassie says, “Let me hold your hands.”
I say, “The intensity of your gaze wipes away all of my pretenses.”
Cassie clasps my hand between hers. “You seem so far away, so distant.”
“I’m right here for you. Let me squeeze your hands. Feel me. I haven’t gone anywhere. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Your hands are cold. Let me warm them. You seem so self-absorbed lately. You’re crying. What brings those tears?”
I say, “Your words this morning made me sad.”
“Mmm, this tea is so good. Don’t be sad my love. If life is a dream and it is a happy dream, then it is good. Your stare is penetrating me. What brings on such strong emotions?”
“So you think what we have is fleeting and insubstantial? Years from now, you won’t look back on this moment and feel joy? The past has no meaning? Our first kiss is a moment passed and dead?”
Cassie says, “Don’t fret over my words, my love. You needn’t take life so seriously. You make me laugh. I’m so embarrassed. Of course not silly, I will always remember you with joy. It’s just that the only time which is real to me is the present. It’s like once I’ve seen a movie, I might remember it fondly, but I don’t watch it again usually. If I do it doesn’t mean the same thing it meant originally, because I am a different person. Each moment I am born again into the present. We can’t recreate or relive the past. It is gone, forever. Does this disturb you?”
“I think the past still lives. All the people and events from creation to the present, coexist on some higher plane of existence.”
Cassie implores me, “Look at my face my dear one. Don’t you see the glow of my love for you? It is in my smile and the sparkle in my eyes. Please love, let’s not dig deeper into this. Let’s try to agree to disagree. Maybe we each have part of the truth. Let’s make love, not philosophy.”
“Your words ring true. All this is really trivial. Yet I feel a chasm opening in the depths of my heart. It splits me apart. Even after all our nights of passion I feel lost.”
“Oh don’t feel lost. Let’s walk in the park. Isn’t it refreshing out here in the cool air? You know my professor has a crush on me. He stared at me in class and smiled when I walked up to get my papers. He’s given me straight A’s for what I consider mediocre work. All my girlfriends agreed with me. You look nervous. You’re not jealous, are you? Come, come, my love.”
“Of course I’m not jealous. I trust you.”
“You know I’d love to sleep with my professor. He’s quite handsome and virile looking.”
“Please don’t do that to me, Cassie. Don’t stab me in the heart like that. We’ve been true to each other. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Feel my fingers on your lips, now Shhh. Here, I will give you a kiss. Don’t worry love. You hold a special place in my heart. Nothing can take that away. Ahhh, let’s stop at this shop and dine on clam chowder. Clam chowder can make things all better. Don’t you love New England?”
“I want to know your professor’s name.”
“What does it matter? He has nothing to do with you.”
“The hell he doesn’t. I want to know the bastard’s name!”
“His name is Henderson, Michael Henderson. I’m tired of playing these games! When you decide to grow up, call me. I’m out of here. Goodbye.”
Years later I sit in my living room looking at her picture. I feel the pain like it was yesterday. And so I dial the phone.
“Is this the Bowdoin main office? I’d like to be put through to Professor Henderson.”
The professor answers, “Hello who am I speaking with?”
“We have a mutual acquaintance, Cassie Brown. I am shocked that you seduced one of your students.”
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. Those are unsubstantiated allegations. I’m going to hang up now. If you harass me I’ll call the authorities.”
I look up Cassie on the internet and call her. “Hi there Cassie, remember me, John your old friend from college? I don’t want or need anything. I just wanted to talk.”
“John how lovely to hear from you. I’m in the middle of getting my kids ready for school. Can we talk later?”
“Cassie you once told me the past is dead. All these years I pondered that. Now I understand. The past is truly dead.”
“Oh, I was just babbling. Don’t believe anything I said back then.”
“You were my teacher. I’m forever grateful to you. You are a film I enjoyed but don’t want to see again. Our love became a cliché. Neither of us wanted to watch a rerun. So these are the final credits. Now I’m the one babbling.”
“No, you’re not. Your words are wise. But I really must get to my children.”
Have a good life. You really were the star of my motion picture.”
Cassie recites, “If you don’t get in that plane you’ll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”
“Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart. What could be more fitting parting words? I have no better words to author or quote. So for my closing credits, I’ll say live, long, and prosper. I know, not very original.”
“You never were good with goodbyes.”
“I’ll just say au revoir.”
“I swoon when men talk to me in French.”
“It’s the only French word I know.”
“You said that to make me laugh, didn’t you?”
“I love to make you laugh.”
“You gave me the giggles. Now I’ll leave you with Bonjour.”
“Can I consider us friends?”
“We are friends for life my friend. Goodbye, for now.”
