Before I left for Mankato, there was something you wanted to tell me “telepathically.”
I’ve been fishing through memories for my writing, and came across the night where I did that interview about your frat house. I remember every moment of that night, which surprises me given the time passed. I remember the cold Jack with P. I remember losing the poker game fair and square and downing the pitcher of beer, and the chivalry of one of the guys when I proceeded to lose the next game – he pardoned me, presumably to avoid an alcohol poisoning incident that would land us all in serious trouble. I still have the news clipping I wrote about your frat getting kicked off campus, and I remember that there were some trust issues with me writing it.
And I remember P insisting on walking me home. The year before after I mistook his suicide-level mixed drink for a mixed soda (I was innocent in some things) he allowed me to stumble on to work and then skipped the two classes we had together the next day to avoid me killing him. The friendliness was just him being him. The chivalrous concern was new and suspect, and I remember thinking so while drunk. During this short trip across the parking lot, he made a comment that he was glad his brothers got a chance to know me better. Even drunk, I read between the lines: “You’re not the bitch we thought you were.”
He was a gentleman, removed my shoes, tucked me in bed, even kissed my forehead and told me to sleep tight. He didn’t know at the time that within ten minutes I was out of bed, down the stairs and announcing cheerfully to J that I was drunk, and while P assumed I was tucked away in my bed I was having the roughest and most ecstatic sex of my life to the tune of having to wear a turtleneck to an eighty degree outdoor lab the next day. ((I’ve never gotten that wild again. It’s fun, once, but mostly – *shrug.* Once was enough. I prefer nice boys for the lack of angst, and notably the lack of angst facilitates creativity.))
The week before I left, P tried to tell me something “telepathically.” I figured it was something semi-affectionate; he’d told me two or three times that he loved me, but it was never a romantic thing. Besides, even a peck from him during a social game completely weirded me out despite his campus hunk status. Besides, I already knew that.
But, looking back on this with age if not wisdom, and with much more knowledge, I have to ask:
Did you guys drug the beer or the Jack with sodium pentathol? It would explain P’s next-day apology about not trusting me with the article.
Or maybe he was still mad about me borrowing his Hustle magazines without his permission. Hard to say.
Of course I’ll be mad even now, but it’s past the statute of limitations and since I remember everything, I know that everyone acted like gentlemen (with the notable exception of J) and J was something I already cheerfully did sober, anyway – I was being pressured out of the school by almost daily admin harassment, so the stress relief to this day is much appreciated. And I will point out that never in all the time I’d been there had I done anything untrustworthy to anyone.
So guys…did you? Y’all were extra weird around me, which makes me think something was up. Because P was never that chivalrous with me before, especially since I was never a girl he’d sleep with. In fact that was in many ways the crux of our friendship.
P.S. Thanks for making sure my ex was too scared to try to get into my dorm ever again.