Marty sensed a new competition for Michelle’s affections from the basketball idol, Mark. As if things weren’t bad enough, now he had to contend with the biggest stud on campus, and a genuine sports hero! Mark, for his part, was aware that Marty had a crush on Michelle, and made a point of telling him how fine she was, clearly staking a claim to mating rights in a thinly disguised ‘man-to-man talk’ about women. As if sharing a sacred masculine secret, he intimated she had a perfect body, “Except her tits are too small… but ya don’t fuck the titties – know what I mean?” He actually winked, like a game show host making sexual innuendo, oblivious of his ribald show of disrespect. Marty gaped openly at him, with the incredulity of a scientist from another planet who had come to study life on earth, and was yet again baffled by its preoccupation with vulgarity. Mark just shrugged, tossed his fluffy blonde hair, and strutted off to rut with the other alpha males in the herd.
Somehow, Marty needed to counter testosterone with intelligence. He checked the newspapers again to see if there was something Michelle would appreciate more than basketball, and his heart leapt to discover that Leonard Nimoy, who played Spock on Star Trek, was acting in a one-man play that he had written himself – about Vincent Van Gogh, of all people! It was as if the stars in the sky had realigned, in a rare and auspicious constellation of relevance. The combination of one of his favorite actors involved in a project about his most beloved artist was enough in itself, but thinking of how he might share that experience with Michelle infused his soul with such vigor that it rocketed to the heavens.
“Hey Michelle, you wanna go see Vincent?” Marty asked the mirror, as a way of practicing for his mission. In his mind’s eye, the red pimples on his face stood out like warning lights blinking on the console of his space capsule.
“Um, who’s Vincent?” was the imagined reply, and he racked his brain for a different course.
“Hey you know that crazy artist guy who cut off his ear and gave it to a prostitute…” Naw, that wasn’t gonna work. “You know that pointy-eared guy from Star Trek?” No way, too nerdy. Stay away from the ears.
Marty decided the best thing to do was to let Vincent’s paintings speak for themselves, because after all, they were the only way that the artist could tell the world about the depth of his unrequited love. He borrowed a book of Van Gogh’s masterpieces from the library, and placed it in a conspicuous place on his desk in journalism class, like cheese in a mousetrap.
“Oh, are you doing an article about Van Gogh?” Michelle asked him when she came in, and Marty thought with glee, here comes the mouse!
“No, I’m actually studying his life, because there’s a new play about him in San Francisco.” He waited to see if she would take the bait.
“Oh, I love plays!” Snap! Flush with enthusiasm, she leaned towards him in a way that delightfully invaded Marty’s personal space. He described how it might be possible to arrange an exclusive opportunity for her to accompany him on a fact-finding mission to such an important cultural event, and she interrupted his long explanation to inform him, “Of course, I’d love to go with you!”
Holy shit! Houston, we have an unplanned contingency! Now what do I do? Marty had been prepared to rebut all sorts of objections, or respond to a non-committal response with details about this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but an unequivocal acceptance had not been anticipated in his advance planning, and he was dumbfounded.
“When is it?” she gracefully provided him with a vector to come back to reality.
“Um, next Saturday,” Marty gushed reflexively, and then had to ask (because he was primed for it),”Would you like to go with me?”
“Well duh, I just said I would, Marty,” she batted her eyelashes playfully. “I love the theater.”
The way she said ‘love’ gave him goosebumps. ”Okay, I’ll let you know the details,” he managed to croak feebly, realizing he hadn’t breathed in several seconds. Subconsciously, he wished she might go away now, so he could process what just happened. Instead, she turned the book around, and started to look at the pictures.
“I always loved his paintings,” she sighed invitingly. Bathed in kindness from Aphrodite, Marty took a deep breath, collected his scattered wits, and launched into a long dialog about Vincent, his life, and his passionate art – especially his art – and how he tried to ‘set us free’ …in the immortal words of Don McLean. He inquired if she had ever read any of his letters, or knew about his brother Theo, or how the world would never have known about Vincent without the commitment of his brother’s wife. They reflected on the artist’s words about love, and how it breaks down walls, and releases one from prison, and… omigod, the stupid bell rang! It was the end of class! Michelle assessed Marty admiringly, with the frankness of one who has encountered much more than anticipated, and gushed, “Oh, I can’t wait to see this show with you!”
Marty’s heart stopped beating. The classroom, the people, the dust motes lit by the windows… everything stood still as if it was suspended in zero gravity. He was locked on her eyes as the ringing faded away, and it resonated like a church bell pealing in his heart.
He had to skip his next class to review the miracle that had just happened. He had a date with Michelle! The poems of Longfellow in AP English, no matter how pertinent, were of little importance in comparison to the reality of going to a play with the prettiest girl in school! This was not just some trivial movie date! The high-class event would be the vehicle for him to openly say all the things that were in his heart – the passions that he shared with Vincent, the vital beauty of art, the primacy of love… and all of it enhanced by the intelligence of an attractive female companion who understood what he was trying to say! He sat in his truck, gripping the steering wheel of the Apollo resolutely, as if it might transport him safely through a dangerous mission.
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch… when Marty arrived home after a long day of dreaming, Mike was rolling joints to sell at his new school. (He was already saving for another car.) Marty couldn’t hold in the good news anymore, and asked teasingly, “Guess who I have a date with?”
Mike turned around with his tongue in mid-lick of the rolling paper, and his eyes grew wide with delight and admiration. “Way to go, Stripes!!” He knew who Marty was talking about, and got up to give him a high five. “She’s totally fine, dude!” He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves like it was time to get to work. “Where are you taking her?” Marty told him, and he nodded. “The theater, huh? Good idea. Tell her to dress up, and take her out to a fancy restaurant, too.” (Oh, I forgot about that! Marty made a mental note.) “I told ya, classy babes love that kind of stuff.” Mike was working in a restaurant, so Marty asked him what the “classy” places were in Marin. He mentioned the Velvet Turtle, which appealed to a cartoonist’s sense of whimsy. “And you gotta buy a nice suit,” Mike added, and Marty sighed with the enormity of it all. He might have to trade an entire working day of his life to afford such a luxury, but he certainly hoped there would be many occasions to wear it!
The cabin smelled like stale cigarettes and sour beer, as usual. It was time for Marty to get some fresh air, even though it was pitch dark outside. Leaving the Rusty Bucket Ranch at night was like taking a spacewalk. The house was relatively warm and well lit, with lots of technology and conveniences. Outside, when the front door closed, Marty was removed from all that stuff. The deep, moist chill – the atmospheric soup in which redwood trees thrive – seeped into his bones. His meager thrift store spacesuit couldn’t prevent the warmth from being sucked out of his body. His breath puffed into the blackness. All sounds were absorbed into an absolutely dark void that seemed to go on for infinity. Marty enjoyed using no flashlight, which enhanced the effect. He had to feel his way through the forest without much input from any of his five senses. He found that he could best navigate by discerning the smallest sensations with his intuition. Otter taught him that trees and growing things have a presence – an aura – if one is aware and receptive. Marty could feel the radiance of their respiration, and discern subtle changes in the temperature and degree of blackness around them, because plants naturally absorb light. He smelled hints of their perfume: the spiciness of bay laurel, and earthy tannins of redwoods. By listening to the sound of his footsteps, he could ascertain what was on the ground, or in his immediate vicinity, the way an astronaut might use deep space radar. Touching the trees and bushes lightly as he passed gave him a sense of being one with the forest – the final frontier.
Then a car would drive by on the road, disrupting his reverie and giving the impression of a passing spaceship, with its lights casting only a small cone of light ahead as it moved. The red taillights flickered as they passed through the forest, and the familiar whump-whump, whump-whump of the tires suggested propulsion. As the foreign object passed, and the blackness swallowed up the space behind where it had just been, the sound waves were absorbed by the forest, and everything was murky and alive again.
Marty normally enjoyed the night, but on that evening he was head over heels in love with the night. He recalled a song evocative of his mood by Blue Oyster Cult (of all bands):
“Further I went on… I felt the spreading calm,
Then suddenly my eyes were bathed in light
And a lovely lady in white was by my side
And she said, like me, I see you’re walking alone
Oh, won’t you please stay?
I couldn’t look away…
And she said, I love the night.”
In a dreamlike state, Marty wondered out loud, “Could she be the one?” He had loved so many girls before, and loved them deeply. Ironically, the one he liked only briefly was the only one who ever liked him back. His summer camp fling with Lisa had been fun; he got a couple of kisses out of the deal, but it was doomed from the start due to age and circumstance. Now he could finally feel what it was really like to love someone, and Michelle was the most beautiful of them all! She was a former Homecoming Princess, for God’s sake! Every dude in school would give his left testicle for a date with this girl! He trembled from the effort of not letting his heart burst out of his chest and dissolve into the shadowy darkness. He was losing the battle, however, and it was very cold. Time to go back inside.
That night in bed, Marty prayed in the only way he knew how, with childlike devotions to supplicate his sense of helplessness; hoping Michelle was the one for him, and his loneliness would end. He wondered how many young men around the world were feeling the way he did that night.
It’s hard to ask for so little
When there’s so much to be done
But I feel like I’m caught in the middle
Or that I’m the only one.
The next Monday in journalism class, Marty was stressing about whether to tell Michelle he was going to wear a suit on their date, or if she would be offended that he was implying she might underdress. But what if he showed up in his new suit, and embarrassingly found her in casual jeans and a jacket? He thought of what she would look like in an evening gown, and a clear image of Grace Kelly in High Society came to mind. Suddenly, he was confronted by the Mogambo version of his new favorite actress, as Michelle entered class wearing khakis and a safari shirt, with a beige scarf tied around her neck. Marty had his finest corduroy bell bottoms on, and new Converse sneakers that he displayed by sticking his legs out from under the desk. He was still breaking in the shoes, and they squeaked when he walked.
“I read Lust for Life over the weekend like you suggested,” she announced primly, as if a book review might ensue, “He was certainly an amazing character, and I love his art. But I think he was a little too obsessed.” She crinkled her nose disagreeably.
“It must be difficult when you feel that deeply about something,” Marty responded thoughtfully, while privately lamenting that a man could blaze such a trail and suffer so much, and be classified as a mere ‘character’ by those who followed. He wistfully added a saying from Otter, “It’s hard to know why someone walks a path until you wear their mukluks.”
“What’s a mukluk?” Michelle asked with a smile, thinking Marty was joking again, and he told her about the Eskimo fellow named Otter who used to live in their forest in a teepee with a six-foot Rabbit, and her eyes grew suspicious, waiting for the punch line as if he was telling her that he that ran away and joined the circus.
“It’s a true story!” Marty protested with mock indignation, “You should see where I live, it’s beautiful – like a redwood park!”
“Maybe when the weather’s nicer,” she replied practically, as it was pouring outside.
Mrs. Hess called Michelle away to give her a new assignment, which could possibly involve hunting lions or elephants the way she was dressed. Marty sat in blissful reverie, gazing raptly at his mental TV screen as they held hands, smiling and walking through a sunlit redwood grove with birds singing…
“Hey asshole, aren’t we doing photos anymore for the White Pages?” Screech! His reverie was interrupted, the way a phonograph needle skips on a record. That was Matt, the other photographer, who was referring to Marty’s latest column. Instead of a photograph, he had drawn a cartoon of his desk on top of the White House. It was a truly bizarre image that threatened to put high school newspaper photographers out of business. “Are you getting too famous for us, or what?”
“No way, man,” Marty replied, reverting to character as the zany artist, “But we could do a cool one with me in the rain for the next issue, with an umbrella…” Journalism class came and went that day, which was usually his best time of the day to talk with Michelle. Unless of course he followed her like a puppy all over school, which was sure to wag some tongues. Should he risk getting a truly horrible lunch at the canteen, on the chance he might see her there? Naw, that greasy shit made him break out in zits. But it wasn’t likely she’d ever come out to the bleachers in the rain, where all the party creatures huddled miserably under the overhang and smoked like a slag heap.
Marty wondered if he could muster the courage to just walk right up to her and talk to her in public. After all, they were going on a date Saturday night, and that made them practically a couple! He decided to employ some sort of prop to distract the prying eyes, and gathered a few drawings together; ostensibly to ask her if she wanted to use any of them for her assignment.
At lunchtime, the covered halls around the canteen were crowded with young hens staying out of the rain, preening and clucking anxiously to each other. Their sharp, judgmental eyes were alert for anything that could be picked apart. “Here comes that crazy artist with his briefcase!”
“Omigod, can you believe what he’s wearing?” Feathers ruffled disdainfully.
“Look, he’s talking to Michelle!” Little chicks gathered and craned their necks to see. They flocked in a cluster, cackling behind their hands in consternation. This would give them something to peck at for a long time!
“Hi Michelle, I have some drawings for your new assignment.” Marty said not-too-loudly, and quickly opened his briefcase like a traveling salesman displaying his wares. She sized him up regally, knowing the ruse was unnecessary, and simply an excuse to be in her company. After all, she had to maintain decorum in the presence of the court. Instead, she threw caution to the wind, which was blowing the rain sideways, now.
“Hi Marty, what have you got there?” She sidled around next to him and leaned in to look at the drawings. She was lightly pressing her arm against his, shoulder to shoulder, shivering a little, and tilting her head intimately for a better look. Marty resisted the urge to put his arm around her, but the body language was unmistakable. In the surrounding mass of gawking students, Marty could hear the blustery wind blowing through their open mouths as they gaped at the scandalous spectacle. He felt like Michelangelo showing off his Sistine Chapel, but they were just some corny scribbles about animals.
The school grapevine interrupted its regularly scheduled programming: “We have breaking news at the canteen! Former Homecoming Princess caught in a tryst with Crazy Artist Guy! Details at 11!!” Marty held his head high, to demonstrate that he had worked hard with his blow drier, and feathered his bangs dutifully in fluffy tribute. He didn’t feel like he belonged at the canteen court, but as the jester he had a right to be there… temporarily. He had a date with Michelle! He felt like making that announcement to really give them something to squawk about, but he knew such a thing would be tantamount to social suicide.
All week, he looked forward to journalism class, and the play on Saturday. Every evening, he thought about calling Michelle, but Mike advised that would make him seem too eager. Instead, he tried to write more poems as an outlet for his turgid emotions. It felt as though he was holding on for dear life, and would soon be swept away. Mike came with him after school to pick out a nice suit, and the little gay man who helped them made Marty laugh about dressing up. He seemed to know exactly why he was there, and what kind of suit he needed for the occasion. Damned if he wasn’t right, though.
“You look bitchin’ in your new threads, dude!” Mike whistled sharply for encouragement.
“You’re a catch, all right,” the little gay man said with a wink.
Marty looked doubtful. “That’s cool, but what will Michelle think?”
“She’ll love it, man!” Mike slapped him on the back as they got back in the Apollo. “Chicks dig fine clothes, and besides,” he dug in his ribs for emphasis, “You won’t be wearing them for long!”
Marty blushed despite his bravado, and happily drove home. Was he really happy? He didn’t know… he always thought happiness was something invented by advertisers so they could sell him stuff. In his brief but profound experience in life, happiness was an affliction that could only be soothed by the balm of sorrow.