Page 27 - WTP Vol. IX #9

life?” she says from her barstool.
“Is that what you’re thinking about? Done with that,” he says.
“You’re not doing it anymore? What happened?”
“People get tired of themselves. I guess I got tired of goats.”
She glances at his handsome, weathered face, afraid if she looks too hard Clayborn might disappear like
a mirage. Surprising her, he breaks into a tempered smile causing her to have additional memories of the two of them from long ago... Tanya, nee Tom then when as freshman they roomed together, and she often sought him out in the dining hall because she was shy. She always tried to be his ever-considerate, ideal roommate, making sure to read late at night with a booklight, or to listen to music wearing headphones or never on too loud, envious of all the friends he had, knowing herself to be reserved to the point of near-secrecy, never big on parties like him. Dave, who spent no time on his appearance, going days without shaving, though she thought he was
so good-looking even then. And she, always trying
so hard to be well-groomed, the honest truth self- consciously fastidious, coming in from the shower with her lean, athletic body still dripping, toweling herself off in front of the mirror as she gazed with uneasy, dysphoric feelings even then, and catching him... sometimes catching Dave watching her from behind. It was not unusual in these passing moments to feel the electric charge of his desire, certain it was there. And she could never forget that one instance he came up behind her when she was just in her towel and he was in his boxers, for several seconds standing close enough to hear his breathing as if he wanted them both to feel her nakedness, and she was so sure he was about to touch her, she could not move. But he did not touch her, instead reaching past
her for her blow drier which she had started using since she began growing her hair over her ears, and, after making a whirring noise through his lips that was frightening, he handed her the blow drier, all but ordering her back to the bathroom to dry her wet hair before she caught cold.
“You still smoke it, bud?” Clayborn says, bringing her back to the present.
“Marijuana?”
Rather than answering, Clayborn reaches inside his warmup jacket and pulls out a rolled joint. She says she has not smoked in a while, but he hands her the joint anyway, lighting it for her with his Bic. They pass it back and forth a couple times, holding their breaths before exhaling plumes of smoke. “Be care- ful, bud, you don’t want to get too wasted,” Clayborn laughs, and Tanya, unable to hold in this lungful of smoke lets it out with a burst. Soon she is pouring them each another drink. She makes Dave’s with a splash of water again, and, after a few more minutes, they move with their drinks to the couch. They sit close enough to keep passing the joint between them. After finishing it, they both sit with their heads rest- ing back and eyes closed. Tanya wonders if the room is spinning for her visitor the way it is for her. “I’ve never been to New Orleans,” she hears Clayborn say, and with a little difficulty she reopens her eyes.
“Why not?” she says hazily.
“Beats me, bud. I ought to go sometime. Upstate New York, no thanks.” His talk turns to his dairy farm
then. The last time they had seen each other she had expressed her admiration for him, how in college it sounded like a bunch of crazy talk, yet he had made his dream come true. But dairy farming no longer has any importance to him, he says with his head tilted back on the couch. “It all catches up with you. Twelve- hour milking cycles. Production shortages. Illness.
All kinds of competition now. That’s the killer. Not
to mention a while ago I had PETA protesters invade my land. Hell, I loved every last one of those animals. Bud, we got any more of those chips?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “But I can get some cheese and crackers if you like. I’ve got some cheddar,” then trying to strike an ironic tone, “but I’m afraid no goat.”
“No, you don’t have to go to trouble.” “It’s okay. I’ll have some, too.”
(continued on next page)
20