Drucilla--a new student a year ago--was a natural beauty I might-a got the jones for, except for her hair. No, I had nothing against dreadlocks, nor was I prejudiced against blonds. It's just that my sister was blond, and a guy's not inclined to the get the jones for his sister.
Last spring, Drucilla needed a shovel to dig her art into the orchard. In the course of fetching a shovel, we talked creativity. Said she didn't force things, open to the will of her materials, open to the will of powers she couldn't begin to comprehend. Walking back and forth across campus--her creative process required an expanding arsenal of grounds tools--I was so taken by her take on creativity, I decided to take her under my wing.
Last summer Drucilla worked kids camp. Every other day I'd steal her away so we could talk creativity--talk like there was no tomorrow. Oh, what progress I made with my Grasshopper that hot summer. It was all, creative free spirits do this; fools do that. One of my best lectures that summer was one I called, Why One Must Hold Onto The Kid In Oneself If One Wants To Hold Onto Ones Creative Powers. Then again, every lecture I ended with, "No, Drucilla, you want to kill the creative spirit in you, just go the way of adult."
Of course, now it was Fall Semester, and other progressions were afoot. The master/grasshopper relationship, like art, involved the drawing of lines, and I'd been drawing a line the last couple of weeks--steering clear of Drucilla altogether. Why? Because when Master sees love pouring out of Grasshopper's googily eyes--pouring out like there were more tomorrows, Master gets scared.
"Awesome shed," Drucilla said now, peering in the door of my shack. "Can I have a tour?"
"There's not much to tour," I said, plopping the shakes on my roof. "You can pretty much see everything without even stepping in."
Drucilla stepped in. "Anton, come inside. I have good news."
"Good news?" I said, climbing down my ladder.
Instead of stepping into my shack, I stopped out front, held both doors open to let maximum light inside. "What good news?"
Drucilla eyed me like a girl eyes chocolate. "Anton, I've given it much thought, and I've decided to let you sleep with me."
"Jeez, Drucilla, that's nice of you. But, see, I'm way too old for you. I don't think a relationship between us would work."
"Relationship? Hah! Who said anything about a relationship?"
I didn't say anything.
"Look, Anton, this is about the fun two free spirits can share. Not about the jail cell two fools have to share."
OK, so maybe it was just lust I'd seen pouring out of Grasshopper's eyes.
"Sorry," I said, raising my shoulders, "I can't do that."
"You don't want to have sex with me?"
"Of course I want to have sex with you. Look at you. What guy wouldn't? But I don't do what I want. I do what's wise."
Drucilla looked at me as if I wasn't wise.
"I am too wise!!" Oops, that didn't sound wise. "Look, Drucilla, wise for me is involving myself in primary, monogamous, long term relationships only. It's the only way both parties can realize the growth that comes from that powerful bond."
"That's not wise; that's work. I just want to have fun. Come on, Anton, just because you're old doesn't mean you have to be a prude."
I opened my mouth to knock Grasshopper down to size, but then remembered; I was the master here. Before I could think of something masterly, Drucilla hit my forearm with her forearm. "C'mon," she said. "We're both consenting adults. What's the big deal?"
I wanted to say: 'You're the consenting child; I'm the non-consenting adult.' Instead I said, "Sorry Drucilla, I'm just not put together that way. I'm sure there's tons of boys on campus who'd jump at the chance of jumping your bones, but I'm not one of them."
Drucilla folded her arms under her ample breasts. "I don't want boys. I want a man."
Isn't that how it goes though; a guy spends all summer telling a girl how much of a kid he is. Fall comes round, and she mistakes him for a man.
Then again, one can't be a kid all the time.
"Drucilla, sometimes I wish I could just behave like a boy, throw responsibility to the wind, dive in and have sex for the fun of it. A relationship is always a struggle--a maintenance sinkhole. But, see, I've got my beliefs, my philosophies, and I have not yet managed to dumb myself down enough to behave contrary to them."
"Sex is sex, Anton. Why choose the sex that comes with hard labor?"
"Because hard-labor sex has the potential of giving a return on your investment. Casual sex can only result in loss."
"No. It's exactly the opposite. In a relationship both parties are chained. In a fling both parties retain their freedom and independence. Retaining my freedom and independence is not a loss. It's realizing victory."
"Be careful in your conquests, Drucilla."
"I practice safe sex."
"I don't mean that. I mean sex between individuals is the melding of souls. See, Drucilla, the men you choose to sleep with, to some extent you will become. So it stands to reason; all the women those men have formerly slept with, to some extent you will become."
Drucilla didn't say anything.
"It's your choice, Drucilla. A monogamous relationship is the melding of souls. Casual sex in the diffusion of souls."
I don't think Drucilla grasped much of that. She just shook her head, said, "What a terrible trap you've set for yourself. You won't have sex unless it's in a relationship. Yet you don't get into relationships because they are--as we all know--maintenance sinkholes. What a sad and lonely life you must lead."
"I'm not sad or lonely. I feel good about myself. And I feel good about myself because I'm proud of my track record so far in life. Sure, I've made some mistakes. But not many. And what few mistakes I've made I've learned mightily from them."
"That's the trouble with this school; it would be a lot more fun if everyone wasn't a prude."
Drucilla pushed me aside, stormed out of my shack. I followed her across campus trying to make peace. Followed her to the brink of the orchard before I stopped, let her storm into the orchard.
Oh, it's hard on Master when he loses his Grasshopper.
Or, was there time for one last lesson? I cupped hand to mouth, yelled, "Oh, ya, Drucilla, way mature; going out of your way to steer clear of me."
Or, how about this lesson: "That's the trouble with this school; it would be a lot more fun if everyone wasn't a drama queen."
I looked down at my workboots. When I started working at the college, I thought, how rich; these visual artists turning their insides out. What I didn't see was all the collateral offal I'd take in the face.
I looked up to ask the gods, 'What next?' But I saw a black hole up there, so I decided not to ask.
****
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