Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
By John S. TweryThe alarm interrupted an otherwise perfect sleep. That uneasy feeling lingering between my stomach and my eyes followed me to the shower. The mundane routine of getting ready for class seemed intensified by the pool of cold air that greeted me at the doorstep. Any hope of a good start would be delayed until my car warmed up. My cold breath fogged up the inside of the window; but all was well, I did not need to see for another mile or so.
As my car thawed out, so did my mind. I quickly found a radio station that would keep me from veering into oncoming traffic. Cigarette after cigarette, I kept idle until I reached school. The parking lot was less populated than normal, I guess I arrived a little early.
While walking to class, I always read license plates and bumper stickers. I am amazed at some of the shit that is smeared on cars. This usually provides some amusement, along with frustration, that will help me vent whatever ill will I have. Somehow, without fail, it manifests itself in the form of Liberty University. Across from Harvard [St.] there sits this colony of clones. Their cloning is different from cloning in a lab. It is done in churches, classrooms, and through isolation. Any joy accumulated to this point is lost at the mere site of that school. I try to look away, but like a train wreck I look to see all that is horrible.
So, to combat this illness I do what I always do: sit smoking cigarettes and watching tight jeans go by. Classes continue their normal pace, and so do I; floating along until my sentence is up. When I'm done, I linger a bit and chat with friends, and today was no different. I stayed until a sudden urge to leave crept in my stomach. As I walked to my car, I slowly leaked the days information I had absorbed. Like trained monkeys we line up to exit the parking lot. I wonder at times if they have names and faces other than Muddy Jeep, Pretentious OBX, and yellow coupe hottie.
At home I find the comfort of lunch and television awaiting me. Nothing worth watching was on so I watched for an hour or two until I passed out from shear boredom. I awoke in a state of panic, not from an alarm, but from a telephone. This mild vertigo passed once I reached the phone and found my friend on the other end. This urgent message turned out to be a notification of social drinking tonight: dollar highballs at a local restaurant.
This was our normal Wednesday night ritual. Around ten to fifteen people drinking until one of us embodies all that is evil with drinking. We do this to get through the week ahead. My tribute to asinine behavior was just a few weeks ago, so most likely I would not be the punch line of the week. It somehow became six o'clock, and with little to show for a day, I left for the bar.
As I arrived, the anticipation of comradery was by no means pressing, but it did provide that hopeful optimism lost earlier. This bar was like any other bar. Once you arrive everything is moving at a blurring pace. Even the people in line, just standing, seem to add to the tempo of disorder. Before I am adjusted, it takes me in, and I am scanning for my friends. It is like de-boarding a plane, standing in an airport terminal looking for the next gate to enter. Space is tight and I move towards the bar to wait for my friends.
Elbowroom becomes an ever-changing battleground. With people leaning in and ordering, their presence becomes an increasing nuisance. Standing there waiting, their breath is an embodiment of sour beer and rancid milk. I was able to survive this torture by turning up my glass of whiskey, adding to the collective stench directed at the bartender.
As the time passed I was becoming mildly comfortable at the bar. It had been twenty minutes since I arrived, and I recognized no one. This was odd, especially for Lynchburg. I continued to order whiskey by the double and sit waiting.
Next to me was a girl, no more than twenty-one, with two friends who looked to be a couple. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was quite attractive. Mary, that was her name, wasn't the most attractive woman I'd seen, but she was in the top ten percentile at the bar. With whiskey confidence I was able to strike up a conversation. She turned towards me exposing her Liberty sweatshirt. Most nights I'd hold my tongue and be a gentleman. Well, tonight was not one of those nights.Our talk quickly turned into a debate. I was on the offensive, trying at times to be so, and she was cornered to defend everything she was taught to believe. With each round of drinks the bricks of her foundation crumbled. Drunken logic prevailed, as it always does. The beauty of drunken logic is that no matter how wrong you are, if spoken loud enough, fallacy becomes fact. The final point of my tirade came when I called her miss founded virtues and example of all that was wrong in religion.
This remark was to draw blood. My intension was not malicious but only to hear such a response. At that moment I saw Mary, this sweet innocent girl, turn into a completely different Mary. Her body language seemed to open up. She no longer presented herself as a waspy socialite. Her demeanor displayed a fresh zeal. It was the look when inhibition is lost and a world unknown and mysterious is brought to the foreground.
I had broken her. Mary was now enthusiastically ignorant. Instead of dictating, I began to guide our conversation. I sat there and continued to tell her the truth. The night progressed into conversations of a lude manner until we decided to leave. Apparently she wasn't through with me. I paid a tab that looked more like a phone number and vanished. We left so fast her friends didn't notice, and Mary didn't care.
The drive to my place was full of dirty jokes, off-key singing, and playful touching. As I pulled up to my place the thought of sex was flooding my body. Mary hung on my arm as we entered the front door. The lights were off, but a streetlight outlined the furniture. She asked to see my room. We entered hastily, and that was enough for her. Separated enough from the society she knew only intensified the loss of her inhibition.
Soon we were on my bed. Clothes were clumsily shed from one another. The unadulterated passion between us seemed to take a step back when she told me this was her first time. We soon broke through that barrier and continued to roll around on the sheets. Her hot liquor breath grew more and more intoxicating. Soon, the climax of the evening landed on her chest. I was flooded with euphoria while I stared at her crucifix that hung from her neck now stained in a pool of my hatred. A look of regret washed over Mary as her panting subsided.
I reached for something to clean her off with, and I grabbed (unknowingly) her sweatshirt. Eye contact was lost between the two of us. Of course she said she had class in the morning and must be going. We got dressed and we left for campus. Mary was shivering the whole ride back. I dropped her off and left her. Mary walked away and didn't look back. I pulled out and drove home, for I too had class in the morning.
The nagging alarm would not bother me this time. I had no problem with the sickness today. The cold air seemed to pull its punch as I walked to my car. As I drove to class I reveled in the nights fortune. Glowing from conquest I entered an almost vacant lot. There I found myself again. I stood on the hill staring at the enemy and found my hatred tapering off. I kept picturing Mary walking to class with a fresh Scarlet letter embroidered on her chest.