The Chronology of Water - Lidia Yuknavitch [75]
“The same,” he said.
“I’ve been swimming with Kathy Acker,” I said, trying quite hard to impress him.
“Who is Kathy Acker?”
Goose egg. Why had I said that?
“My father was in the C.I.A. He died of a heart attack when I was three. Well at least that’s the official story. He was 33, so who knows.”
That was a good one. I had to pause and pretend to drink my latte. “33. That was jesus’ age.” I have no idea why I said that. Why in the world did I bring up jesus? Idiot. Then I said, “My father … my father …”
“Your father what?” he asked.
“My father was abusive.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What did he do?”
To tell or not to tell. How did I get so quickly to the heart of my wounds? What had just happened?
“Sexual,” is all I could manage. Then I wished I was a part of the shrubbery or tableware. Idiotidiotidiotidiot. Why don’t you just slit open your own belly like a caught steelhead and spill it out on the table, moron.
“That sucks,” he said. And then, “I hope something karmically fucked happened to him?”
Right answer. I laughed. I laughed kind of hard. “Kind of,” I said. And we were able to move past the blood clot I’d presented between us.
“Excellent then,” he said.
We switched from lattes to wine.
It wasn’t just man thing that impressed me. It was his story. How he’d escaped Reno and moved to San Sebastian, Spain, where he briefly witnessed a series of ETA events - the armed Basque nationalist and separatist organization. How he later lived in Italy where he coached a not very good Italian American football team with guys named Mauro Sassaligo, Ugo Spera, and Giacamo Piredu. How he’d interview members of the Earth Liberation Front, how he’d cyber-pirated Bill Gates Microsoft.edu. How he came back to the states - the Northwest, to be exact - to be a writer. Then he said something remarkable.
“In Italy I read about Ken Kesey teaching at U of O. So I applied to the university creative writing program and was accepted. We moved to Eugene. But the Kesey workshop had already happened. I did meet some cool writing teachers though.”
“Really,” I said. No shit? I got kind of excited but played it smooth and nonchalant. This was my opening to impress. Ahem. “You know, I was in that Kesey year long workshop. Funny, huh.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I know. I think I saw you in the creative writing department hall after that. Did you have one side of your head shaved back then?”
“What?” I definitely needed more wine.
“Did you have…a very unusual head back then?” He was staring at my hair.
Man alive. What are the odds? “Well, yes. Yes I did.” I slugged what was left of my merlot.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why the hell did you do that to your head?”
“Suave,” I said, laughing.
“No, I don’t mean to sound like asshole, your hair is beautiful. It’s just, it looked kind of…”
“Severe?” I offered.
“Severe,” he agreed.
Why did I do that. Why did I. I got butkus. Then it just sort of came out of my mouth as, “I think I did it because I was hurting. I think I wanted to mark that hurt on the outside. I think I wanted to be someone else. But I didn’t know who yet.” It almost sounded aware.
“I see,” he said, “and who are you now?”
Goddamn this guy just goes straight for the kill. Aren’t guys his age supposed to be shallow insensitive arrogants? So I said, “I’m your teacher.” We both cracked up. The kind of laughter that reveals a gaping fault line big enough to drive a U-haul through.
Then it just got ridiculous - I couldn’t stop watching his lips move and I couldn’t shut down the electricity creeping up my spine and then it became impossible to maintain the teacher student charade when he took off of his sun glasses for a moment and I took off mine and I swear he performed some kind of sly guy Marlon Brando like from Streetcar eye hoodoo on me. Still, I gave him my written comments on his work like a professional should and sent him away. But he already knew my weakness.
“ Um, Dr. Lidia? Don’t you need a ride home?”
I know you are not used to women saying this, but I wanted him to drive down into me and eat me alive.