"TALES FROM MEMORIAL UNION": THE STATUS REPORT

It has been six months since I have last updated this blogsite and I just wanted to take a few moments to give all of you an update.

The decision to release my novel Tales From Memorial Union within this fashion of a blogsite was no easy decision on my part as I had been writing and writing for many years, somewhat confidant that none of it would see the light of day. And yet, nearly two years ago, I had an epiphany and felt that despite my fears of abject rejection or even worse, complete non-interest, I would post the stories online and just go from there, allowing my stories, characters and most specifically my memories and emotions concerning my college years, to live and breathe outside of myself. Hopefully, and if you have even read only very little, I wish that the purity and efforts of my heart are evident.

When I last left off, I was posting installments or chapters of a story entitled "December Boys." a tale featuring the long wintry night of heartbreak and memories within memories of two young men, my alter ego Craig Hughes and his friend Rhett Brazelton, both nursing wounds inflicted by their respective relationships between Stephanie Deavitt and Amethyst Lessing.

The section that I had last posted from was truly the beginnings of a lengthy flashback detailing the Summer of 1988, when Rhett first met Amethyst during a Summer Philosophy course, which was loosely based upon a class I took myself during my college years.

The only reason that I had stopped presenting new installments was that I had NOTHING typed up to even release! I needed to go away and write for a spell and that is precisely what I did. I wrote and wrote and wrote, nearly filling up a brand new journal given to me by my two co-teachers for my birthday at the start of 2015.

Taking the time to write gave me a great opportunity to figure out not only how Rhett and Amethyst first met but just who was Amethyst in the first place as she was a character not based upon anyone that I had ever known. She was arriving to me out of thin air! Now that she is here, and is still revealing herself to me, I feel much more on firmer ground and ready to release more episodes to you.

But that's where the typing part comes in...

Yup, I have written quite A LOT and it is going to take considerable time to type it up and get it to you. First of all, there are the permutations of my own questionable handwriting as I will actually have to decipher what I have written. But then, there is always a bit of re-writing as part of this process, so that adds another variable to navigate.

But, what I am saying is that I'm not finished and I wish to release more but just remain patient with me...and besides, this extended period away may give you time to catch up if you have been at all interested. And furthermore, I realize that reading a chapter of something is much different than reading a film review or musical anecdote as written upon both of my other blogsites, Savage Cinema and Synesthesia, respectively.

Stay tuned, for I am hoping in 2016, to release much more of the story. THANK YOU ALL for any and all support you have given to me regarding any of my writing, but especially something so deeply personal to me.

Happy New Year to you!!

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART THIRTEEN: "LA CHANTEUSE"

LA CHANTEUSE

     By July, the informal meeting of the Fundamentals In Ethics study group were held in earnest twice weekly either within the confines of Der Rathskeller or surrounded by the open air of the Union Terrace. Where the meetings began with three sole members in mid-June, by midsummer, it would not be uncommon to witness up to as many as thirteen classmates huddled together and engulfed by a collection of papers, texts, refreshments and intense conversations which often disintegrated into bursts of laughter that bordered from jovial to downright maniacal due to the difficulty of the course work. By this time, the work load now included weekly mini term papers and would soon include an oral report or rather, what Professor Scarfe had decreed to be a “speech.” (Thankfully, that is depending upon whom you asked, exams were counted for very little in this class—even the percentage of actual attendance counted for more of one’s final grade as Scarfe had a stronger preference for participation than pointless regurgitation.)

     On one vehemently continuous downpour of a rainy evening, Rhett Brazelton, soaked to the skin just from racing into the Union after parking his Uncle’s car, shook his wet hair and entered Der Rathskeller to find several of the usual suspects bunkered in a corner. Ralph Ising, 20 year old Sophomore (undeclared). Young Lee, 19 year old Sophomore (English major). Cathy Joplin, 20 year old Junior (transfer student from UW Eau Claire, Women’s Studies major). Leslie Copeland, 19 year old Sophomore (undeclared). And finally, the two resident 21 year old Junior Liberal Arts majors, Marcus Ridenhour and Klaus Berkhoffer. The collective all greeted Rhett warmly, with raised glasses and the polish of Steely Dan flowing luxuriously from the jukebox.

     For a flash, Rhett’s astral brain contemplated the scenario in which friendships were so quickly and intensely formed only to dissolve at semester’s end. What combination of molecules were in place that somehow knew precisely which other molecules were needed to live and thrive and for such a finite period that it all felt natural or even pre-determined? Regardless of the duration, Rhett reminded himself that it was always good to know when people were happy to see you. Within the group, he had forged a nice reputation for himself with regards to his writing and his ability of taking such esoteric concepts and being able to re-frame them into something tangible. While Professor Scarfe never expressed as much in words to Rhett, his high marks on papers were all that needed to be said.  For his classmates, Rhett became a strong sounding board, offering suggestions whenever thoughts felt to be too muddled or incomplete or just plain bullshit. For himself, Rhett enjoyed hearing everyone’s ideas, especially as he was wrestling with his own and the often conflicts of opinions continuously forced him to really sharpen his understanding of the material. Returning to his thoughts of molecules, it was amazing to witness how symbiotic these relationships truly were, and in doing so, his spirit felt a brief lift.

     This rainy night was a Monday, which meant that this night was also Open Mic Night, when aspiring student performers, singers and musicians claimed the wooden stage for themselves to a mostly indifferent public. But, once in a blue moon, an individual was somehow able to cut through the din of alcohol infused frivolity and forge a connection. This night was one of those nights.

     After a couple of hours of studying and having reached the point of where not even one more idea could be forcefully inserted into their brains, the Ethics class study group decided to cast their work aside and actually experience Open Mic Night in earnest (and besides, nobody was terribly anxious to head back out into the rain just yet). As for this evening’s collection of aspiring performers, some were decent. Others, not so much. But thankfully, this night’s audience was more receptive than rowdy, therefore keeping a certain inattentive yet respectful warmth in the atmosphere. Once the Ethics study group heard four performers, the last of which was so somnambulant that two group members came dangerously close to falling asleep. “Man, that guy made James Taylor sound like Public Enemy,” groused Cathy Joplin to whomever was alert enough to hear her.

     “Uh oh…here comes one more,” uttered Marcus Ridenhour. “If she’s anything like the last one, toss me a blanket and I’ll just curl up right here.”

     “Shit yeah,” grumbled Ralph Ising in agreement while giving his arms a mighty stretch. “Who said that acoustic guitars had to be equated with narcolepsy?”

     “Just give her a chance,” offered Young Lee. “You just never know. What if we end up seeing the next Joni Mitchell?”

     “Or the next Sally Nicholson,” said Marcus.

     “Who’s that?”

     “Precisely my point.”

     Young chuckled softly. “Well played, sir. Even so, let’s not heckle.”

     “It wouldn’t be ethical,” Ralph interjected.

     “You know,” Cathy began to wonder openly and for obvious comic effect, “How could one heckle ethically?”

     “’The Ethical Heckler’?” quipped Ralph.

     “Sounds like a new ABC series,” joked Marcus.

     “Would that be on before or after ‘Doogie,’?” Ralph asked.

     “After,” Marcus answered. “Definitely after. ‘Doogie’ is the lead-in.”

     While Rhett was enjoying the banter, he politely shushed his friends as the next singer began to get settled upon the stage.

     The girl was waif like, as if she emerged from a Dickens novel. She practically screamed for a shawl, as her thin (though some would say “under-fed”) frame looked as if it was afflicted by a perpetual chill. So it was not to anyone’s surprise when she pulled a sweater from her guitar case before actually producing a guitar. She gingerly climbed upon the stool, crossing one skinny black tight covered leg over the other and after taking a few stray blonde strands and tucking them behind her ear, she fiddled with her guitar tunings momentarily. She soon cleared her throat and leaned closer to the microphone.

     “Bonjour!!!” she announced somewhat nervously but loudly enough to capture the full attention of the room. “Thank you…Merci beaucoups…,” she continued is her thick French accent. “Thank you for being here this evening or at least for choosing to stay dry with me in here instead of swimming with the fishes in the street outside. I appreciate you rating me so highly by not leaving.” She then elicited a warm chuckle, when combined with her accent, considerably elevated the audience’s attention. Noticing a flurry of heads and eyes turning to face her suddenly, the girl performed an exaggerated pop of her own eyes in mock surprise, causing herself to unleash a forceful guffaw into the microphone, which itself caused a shocking yet brief shriek of feedback. “Excuse moi!” she said demurely before bursting into another guffaw—this time, away from the microphone. “I have to say to you that that was much more feedback than I would have requested.” And as she continued to laugh her loud, boisterous guffaw, the entire crowd of Der Rathskeller became completely charmed.

     “Bon soir!” My name is Karine and as you can tell from my accent, I am from Wisconsin!”

     More enthusiastic laughter from the crowd.

     “I’m joking, of course. Really, I am from Montreal and what brought me here to this University in Madison is…oh well…it’s a story to be true. This first song that I will sing is a sad song. So, very, very sad. It is about a man. A lonely man who goes upon along journey. He goes here. He goes there…and it is all so terribly sad because he discovers that nothing is ever quite as it seems.”

     “Good grief!” Cathy expressed though a lengthy exhale of disdain. “I really can’t wait to hear this now. Oh and did she happen to mention that the song was sad?”

     To be fair to Karine from Montreal, Rhett felt increasingly annoyed with the wisecracks emanating from his friends. Yes, it was mostly due to their fatigue that their filters had set themselves into the “OFF” position. But there was something rather flighty, yet fetching, about this girl who would soon be performing, an act, truth be told, no one of the members of his study group would be brave enough to try themselves, so why not squash the rudeness and just listen?

     The first strum of Karine’s guitar was crisp and fragile, instantly creating a mood of longing. By the time Karine began to sing, the audience Der Rathskeller became entranced. While Karine sang entirely in French, her song was instantly received by her audience just as she had described. The melancholy permeated the room like a light, descending mist—almost pleasantly cool but nothing to drown inside of. For Rhett, he was filled with an unquestionable yearning that surfaced from who knows where. Regardless, the feeling existed ad it made his heart gently ache as he watched and listened to Karine.

     Was it different for girls?  Rhett wondered to himself that very question as he pondered if girls responded to the sound and tenor of a boy’s voice in the same way that a boy responded to a girl’s. Rhett thought about how Craig was mesmerized by the tone of Mariah Esposito’s rich, low voice. And now, Rhett felt himself taken in and touched in the deepest chambers of his heart by the timbre of Karine’s singing. While he didn’t want to resort to well-worn clichés about Karine having the voice of an angel, it would be truthful to note that a description of that quality was not terribly far off. There was a purity to her voice. An effortless, unaffected clarity of compassion and empathy yet so knowing of the pitfalls contained within emotional wounds. In a way, Karine’s voice reminded Rhett of someone’s like Karen Carpenter’s but without the goopy arrangements and in French, of course. Karine’s voice was direct and honest. Not even one note sounded false and her audience could connected fully. Rhett was convinced that he was the most touched as he was so swept away in the song’s lush embrace.

     And then, the song ended.

     The currency of quiet in a place like Der Rathskeller is often unattainable and sometimes, impossible. But, on this rainy night, the Union was pin drop silent. Whatever musical alchemy had occurred over the last several minutes held a magical afterglow, as if some form of pixie dust hung in mid-air for a moment before falling to the ground. As for Rhett, he felt that the silence was actually part of Karine’s song itself.  

      Then came the applause. Fully enthusiastic, not as grudgingly polite as responses tended to be on Open Mic nights. Karine beamed at her audience and then, once again, came the explosion of loud, hearty laughter, which then made the audience, including Rhett and his friends, applaud harder and laugh along with everyone else. If Rhett knew how to place his two fingers inside of his mouth and whistle, he would have done so.

     “WOW!! MERCI!!!!” exuded Karine, blushing from the approval and looking around the room at all of the faces. Rhett hoped for a split second that she would catch his gaze and hopefully receive his message that her message was received in turn.

     “With that, I am thinking that I should quit while I am …in front? Is that correct? No? Maybe one song is enough,” she teased to a round of “boos.” Karine laughed again and then said, “Well fine, as you have requested, I do have one more.” The crowd’s voices then began to soften.  “This next song is a little like the first one, as it is about a man—not the same man, I assure you—but this man is all alone on a boat in the sea, under the skies, the sun and the stars. But he is a lonely, sad man who begins to realize that nothing is quite as it seems.”

     After a momentary chuckle to herself, Karine, just as before, began singing entirely in French and crafted from the same wellspring of sorrow and delivered through her exquisite voice.

     Rhett Brazelton was even more entranced the second time around, mentally pinching himself of his good fortune at being a part of this audience on this rainy night with Karine’s voice and guitar as the guide through the storm.

Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART TWELVE: "NINETEEN, CLUMSY AND SHY" (2nd section)

NINETEEN, CLUMSY AND SHY
(2nd section)

     For the remainder of that first week, life inside of Fundamentals In Ethics continued upon its fascinating yet intense path. As with past semesters, Professor Scarfe ensured that the reading material remained dense in content if not mountainous in quantity. Rhett, with his astral brain eager to soak up new forms of pretzel logic ready to be studied, wound and unwound Moralists, Consequentialists, Egoists, Nihilists and Hedonists. Utilitarianism. Epicureanism. Altruistic Hedonism. All of this and more fit perfectly inside of Rhett’s wheelhouse as he read and at times, willingly re-red class assignments. For whatever inexplicable reasons, all of this arcane and definitely difficult material felt natural, as if he was reading an obscure language and yet was able to translate it to himself. However this is when he mused over the material solely to himself.

     For Rhett, all feels of arduousness purely existed within the classroom itself when Professor Scarfe’s meticulous knowledge cast an immense shadow, making it difficult to emerge and distinguish oneself positively. As with his classmates, the professor’s sneak attacks of calling on seemingly unsuspecting students remained a tremendous obstacle and soon became a source of frustration for Rhett. All of the concepts that made sense inside of his brain when reading the assignments at Uncle Denny’s, either outdoors in the yard or indoors with his head between the stereo speakers when he played his Uncle’s Traffic or Jefferson Airplane albums, all felt to phase into the ether when in the classroom. Professor Scarfe still rattled him and when called upon, it was as if language itself failed him, like his brain was on strike, determined to not send the correct information to Rhett’s mouth. When the information was indeed finally sent, the content emerged as gobbledygook. If only Rhett could just write papers and submit them silently, then Professor Scarfe would be able to easily see that not only is he grasping the content competently, that even the professor could spot a particularly strong astral brain at work. Philosophical brothers-in-arms or at least, Rhett could one day convince the man to compose a recommendation letter for grad school. But for now, he had to get through this class and he would not accomplish this feat through readings and the writing of papers alone. He had to learn how to think on his feet within a public forum. He had to find his voice for how else could he even conceptualize being a Philosophy professor if he was unable to address his instructor now? And for the remainder of June, Rhett’s difficulties began to feel increasingly daunting at best and discouraging at worst.

     And then, there was the matter of Ms. Lessing.

     Amethyst Lessing, whose first name Rhett would discover through a covert peek at Professor Scarfe’s class roster, only continued to mesmerize. Before each class officially began, Rhett anxiously awaited the sound of those rusty, dusty cowboy boots to aggressively march down the hallway into the classroom,, where he would then find himself lost in the sight of her striding across the room to plant herself in the very same seat she claimed on that first day. Amethyst Lessing was unquestionably a strikingly attractive young woman but the aura that surrounded her felt to be especially formidable, if not impenetrable. Rhett noticed, that unlike himself and other classmates, amethyst made no attempts to ingratiate herself to anyone. She always entered and exited the classroom alone and brusquely, she held no friendly conversations with anyone and when she did engage during class, she tended to come off as either brittle or combative. And so, everyone granted her a wide berth. But, Rhett could not help himself if he tried, for the sight and presence of Amethyst Lessing captivated him so.

     Under normal circumstances, Rhett would have avoided an individual as seemingly unapproachable as Amethyst but somehow, he surprisingly found himself drawn into her atmosphere. During class, he often caught himself stealing long glances at her as if she were a scientific curiosity that begged to be studied because honestly, did they really make people who looked like this?! Other times, he even found himself unable to look at her, for her beauty was so piercing that she seemed to not be designed for the eyes of mere mortals to withstand. Her hair was so thick and luxurious. The rich details of her face only continued to reveal themselves. And her figure…well…that was spectacular. I contrast, her expressions were so harsh and nearly one month into the course, Rhett was certain that he had never seen her smile or at least elicit a grin. Essentially, Amethyst Lessing was impossible to read, her veneer of perpetual malcontent notwithstanding. Rhett had no knowledge of where she came from in order to attend class and he furthermore had no idea at all of where she went after she left the room, with the sound of her rusty, dusty cowboy boots marching out of the door, down the hallway and down Bascom Hill. Did she have a summer job? Where did she live? What were her interests? None of those basic questions, and others like them, provided any discernable answers as Amethyst did not seem to have any friends—also the truth of which was unknown but it was all Rhett could even begin to assume, because whatever walls Amethyst created around herself felt to be ten feet thick as not one classmate approached her, let alone spoke to or with her. “Perhaps she’s just painfully shy,” Rhett wondered. “It’s clear that she is not going to make any moves in order to ingratiate herself to anyone else. So maybe, it’s up to someone else, specifically me, to make that first move.”

     Just as Professor Scarfe predicted to himself based upon semesters and years past, the students of his summer Ethics course, banded together to form a study group that congregated in Der Rathskeller. For Rhett, joining the group was a no-brainer as he knew that even a brain as astral as his would certainly not be so arrogantly foolish to refuse any input of understanding from his peers. And to meet at the Union—again, a no brainer. Since Amethyst was not a part of the group in any way, why not invite her to join, Rhett thought to himself. She leaves the classroom so quickly that she has never once been privy to any post-class discussions during which the study group was originally formed.

     Despite her impassable demeanor, Rhett hopefully began to muse that perhaps Amethyst Lessing was more approachable than she appeared. Maybe she was so uncomfortable in this class that maybe (again) she needed some solidarity, some friends…or just a friend. It was decided. Rhett Brazelton would muster the courage to ask Amethyst if she would be interested in joining the study group. No strings. Just putting it out there as an invitation as well as a possibility. His plan was to somehow excuse himself from class before her so he could speak to her outside—and preferably without the audience of his classmates. The possibility of at long last being able to speak to the girl who so supremely unearthed him filled Rhett with an intense anticipation. He actually began to feel a bit of an inner swagger along with his fleet of butterflies, so much so, he almost began to see the inevitable meeting as a sought out challenge. If anyone could melt the ice around Amethyst Lessing, it would, and only could be, Rhett Brazelton!

     At the end of June, just before the 4^th of July holiday break, the day arrived. Rhett rehearsed what he had planned to pitch to Amethyst countless times, therefore he knew what he wished to express fluently. If captured and tortured by nefarious evil-does, as if in an action thriller, never would he reveal to anyone else the contents of what he wished to say for it was too personal and private for others to discover. Besides, if he were to be successful, then wouldn’t he look as if he developed a certain magical touch in making contact with such an impossible figure?

     As always, Rhett’s inner radar sprung to attention at the first click-clack of the rusty, dusty cowboy boots, which entered the class carrying the remainder of Amethyst to her preferred perch at the far end of the room. Rhett was struck dumb even greater than before, partially due to his own elevating nervousness and mostly due to the fact that never had Amethyst Lessing ever appeared as heart stopping before this day. A long, flowing floral print skirt glided through the breeze, transfixing Rhett’ eyes which followed the skirt upwards to see Amethyst adorned with a linen over shirt that resembled a baseball jersey, which surreptitiously covered a low cut white tank top. She took her seat, removed her sunglasses and brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear as the rest of her glorious hair rested in a bundle on the top of her head like a crown. Once she placed her notebook readings and pen upon her desk reading herself for the demands of the next 75 minutes, Rhett remembered to exhale.

     Perhaps due to the impending holiday, Professor Scarfe seemed to be in an unusually languid mood as he recounted his own beginnings with Philosophy and ethics. It was a more informal day, and while the students appreciated this rare glimpse into the Professor’s personal life—like hearing a superhero’s origin story first hand—they also knew not to become too relaxed for one never knew precisely when or how one would be called upon. Yet, throughout it all, on this day, Rhett Brazelton stole one glance after another of Amethyst Lessing, hoping to burn the image onto the hard drive of his memory.

     Once Professor Scarfe officially dismissed the class and bid his students a safe holiday, Rhett, with back pack completely filled and closed, quietly bolted from the classroom to wait for Amethyst’s arrival outside on Bascom Hill. Outdoors, with a steady breeze that offered slight relief from the rising humidity, Rhett waited patiently while pretending to scour through his back pack for some missing or lost item. Thankfully, none of Rhett’s new friends stopped by to visit—either reading his silent messages to not approach today or they were all ready to begin their respective holiday breaks—moves all of which he appreciated in these highly anticipatory moments.

     Then she appeared.

     Amethyst Lessing stepped out of the School Of Education building and instantly squinted in the blinding sunlight. Just as she was about to place her sunglasses onto her face, she spotted Rhett kneeling by his back pack and rapidly marched in is direction. And Rhett noticed nervously, that she did not look as if she was approaching him in a friendly manner whatsoever. If he possessed the speed of Carl Lewis, he would’ve taken off right then.

     “Why do you keep looking at me?”

     Like an undercover spy unfortunately discovered at the crucial late point of an espionage film, Rhett Brazelton stood frozen when faced with Amethyst Lessing’s vehement confrontation, for that is exactly what this moment was. Rhett was caught and she faced him head on.

     In a perfect world, Rhett would have taken this moment and just have explained the truth. That Amethyst was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in the entirety of his life and he only wished that he knew how to approach her to just ask her for a date or even to just share a drink and some popcorn at the Union, study group or not. But, in a perfect world we do not live in, therefore making the truth impossible to speak. So, what Rhett actually did say, and feebly at that, was the following: “Uh…um…you looked familiar and I…uh…just haven’t been able to…uh…place you…?”

     “I have never seen you before this class began, which means that there is nothing familiar about me whatsoever!”

     Oh, if she only knew, Rhett thought to himself, hoping to prove the fallacy of her statement but he remained quiet for fear she might publicly throttle him.

     Amethyst, with one final death ray blast from her eyes, exclaimed a definitive, “Now…STOP looking at me!” and then, turned upon her heel and marched down Bascom Hill leaving Rhett Brazelton thunderstruck and immobilized on a warm and humid summer’s midday at the end of June. 

Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART ELEVEN: "NINETEEN. CLUMSY AND SHY" (1st section)

NINETEEN, CLUMSY AND SHY
(1st section)

     Even before Rhett’s official new summer schedule began, he immediately understood why everyone he spoke with feel so hopelessly in love with Madison in the summer time. It was as if the sharp decline of the student body allowed the campus and the city itself to breathe and to also luxuriously present itself at its most inviting and lustrous. When he wasn’t taking advantage of a few lazy days lounging around Uncle Denny’s house and exploring his vast record collection, Rhett strolled around with a languid stride that he typically did not have the time for during the school year. There was no firing gun to begin the season in a frenzy. It was more like phasing into the next chapter of his life.

     The healthy seasonal glow remained in the atmosphere around him even after his summer school classes began. The Sartre class was perhaps a tad too dry for Rhett’s personal satisfaction but he wasn’t one to usually complain about those sorts of matters (however, on one torturous occasion, after enduring the vomitus arrogance of a particularly fatuous Professor, Rhett would write on an end of semester class survey, “…knowing that this man remains in your employ seriously depletes my image of this University.”). On the contrary, Rhett’s Fundamentals In Ethics course was the game changer that he had secretly been hoping for via three distinct levels. First, was the impassable veneer of his new instructor.           

     The forty-ish Professor Stewart Scarfe, with his medium length just beginning to gray at the temples hair, medium build which remained fit from swimming laps three days a week and the stereotypical casual yet professorial wardrobe of blazer, button down shirt (always ironed) and necktie undone by the collar, blue jeans and sturdy loafers, was certainly a non-threatening sight. What was unnerving was his cold, emotionless stare which seemed to burrow a hole clean through whomever happened to be the recipient of his hard gaze. This combined with his tendency to address students solely by last name and with a formal “Mr.“ or “Ms.” preceding the name would have been intimidating enough. The most insurmountable aspect of Professor Scarfe’s Fundamentals In Ethics course was his formidable mind.

     Stewart Scarfe was simply one of those rare individuals who seemed to exist about five minutes into the future when compared to those who happened to be around him (most specifically, his students). The sharpness of his intellect was evident even when he casually allowed his students to debate each other, moments that sometimes exploded into full blown arguments that he always knew how to instinctively halt before tensions eroded the purposefulness. When he called on a student, in his soft, clipped voice, it felt like a bolt of lightning had miraculously discovered your whereabouts indoors! Many a student had been struck dumb and frozen solid when called upon by Professor Stewart Scarfe as if being zapped by the “whammy” for no one in his class wished to ever sound unintelligible or unknowledgeable publicly as well as in the presence of the professor who demonstrated his knowledge of Philosophy and Deconstructionism intricately and easily. It was as second nature to him as games of Hackey Sack was to his pupils and attempting to reach the bar he set was indeed a struggle, yet typically inspired his students to band together in solidarity. It was as if they were equally trying to save each other from drowning. Even though Professor Scarfe was unquestionably demanding, he was a benevolent leader—to a degree—which does bring us to the second most challenging aspect of his course: the readings.

     To keep pace with Professor Scarfe, one had to stay on top of the voluminous readings, which were dizzying in content and also made the standard shortcuts of casually skimming the material a direct bee-line for one of Scarfe’s trap doors. Unlike some instructors who regurgitate the same content year after year with a level of dispassionate interest over time, Professor Scarfe honestly loved the course he taught and therefore, the content it contained. Every year and summer session, he would completely overhaul his syllabus and in doing so, he prided himself on his self-made reputation of his intellectual and educational diligence. Simply stated, Professor Scarfe knew his material inside and out, as if he shared a few pints with Plato, Kant, Descartes and Socrates at the Union Terrace in the evenings.

     Fully remaining cognizant of the demands of students’ complete course loads during the school year, Professor Scarfe paced and spaced the duration of the class reading assignments as he knew that any sense of overload would be counterproductive to any actual learning. However, in the summer, with fewer students and considerably smaller course loads to bear, he did all he could to ensure that his student’s mental muscles did not weaken just because of the inherent warmth of the season. How it actually tickled him to sometimes witness his students bunkered down in sections of Der Rathskeller surrounded by popcorn, drinks, books, papers, notes and those aforementioned readings and the intensely feverish (and to the untrained eye—panicked) conversations just trying to make heads or tails of all of this head spinning material. “Mission accomplished,” Professor Scarfe would muse to himself as he ducked out of sight before being spotted.

     For Rhett Brazelton, the class was precisely what he had wished for as a real test of his academic prowess as well as determining if his epiphany was more than fleeting. While he did feel that drowning sensation as students of the past and his present experienced, he quietly enjoyed the readings and homework, his third eye proudly regarding those mental boxes filling up and being properly filed. The sense of completion and accomplishment was spirit lifting and the content fit his astral brain like a glove.

     Even so, there was one more and easily the most insurmountable obstacle in Professor Stewart Scarfe’s course, so much so, and for quite some time, it nearly derailed Rhett. And that obstacle was her.

     On the first day of the class, Rhett Brazelton walked halfway up Bascom ill and entered a small classroom inside of the School Of Education building with anxious anticipation. He found twenty chairs with attached arm rest/writing desks all arranged into a semi-circle. Rhett quickly chose a seat to the right of the mid-section, closer to the door. After seating himself and settling in with his notebook, he began to view his new classmates entering the room, making mental notes of the demographics. And then…

     Footsteps.

     Purposeful, metronomic footsteps.

     Whatever anticipatory thoughts Rhett had inside of his brain concerning his class were scattered away like fluttering butterflies at the sound of those footsteps. Raising his head towards the direction of the approaching sound, Rhett’s eyes quickly raced past the arriving students and zoomed in on a pair of rusty, dusty cowboy boots and panned upwards to reveal the sight of her.

     Rhett’s heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second, and then, as if remembering its sole duty, began beating a gain yet at triple speed before settling into a somewhat normal rhythm. Yes, it was her, the girl from that spring day on Bascom Hill. The girl that Rhett eventually relegated to fantasy. But, this time, she entered the classroom and she was clearly not a dream. She was even better than a dream. She was real.

     Autumn brown hair that appeared to have the consistency and sheen of silk. Olive skin that looked like the healthiest suntan yet lasted for the entire year. While her resting face was certainly not what one would describe as “warm,” (in fact, some might view it as “petulant”) Rhett could not take his eyes away from it, especially her large-ish nose that attractively held her very smart glasses in perfect place. Sensing his gaze like a Jedi Master, she flashed her eyes at Rhett’s, commanding him to look away, an order he promptly obeyed by turning his head downwards towards his desk. Still, he took a peek to see that she had taken a seat on the furthest corner of the semi-circle on the opposite side of the room, her footsteps reverberating in his mind long after she sat and settled herself. 

     She was more striking to regard as she sat at rest, Rhett thought to himself. While not one to be so easily swayed at the sight of a pretty girl, as that tended to be Craig’s endless fascination, Rhett was blindsided by the dark luminescence of the girl from Bascom Hill. Fearing that she would become the apple of everyone’s eye (and seriously, how could she not be?), he covertly investigated his classmates’ faces to see if they were as visibly thunderstruck as he was. When he noticed that not a single person was staring in her direction, he allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief.

     Snapping him out of his reverie was the entrance of Professor Stewart Scarfe, who strode into the classroom and towards his podium where he set down a few note cards and finally, to his desk where he laid his coffee and sunglasses. “Good morning,” said the professor as he wrote his name upon the blackboard then turned to face his class while holding the student roster. “Welcome. This summer, just as the title of this course states, we will be exploring the fundamentals in ethics. We have a tremendous amount of material to cover over these next several weeks so time, as much of an illusion it actually happens to be, is indeed of the essence. So…Mr. Brazelton, what exactly are ethics?”

     And so it began. Not even one full minute had elapsed and Professor Scarfe had everyone’s complete attention for fear of being randomly called on to answer a question even before having their notebooks out of their backpacks yet. Rhett was immediately at a loss for words. Being so unprepared (and truthfully, how prepared could one actually have been on the very first day) had transformed Rhett’s brain and all of the contents within it into a bowl full of jelly. Words failed him as did thoughts but he knew that he had to produce something and quickly.

     “Um…ethics…um…ethics…, “ stalled Rhett as words began to formulate from the gelatinous pool of his mind. “Ethics are an individual’s personal belief system of what constitutes ‘right’ and ‘wrong’?”

     “In its broadest definition, you are not terribly far off, Mr. Brazeton,” said Professor Scarfe approvingly yet distantly. “Yet, let’s see if we can get ourselves a little closer. Mr. Ising, how would you build upwards from Mr. Brazelton’s statement?”

     Kevin Ising, 20 year old Sophomore of currently undeclared major, was immobilized. Like Rhett, he never figured that he would be called upon so swiftly but before he even realized he began speaking. “Are ethics basically like…well…uh…like principles to live our lives by?”

     “I am seeing a variation of a theme,” Professor Scarfe expressed without feigning either approval or disapproval. “Ms. Lee?”

     Young Lee, 19 year old Sophomore also of undeclared major yet was internally fluctuating somewhere between English and Journalism, was a hair more prepared to hear her name after witnessing the professor’s alacrity with engaging with his students. Even so, her heart raced upwards into her throat. “Well…” she began shakily. “We all have ethics…”

     “Do we now?” interjected the professor. “How do you know? By any chance, do you happen to know the intricacies of your classmates on an intimate level, Ms. Lee?”

     “Well…no…” answered Young Lee, beginning to wilt in her seat and a quiver in her voice. “I’m just…well…I would assume…”

     “Never assume,” Professor Scarfe began. “Don’t panic either,” he continued with a splash of an encouraging tone. “Just re-think and re-phrase. You cannot assume anything, especially whether all of these individuals possess ethical behavior. They could all be immoral hedonists for all you know, for only they know where they were and what they did last night,” he concluded slyly, which of course, continued to keep the nervous Young Lee off balance and peppered the room with equally nervous laughter.

     “OK…well…we all have the capability of having ethical behavior,” she began again.

     “Some do. Some don’t. But better.”

     “Um…well…if we did all have the capacity for ethical behavior, are the ethics themselves concerned with why we think of things as being good or bad?”

     “Ah…”considered the professor. “Now, we find ourselves more into ethical theory. Or even, theories for that matter, as there are several. Or, to probe further, there are various ethical theories that are of a more descriptive quality as they solely describe people’s actions, be they ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ But, even that depends greatly upon a certain validity within those descriptive ethical theories because we need to understand if those descriptive theories do in fact correctly describe what people do and how we consider and identify those actions as being ‘good,’ ‘bad,’ ‘right,’ or ‘wrong.’”

     By this very early stage in the course, all 20 students, already on edge for fear of being called upon, sat in collective confusion as they eyes blankly blinked like a group of cartoon mice. It was a look Professor Scarfe knew only too well…and secretly enjoyed, for that matter. Suppressing a light chuckle, he continued.

     “When you stop your car at a stoplight, is that action necessarily ‘ethical’?? Is it necessarily ‘good’ or ‘right’?”

     “It is if you don’t want to get in an accident,” offered one particularly brave soul.

     “Yes, an accident would certainly be a consequence of that action but that doesn’t equate itself with being ‘good’ or ‘right.’ Especially if you happened to be a nihilist. What about theft? Is that inherently ‘wrong’? What of something like rape? How could you argue ethically and prove the inherent wrongness of that act?”

     “How couldn’t you?!” announced a sharp voice that sliced through the air. Rhett’s eyes shifted towards the direction of the comment and was most intrigued to find that the girl from Bascom Hill was its owner.

     “Hmmm…” muttered Professor Scarfe. “Ms….your last name please?”

     “Lessing.”

     “Yes, the very impulsive Ms. Lessing,” he began. “Yet, this is precisely the core of what we will all be examining this summer. We will be exploring a variety of subject matter of which all of us have formulated, at least, some opinions—some of which, like what I am gathering from Ms. Lessing’s comment, will be passionate and even specifically individualistic, and perhaps even traumatic. My contract that I offer and extend to each of you is to ensure that all topics will be handled with respect and sensitivity. If any of you are at any time still feeling uncomfortable with the topics discussed, or how I am presenting them, I openly invite you to make an appointment to voice your concerns with me during my office hours.

     “Yes, this class will be challenging and possibly upsetting but ultimately, it should prove to be enlightening, because this is not a course about opinions. This is a course about ethics and what we can prove or disprove based upon philosophical theories as well as the principles of the philosophers themselves. So, Ms. Lessing, going back to your statement, I ask you your own question. How could you prove the inherent wrong-ness of rape?”

     “What kind of a…,” began the identified Ms. Lessing with visible anger rising from her face and voice.

     “Remember, I am not asking for your opinion. I’m asking you to prove your viewpoint ethically,” interjected Professor Scarfe.

     “Well…it’s…,” she began, her palpable fury becoming rapidly flustered. “’Ethically’?! But…this is rape!”

     “Yes.”

     “In this country alone, a woman is…”

     “You are about to quote a statistic. That has nothing to do with ethics. Mathematics are not a part of this course.”

     “It feels as if they are since you want me to prove something through some formula, as if that is going to present a definitive answer, like some Math problem! I mean…really…ethics regarding rape?! Isn’t it obvious?!”

     “Morally, yes and I feel that none of your classmates would argue with you on a moral level. But, again, and as the title of this class states, we are dealing with ethics and the fundamentals of ethics and ethics alone. So far, each one of you has happened to define ethics by in fact defining the nature of morals, for morals strictly adhere to the individual whereas ethics strictly adhere to an external source like the rules of the workplace or codes within various religions or the rules of society itself. We are going to spend this summer exploring issues through ethical theories, principles and philosophers and I would urge all of you to begin to understand that if you are going to try and prove the inherent rightness or wrongness of anything, including rape, a petulant ‘Rape is wrong because it is!’ or ‘Rape is wrong because I say so!’ will not get you out of the starting gate,” said the professor coldly, which made the girl from  Bascom Hill bristle but yet, she remained quiet. “What will, however, get you out of the starting gate is what we are all here this summer to learn.”

     Rhett Brazelton, with his pulse racing due to the intensity of his class’ first few minutes (was that really all of the time that has passed?), internally sighed to himself. Finally taking his eyes away from her, Rhett internally sighed to himself for a second time, mentally turning the name “Ms. Lessing” over and over again. She was definitely real. 

     She had a name.
Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART TEN: "THE DOOR INTO SUMMER"

DECEMBER BOYS

"THE DOOR INTO SUMMER"

     If people’s perceptions of Craig Hughes as an introverted, heart-on-sleeve, naval gazer were correct (and they typically were) then Rhett Brazelton’s level of introspection was downright astral. Not careless, scatterbrained or chemically enhanced by any means. But, whenever Rhett found himself deeper and deeper in thought, he became mesmerized to the point of becoming absent. This peculiar personality trait had been a part of Rhett since infancy, when people from various sectors—family members and friends, teachers, complete strangers—would remark at how tranquil the little one seemed to be, as his bouts of crying were unusually rare and his eyes seemed to be peering into a world unseen by anyone else other than himself. “He’s just taking it all in,” his Mother, a university Botanist, would explain plainly and always full of inquisitive delight.

     Rhett found himself in that exact state of mind on an early warm spring morning, shortly after his pilgrimage with Craig and Mariah Esposito’s weekend visit. It was precisely the type of morning his Mother had actually warned him about one beautiful summer day before he embarked upon his Freshman year in Madison. As Elizabeth Brazelton sat at their kitchen table, toiling over home finances and monthly bills, Rhett sat blankly nearby, watching/not watching MTV videos playing in the background while holding a magazine in one hand and the presence of a novel sitting closely on the kitchen table. Elizabeth Brazelton ran her hands through her then newly shorn, closely cropped hair and in a voice that displayed an atypical bout of weariness, she declared, “These days will definitely find you.”

     As if being yanked from the ether by a strongly pulled tether, Rhett returned to the present and murmured a somnambulant, “Hmmm?”

     “Rhett, in no way am I even beginning to condone this particular behavior, especially as I am about to fork over an enormous amount of money to fund your education, but the days will come for you when you simply say to yourself, ‘No.’”

     “What do you mean?” he asked, intrigued.

     “You will one day find yourself waking up to face the day. You will ready yourself and even make all of the necessary plans to meet the duties to which you are obligated. And for some unknown reasons, you will say, ‘No’,” she answered tiredly as she returned the cap of her red pen from end to ink point, set it down upon the table and rose while stretching her athletic body. “So, right now Rhett, I’m saying ‘No’ and am wondering if you would like to join me for a walk or should I just leave you here to your thoughts and videos.”

     “No. I’ll say ‘No’ too. Let’s go out.”

     And off they went, Mother and son, to spend a warm afternoon “taking it all in.”

     Returning to the morning at hand, Rhett Brazelton indeed woke up at his usual time, showered, purchased his morning orange juice from Pop’s Club, collected his books and materials for his morning classes, as well as his headphones, for the morning walk to Bascom Hall. But there was one notable difference. While waiting for his turn to check out at the registers, Rhett spied a discarded copy of that morning’s Chicago Tribune, which he instinctively picked up and began to peruse. After skimming through the comics, his eyes sped back towards the advice column and onto the daily horoscopes, a section he generally paid no credence towards but with all things, as far as Rhett Brazelton was concerned, he didn’t rule anything out. The prediction was swift yet carried the force of a bolt of lightning as it stated…

“Today is a 9! On this day, your heart will fall in love. It will be someone you have never met before. Act quickly. Act wisely. For it will never pass this way again. Have a wonderful day!”

Rhett scoffed at the prediction and yet found himself reading it again and again, transfixing himself upon the words and the suggestion that he absently stood in line and was eventually goaded onwards by the rightfully impatient students behind him. After offering a feeble apology, Rhett discarded the paper and headed off to class.

      Rhett Brazelton strode up the massive monolith of Bascom Hill, being succulently stroked by the breeze and sunlight, and still buzzing with the horoscope he had previously read. After reaching his destination, he walked inside Bascom Hall, trotted down the hallway and reached his classroom, only to open up the door, see his classmates gathering themselves for the day’s new material and without warning or provocation, Rhett quietly said to himself, “No.” He then shut the door, exited Bascom Hall and found himself a gorgeously shady grassy spot on Bascom Hill, left to his own devices with his headphones and his thoughts. Rhett sat, letting the wind of spring caress his spirit, as he stared into space, regarding everyone who walked past him, again pondering the obvious spirituality and interconnectivity of all of the people who had previously and will one day walk this hill. Soon, like a television channel clouded with electronic snow, the image of all before him began to fade into a cloud of colorful dots. And then, it happened…

     Footsteps. Almost metronomic paced footsteps sent waves of sound from the here and now directly into Rhett’s reverie. It was like listening to a static filled radio station when suddenly a song from who knows where bursts through, announcing itself, demanding to be heard. Rhett turned his head towards his left, and emerging upwards from the direction of Science Hall, he saw her and instantly, he was gone.

     The first item Rhett noticed were the dusty, rusty colored boots, the source of the metronomic beat, which almost needed a bass guitar and fat handclap to make the effect even more complete. Trailing his gaze from the ground upwards, his vision revealed the sight of a tallish, olive skinned girl with wavy, shoulder length autumn brown hair walking with a not too fast, not too slow, decidedly not a strut but definitely aggressive stride that was commanding. This girl walked with a comparatively heightened sense of purpose to her fellow Bascom Hill walkers yet seemingly no one on the entire hill seemed to pay her any stitch of attention. That is, except for Rhett who was happily dazed and confused, feeling a sudden and overwhelming sensation of ardor that he could swear he could feel all the way into his eyebrows as he turned his head to watch her sumptuously phase through his field of vision. The girl continued to walk past, towards the Liz Waters and the Lakeshore dorms, until she was completely out of view, and her eventual disappearance suddenly returned Rhett to reality. He laughed to himself. Shrugging his shoulders and re-adjusting his headphones which displaced themselves during his act of obvious rubber-necking, Rhett Brazelton laughed to himself for this sort of behavior was atypical as it was just not in his nature to stare or to, at least, call attention to himself for staring—which he seriously hoped that he hadn’t done. To no one in particular, which therefore meant to everyone around him on Bascom Hill, Rhett exhibited a theatrical “Hey, what can I do?” motion and took one last futile look over his shoulder with hopes that perhaps one final glance at this stunning sight could be witnessed again. Seeing that she was indeed completely out of view, Rhett stood, sighed and smiled to himself and began to walk down Bascom Hill to points unknown, only armed with the full intent of enjoying the day ahead, no matter where it took him.

     The memory of the autumn brown haired, olive skinned girl with the dusty, rusty boots and the commanding stride was never far from the forefront of Rhett’s mind as he neared the end of his first year of college. With the presence of the continuing warmth of spring slowly building upwards in the heat of summer, the campus blossomed and bloomed into its tremendous final stages of excitement before the students’ eventual departure until the Fall. From the foliage of the trees, flowers and plant life to the increasing amount of people spending time outdoors, life in Madison near the end of a school year was a feast for the senses, especially amorous ones. For a brief spell, Rhett kept his eyes sharply opened for another sighting of the girl, even going so far as to return to Bascom Hill, headphones firmly attached to his ears and playing the exact same music he listened to that day, as if to magically conjure her reappearance. Unfortunately, she never arrived. 

     Rhett’s more logical reasoning chalked up this girl’s apparent disappearance to just being “one of those things” that invariably occurs on a campus this size and with a student body this immense. It is simply not unreasonable to catch a full view of the most strikingly attractive girl on campus and then never see her again. It was akin to being surprised by a shooting star or better yet, waking from a glorious dream that you impossibly try to physically grasp and keep forever. When presenting himself with the concept of a dream, however, Rhett’s astral brain went into overdrive. What if he had actually dreamt that entire morning on Bascom Hill? And if it was a dream, then it would stand to reason that the sight of the girl immediately after reading the romantic predictions of the horoscope was equally invented as if it arrived from a wish. At the contemplation of this notion, Rhett shuddered, feeling a quick icy wave race through his body. For if the day of Bascom Hill, including what he was beginning to assume was nothing more than his fantasy girl, was only a dream, then what was his real life? Where did his mind or even all of him go to once he went to bed each night? Feeling more unsettled than he wished at the sudden thought of life as he knew it was somehow a product of his sub-consciousness, Rhett waved away the dark fantasy and fully returned to bright reality.

     When Rhett Brazelton began his life in Madison, not even one firm plan concerning his academic future ever entered into his brain. All that he ever initially wanted was just to have the opportunity to simply take everything in (again and as always) and get a lay of the land. What surprised Rhett about himself, at least regarding his education, was the seriousness with which he approached his classes and all ensuing assignments. While always a good student, Rhett admittedly never felt himself to have been truly academically challenged in high school. During those years, he felt as if he had some mental muscles that weren’t being put to use properly. Yet, by the time he received his first college assignments, those very same mental muscles were indeed put to the test. Where many of Rhett’s peers and classmates grumbled and stressed, Rhett welcomed the often intense quality, quantity and frequency of the work, especially relishing the times when his mind would arrange the hours of his day, compartmentalizing his tasks as if his third eye could visualize a series of boxes to be organized and placed onto their exact spaces upon a shelf.

     During this same period at the start of his college experience and growing stronger throughout the year, Rhett discovered just how perfectly in tune he felt with the cycle of the school year. Despite the worldwide celebrations announcing the arrival of every new year, there was just something about the beginnings and endings of a school year that felt more natural to him. His spirit was inexplicably in sync with that sequence, so much so, that he wondered just how he would function after college in that seemingly so far away and monolithic sounding “real world” without the September staples of ‘Welcome Week,” football Saturdays and midterm exams, for instance. For Rhett, the less said about the interminable middle section of Winter, the better and then, Summer was just…Summer, a languid and healthy slice of sunkissed bliss that felt like it existed as its own entity.  As Rhett made more friends with either older students or with people who hailed from Madison, more and more, he heard stories about how perfect the city was in the summer. People’s faces would begin to naturally glisten while their eyes would fall into a dreamy haze as they all expressed variations of the same theme, “Madison is so beautiful in the summer,” over and again.

     And then, the pieces began to form together or rather, Rhett’s astral brain with its mental boxes were beginning to find their exact spaces upon the shelf.

     It was near the end of Rhett’s Freshman Year when he began to entertain the idea of becoming a Philosophy professor, a career where his sense of academic diligence, love of the school year cycle and his more astral leanings could all congeal beautifully. It didn’t matter whether his imagined teaching profession took place in Madison or back home in Minnesota, even though he felt to be very much at home on the UW-Madison campus. Rhett just imagined himself on a Midwestern campus, complete with the four seasons (including the dreaded winter), and endless streams of new students w hose youthful energy just may rub off onto him when he is not so young anymore.

     But to get himself started, it was time to begin taking some of the necessary classes. After a lengthy discussion with his Mother, Rhett soon registered for two summer courses in Philosophy, one of which explored the teachings and writings of Sartre, while the second class was about the more timeless and always timely fundamentals of ethics. As for lodging, Rhett’s Mother pointed him in the direction of her brother, Rhett’s Uncle Denny, a house painter whose business increased dramatically during the summer months. After a surprisingly enthusiastic conversation, one that Rhett was initially nervous about due to his scant contact with his Uncle, a deal was struck for Rhett to reside in Denny’s house, rent free, for the Summer and as an added bonus, Rhett could have access to driving Denny’s 20 year old Honda if he wished as Denny would primarily be using his truck to cart around his painting supplies over the next few months. The only stipulations were to keep the house orderly if not fully clean, occasionally assist with the grocery shopping and lawn care and finally, absolutely no guests were allowed without confirmed permission. If these were to be the only bargaining chips in order to receive free summer housing, accepting the terms was a no-brainer! Helping to keep a tidy house and yard and do some minor grocery shopping was the least he could do in exchange for his Uncle’s generosity. And the additional prospect of having access to a car was indeed the proverbial icing on the cake (even though Rhett loved going for walks—the longer, the better—it was great to have an option, especially for those stormy summer days and nights).

     Everything was falling into place. Classes were obtained as well as a home to comfortably reside inside of after the cramped existence of dorm life. With his Mother paying tuition, Rhett instinctively felt obligated to find summer employment to not only alleviate any sense of financial burden but to also support himself with his books, any supplies and to have some precious pocket money, a task he accomplished through being hired for work part-time at Memorial Library.

     On the final day of the school year, Rhett Brazelton moved out of Ogg Hall and into his Uncle Denny’s home, located near the Vilas Zoo, where the growls of the lions could be heard during the night on occasion. To celebrate, the two spent a rapturous night on the Memorial Union Terrace, where in addition to becoming better acquainted with each other through lively conversation and covertly imbibed alcoholic beverages, Rhett and his Uncle simply enjoyed the time under the stars, with the breeze from the lake waters in the air and surrounded by a sea of happy strangers all seduced by the tropical rhythms and deep bass of the reggae band performing on the outdoor stage. As far as he was concerned, as he took in the sights around him and replaying all the sublime comments about Madison summers in his mind, the self-described “Summer Of Rhett” had officially begun. 
Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"DECEMBER BOYS" PART NINE: "GOOD EVENING AND WELCOME TO FOCUS!"

DECEMBER BOYS

"GOOD EVENING AND 
WELCOME TO FOCUS!" 

The act of killing time on the UW-Madison campus, especially during the unforgivably bitter cold and nocturnal winter months, is a delicate art. For some, imbibing some narcotic was a way of life, in addition to spending some moments between one planned activity to another. And certainly, there was the central hub of Memorial Union. For Craig Hughes and Rhett Brazelton, the physical act of just walking worked best. Having just departed from the Union, the two young men entered themselves into a cold so pervasive the contents of their noses immediately began to involuntarily trickle outwards and downwards (thank God, Craig always carried Kleenex with him) and then began to silently walk up the steps by Helen C. White Library. Within several painfully cold minutes, they found themselves at the four way intersection located on Observatory Drive.

     This particular intersection rested four buildings which chartered the sea of higher education channels and if one were feeling a bit on the whimsical side, it could appear as if the buildings were preparing for some kind of architectural square dance. One side of the street housed the Social Science building and campus carillon, while diagonally sat the wanna-be skyscraper, Van Hise. Overlooking the grandness of Lake Mendota was the veritable “Virgin Vault” itself, the Liz Waters Residence Hall and catty corner from there sat Commerce Hall, home to several Humanities courses (including Craig’s Shakespeare course) and beginning each Thursday evening and lasting through late Saturday nights, the home of one of the campus student film societies, Focus Films. Craig and Rhett entered B10 Commerce, nearly full with students anxiously desiring a cinematic break from all educational pursuits, to find Ember Fox hurriedly racing through the room, checking all manner of wires, connections, and the status of the archaic projectors in preparation for this evening’s motion picture.

     Even with a campus population of 40,000, everyone knew about Ember Fox, the leader of Focus Films. Certainly, not every single person on campus knew her by name or even remotely personally, but everyone, had at some point caught the sight of the diminutive Fox, hurriedly scurrying around the UW-Madison campus, either by foot or via her scooter, placing and re-placing film poster advertisements on seemingly every solitary kiosk in the city. If the sight of her hurriedly scurrying had been missed, all one would have to regard was the tiny blond haired girl who wore the army green jacket, astonishingly sturdy black flats and carried everything in an ancient brown satchel. Ember Fox never smoked, yet drank copious amounts of caffeine, which combined with her feverish activity, gave her an air of intensity students never braved to intrude as she presented a forceful purposefulness with every staple insert. She was cute in that tomboyish Peppermint Patty way, and truth be told, many students of both genders would have to agree with the puerile statement once uttered by one of Ember’s all too brief boyfriends, regarding her “heart shaped ass.” 

     Craig Hughes met Ember Fox the previous year during the mad-dash of campus class registration while feebly on-line for a Communication Arts course neither of them had any possibility of obtaining due to them both being first semester Sophomores. Ember (who also hailed from Minneapolis) had a love of cinema that rivaled the levels of Craig’s deepest passions and even he had to concede that her knowledge exceeded his own. There was no way to compete but nonetheless, they found in each other a kindred spirit. They would occasionally pass each other at the University Square 4 movie theaters on Friday nights or spot each other in the Union for a few moments. And just like every other student on campus, Craig chuckled to himself whenever he saw her hurriedly scurrying around placing and re-placing movie advertisements on seemingly every kiosk in the city. One day, he was brave enough to interrupt her aforementioned intensity to ask her exactly what she was doing. She then happily informed him about Focus Films and with an almost involuntary burst of glee, she suggested that he join the club as well. It was as if all of her activity had been proven to not be for naught. Someone had noticed! This is what endeared Ember to Craig. Ember Fox operated as if in a vacuum, unaware of the perception of the campus around her as she was lost in her love of cinema and her tireless pursuit to bring any and everyone into her world, even if it was for only one weekend screening. Her passion was pure, not through snobbery or even with an ounce of elitism. She was the head coach, cheerleader and fan all at once, making her devotion completely infectious to those who joined her at Focus Films. Her “crew” wisely took her lead, followed all of her instructions to the proverbial letter so as not to disappoint. While generally quite friendly, once a person decided, like Craig, to intrude upon her intensity, she was indeed quite gruff on the first showing of each weekend, as all of the equipment was indeed archaic and prone to technical difficulties, which frustrated Ember to no end. Every cinematic projector pop and crack was like a knife in her heart.

     As Ember raced back to the projector for one of her few more “final” checks, she spotted Craig and Rhett, exhaled a welcoming breath of arrival and waved them over into her inner sanctum.

     “Hi Ember!” Craig began with an inviting smile. “I guess everyone really needed a break and the semester hasn’t even gotten going yet.”

     “You said it! But, I think it’s probably just winter blues. It’s so dark and cold all the time,” said Ember, somewhat distractedly working on the projector. Then, looking up from her work, she smiled warmly at Craig, sighed and gazed around the bustling lecture hall like a loving Queen regarding her loyal court. “But…WOW!!! Look at everybody!! You know, I do have a confession to make to you,” she began covertly.

     “What’s that?” asked Craig.

     “For as much work as I do, for all of the posters I hang, I’m always nervous that nobody will show.”

     “Message sent. Message received,” said Craig eyeing the large audience.

     “That’s true! But, it’s always about the movie and I’m thinking that this week, people need a good romantic comedy.”

     “What are you showing?” inquired Rhett.

     “’When Harry Met Sally’” answered Ember.

     “That was really, really good!” said Craig, mostly to Rhett.

     “Yeah, it was. I mean, even though Rob Reiner really ripped off Woody Allen to an almost plagiaristic degree, he did really capture something quite lovely. Still don’t know about that Meg Ryan scene in the restaurant though,” said Ember, compulsively offering up her review.

     “I know what you mean,” countered Craig. “But, I think what Reiner did was give an homage to Woody Allen rather than steal from him. The good will was obviously on the screen and he really did have a story to tell concerning the friendships between men and women. I mean—really, the man behind ‘Spinal Tap’ is no hack. And yeah, that restaurant scene…it was funny but when I think about that movie, it’s definitely not the first thing I remember.”

     “You’re right, Craig. Reiner’s no hack but I had wished he laid off the Woody-isms a bit. I mean—Woody’s fingerprints were practically all over it!” Ember countered, not willing to give too much of an inch when it came to her opinions.

     “I had no idea that Siskel and Ebert attended this school!” joked Rhett, to which Ember and Craig had to laugh despite themselves.

     “Yeah, we can really get going when we want to,” said Ember laughing.

     “And even if we don’t want to!” chuckled Craig.

      “So, are you guys gonna find a seat?” asked Ember.

      “Well…actually no. We’re just killing some time. We have tickets for ‘Say Anything…’ at the Union,” Craig explained.

      The knife in Ember’s heart apparently twisted as her face transformed briefly into a disappointed grimace. “Ugh! I tried so hard to get that movie but they beat me to it!! I didn’t want to raise a big stink about it so they’d be pissed at my suggestions for the free showings.”

     “Are you involved with that too?” asked Rhett.

     “Oh yeah!! That’s so much fun to almost predict what people may like as those movies hadn’t gotten to theaters yet. I almost feel like a mogul when something does eventually pan out at the box office!” she gushed. “Oh…what’s your name?”

     “I’m sorry, Ember. This is my friend Rhett. Rhett, may I present to you the world famous Ember Fox,” Craig introduced as Ember gave Rhett a sheepish grin while finishing her work on the projector.

     “Are you the one who goes around the kiosks on campus?” Rhett asked.

     “It is amazing to me that I get asked that question as many times as I do. People in classes, the library and such. Yes, that’s me! Hey, back to the movie you’re gonna see. Have you seen it yet?”

     “No. When it was out last spring, you know it didn’t play anywhere near campus and I didn’t know anyone with a car to get to the outlying theaters,” explained Craig. “Have you seen it?”

     An inexplicable moment occurred next as Ember Fox ceased to hold her attention on the projector or even the evening’s event, which was due to begin shortly, and her eyes glazed over as if she was about to swoon. It was as if all of the sound that not connected to Craig’s question had suddenly evaporated. A slow, warm smile, obviously engaged with a treasured memory, slowly formed upon her face and with a released breath Craig and Rhett had no idea that she had been holding inwards, Ember uttered in a voice that could only be described as sated, “Oh yeaaahh! It’s wooooonderful!”

     “Really?” inquired Craig, hoping for a taste of the movie to come. “I’ve just been waiting to see my boy Cusack for a long time!”

     “There is no Cusack. There is only Lloyd.”

     “Huh?”

     “Just you wait. This movie is really, really special. It’s so special that the stiff seats, lousy screen to front row proximity, and third rate sound system of the Play Circle cannot ruin it!” She paused for a split second and quietly invoked, “I wish I had a ‘Lloyd’ in my life.”

     Craig and Rhett regarded Ember Fox with a quizzical gaze, filled with a complete lack of comprehension coupled with a curiosity for the movie they were to witness in their very near future.

    “Hey Ember!” called one of Ember’s compatriots as he politely tapped her shoulder, still hunched by the projector. “I think it’s time!”

     Snapping back to the present, Ember regained her General-styled command, nodded affirmatively and tapped the projector in preparation for the night’s work. “Gotta hit the stage, fellas. Have a seat back here for a few minutes though. You’ve got time. Stay out of the cold.” And with a salute, the diminutive form of Ember Fox charged down the middle aisle of the lecture hall, and in a swift motion much like a gymnast, she placed both hands on the floor of the lecture hall stage and hoisted herself to a standing position to face the legion of anxious collegiate film goers.

     “GOOD EVENING AND WELCOME TO FOCUS!!!” shouted Ember, with an authoritarian chirpiness which was greeted with an appreciative roar from the crowd. “TONIGHT’S FILM IS ‘WHEN HARRY MET SALLY…’ DIRECTED BY ROB REINER!!” More anticipatory applause. “NEXT WEEK’S FILM WILL BE THE ROBIN WILLIAMS BLOCKBUSTER, ‘DEAD POET’S SOCIETY’!!!” More anticipatory applause followed by a few scattered whoops and cat calls signifying the more carnal pleasure of the upcoming Hallmark holiday. “THIS ODE TO ENGLISH MAJORS EVERYWHERE WILL PLAY FOR THREE NIGHTS ONLY, SO GET YOUR TISSUES AND SONNETS HANDY!” chuckled Ember to which she was greeted with a healthy smattering of good natured laughs.

     Ember Fox could read her audience as easily as she could read the English language. The crowd, she knew was not exactly with her, but they were, at least, momentarily accepting of her opening announcements. She knew that it was only a small window before this momentary good will would transform into something uglier. But, Ember was ready…like a whip crack she was always ready. It was a skill that unfortunately was not innate, as she experienced in her painful first stabs at leading the weekend movie screenings of Focus Films. It was brutally learned as she quickly realized that a lecture hall armed to the brim with college students that were mentally and physically fatigued, anxious and sometimes emotionally anguished, carnally satiated or frustrated, narcotically enhanced to varying degrees, psychologically unbalanced due to chemical imbalances or collegiate strains or personal traumas, just plain sad, euphoric, furious, impatient, inaccessible and unrepentantly so, happened to be an audience impossible to tame and no amount of Ember Fox’s love of cinema combined with her cute looks and small frame would endear her to almost any of them. On her very first try, she was pelted with a soda can almost immediately upon her arrival on stage. This was soon followed by frat house remarks of a nastiness she had never experienced. She began to panic and left the stage in shattered mumbles and a parade of tears. When she arrived the following week, it was due to a concoction of bravery fueled by alcohol provided by a friend combined with an unwillingness to allow anyone to break her spirit, especially over something she loved. Her arrival on stage, especially after the still fresh memory of her previous week’s pummeling was of a major surprise to the audience and their stunned state at her re-appearance quieted them…to a degree…allowing her to make her opening remarks relatively uninterrupted. This small success gave her an inch of confidence. The third week, Ember Fox arrived without alcoholic enhancement and while still possessed with quivering voice and shaky figure, she remained unmovable. Over time, she realized that an audience of this sort needed to be held by its reins, like the wildest of horses, and whatever authority she harnessed would have to be utilized with extreme force.

     That extreme force was seconds away from being released, like an ace gunslinger, as Ember Fox briefly recounted the basic plot line of the night’s feature film selection when yet another drunken, sexist, brain cell deprived, frat house member vocally hurled through cupped hands a voluminous,

“SUCK ME!!!”

Which Ember Fox hurled back, without quiver or secondary pause, and with a velocity only found in the suddenness of a gunshot or a streak of lightning…

“FUCK YOU!!!!!!!”

If the audience was not with her before, they were COMPLETELY with her now as the supreme roar of laughter and applause rushed to the stage like a wave, lifting Ember Fox ten feet off the ground while simultaneously vanquishing her vocal assailant entirely. Surprised at her own level of volume and rage contained within her vocal slashing, Ember Fox cracked up in laughter and took a bow, which was greeted with even louder and more supportive applause. This was a moment to be remembered by everyone in the room to witness it, forever.

     “THAT’S Ember Fox, GODAMNIT!!” shouted Craig Hughes in support and solidarity of his friend as Rhett Brazelton yowled in supportive applause.

     “I CAN’T TOP THAT SO SIT BACK, RELAX, ENJOY THE SHOW AND THANK YOU FOR COMING TO FOCUS!!” chortled Ember and she leapt from the stage and raced towards the projectors.

     As Rhett regarded the remaining hilarity of the scene with the swell of applause, laughter and the defeated pride of a Langdon Street asshole still ringing in the air, the span of time seemed to slow down in his mind. It was exactly like that long ago Spring evening at the Memorial Union terrace as he looked from face to face, and began to ponder how many times an experience similar to the one he had just lived through had occurred in this very room. How many other frat boys were publicly dressed down by a seemingly unworthy opponent? If not that exact situation, how many times had there been an entire planet of sound where every individual in the room combined their voice to create a singular and enormous pubic expression of joy? Each smiling and still laughing face recounting Ember Fox’s victory filled Rhett’s spirit to the point where any previous melancholy had seemed to set sail and for a split-second, it felt to have not ever existed. What a difference a split-second can make. With the room’s sonorous din slowly beginning to subside, Rhett Brazelton captured a flash of an image that made his heart stop cold and his personal ship of melancholy immediately returned to port. From across the room, he saw the profile of a girl in laughter alongside a girlfriend. The laughing girl’s shoulder length strawberry blonde hair (did she just color it?) swayed from side to side and within that aforementioned split second, he saw her face. He saw the pair of glasses revealing the elegantly longish nose and beaming wide open mouthed smile that did not betray the fullness of her lips which he had the gift of kissing only months earlier—although it felt like years. Amethyst Lessing was here and the knowledge of this fact paralyzed him and he immediately began to think of ways where he could exit the lecture hall. But, there was Craig to think about and the horrific cold air to deal with so he sat still, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t see him sitting there…and then, hoping that she would, race across the room and all would be forgiven. This wish, of course, was uncertain to happen, so Rhett sadly stewed and his mind clouded over again. And it all felt so wrong to feel this way, in a vortex of excitement as the night’s movie began to unspool. Despite the wrongness, the curtain of Rhett’s memory came down and the room went black.
Copyright 2015 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.