"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.