Authors: Richard Matheson
* * * *
Somehow, the two weeks passed. By the night of the concert he was weak with tortured thoughts. He felt stolid, beaten.
He called for her at seven thirty.
She wore the same dress she wore the night he met her at Professor Walton’s house. He told her he liked at. She said it was the only good dress she had, in a tone that seemed to blame him for the situation.
He tried to think of something say as they walked toward the field house.
But everything he thought of he had said a dozen, a hundred times in his imagination. He had visualized so many conversations with her that there was nothing left. It was as though he had lived this moment already and now when it finally came he was bored and surfeited with it. Only the throbbing of his heart showed him that he was still excited by her.
They got to the field house and took two seats in the stands. With trepidation, he asked her if she’d mind moving two seats over so they could save two places for Lynn and his date.
Melissa looked annoyed. She clutched her coat and edged along the row. He thought he was going to scream.
They put their coats on the two extra seats. They looked around. Erick dreaded the thought of seeing Sally. He hoped she wasn’t there. He felt tight and ill at ease, afraid to speak. He went over every thought that occurred to him, turning it over reflectively in his mind to see if it could possibly offend Melissa if he spoke it.
Melissa took a small book from her handbag. It was a catalog from the University of Michigan.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“I’m going to transfer next semester,” she said.
His heart jolted.
“Wh-why?” he asked, wondering if his voice could possibly be as thin as it sounded.
“They have more to offer,” she said.
“Shucks,” he said, trying desperately to be flippant.
He looked over her shoulders. He noticed her breasts moving as she breathed. He felt a weighted, sickening sensation of loss. As if in the next second she were going to disappear completely and he would never see her again. He felt almost an uncontrollable urge to stroke her arms, put his hands on her body, kiss her, tell her he loved her.
“No grass on the campus,” he said, commenting on one picture in the catalog, “See? How can you go to a place with no grass on the campus.”
“As if
that
was so important,” she said disdainfully.
Melissa!
“Has it a good music school?” he said, trying to please her.
“A lot better than
this
one,” she said.
“Oh.”
From then on, no matter what he said, she took it the wrong way. He finally began to accept the fact that he just wasn’t going to please her. He began to feel an almost masochistic pleasure in saying one thing after another that made her grow sharper and sharper toward him, made her face more and more unpleasant as the moments passed.
He felt as though he had himself in a vise and were slowly tightening it, crushing his organs. He felt as if someone had poured him full with concrete and it was hardening, pushing him out of shape, pressing his intestines to pulp. He was physically ill. His mind in futile machinations kept trying to convince him that he didn’t even like the girl much less love her. That she was a stupid, spoiled child.
But he couldn’t do it. He loved her. Like a blindly adoring fool he kept turning one helpless cheek after the other to her, withering under her words, jolting in agony as she struck. It was a flagellation of the mind, he thought.
By the time Lynn and Virginia Greene came, Erick was weak with misery.
Lynn saw the agony in his face immediately and his mouth tightened. Erick saw his discriminating blue-gray eyes running over Melissa’s face as he spoke to her, appraising her petulant expression, tearing down. Once he almost pushed his palm into Lynn’s face and shoved him off the seat. His hand twitched in the neural beginnings of the act.
The concert started.
Erick tried to say something once in a while but she wanted to hear the music. During intermission she said she wanted to hear the music. Then she pored over her catalog while he sat dumbly at her side, shivering every once in a while with a spasmodic body movement.
He talked disjointedly to Virginia. Then saw, with added shock, that Melissa resented him talking to anyone else when he was with her. He almost felt like handing her a sword and yelling—Go ahead! Cut out my heart and get it over with!
He kept noticing how Lynn looked at Melissa. He remembered then telling Lynn that Melissa was beautiful. She didn’t look beautiful tonight. He got the first hint in his life that beauty was a thing of the mind, dependant upon beauty of character.
Melissa looked old and sour and mean.
Throughout the rest of the concert, he maintained a strict silence and tried to figure it out. He didn’t even hear what the orchestra was playing. He banged his hands together absently when the thunder of applause started. He answered questions but heard nothing. The suffering had all chilled in him, tightening and contracting him.
He had loved her. Now, suddenly, he realized that he had hypnotized himself. It proved his old thesis. There was no romantic love. He would return to his books. Sally was lost. The pattern grew clear. He would throw aside everything but education.
When the concert ended Melissa hurried him out. He walked quickly beside her feeling now an almost controllable urge to slow down and let her steam on ahead and see if she’d turn to see why he wasn’t tagging along. She kept saying she had to study. She said, “I hope you don’t think I’m rushing you.”
“Oh
no.”
He didn’t attempt to be pleasant.
At the door to her house a moment of fear caught him. Then he realized he didn’t care, the memory of the night’s blows had deadened him to it.
“Thanks a lot,” she said, smiling nervously, “Better not stand here. The girls will talk.”
“Good night,” he said coldly and walked away.
As he walked, the mounting fury rose and rose, finally exploding in his mind.
“The great judge!” he snarled, “The superlative picker of womankind. See him in action. I’m priceless. Oh, I’m a gem, I’m an invaluable and irreplaceable gem!”
He shook as he walked. He felt like striking something. Back in the room he undressed and went to bed. When Lynn came in turned his back to him.
“Is that you?” Lynn said lightly.
Erick said nothing.
“Lovely girl you’ve got there.”
Erick was quiet.
“Lovely girl you have.”
“I
had
!”
“Oh?” Lynn inquired, “Hic jacet? Demise?”
Erick took a heavy breath and tossed on his stomach.
“How so?” Lynn asked, “Just today you were hurling hosannas at the sky.”
“Oh, shut up!”
He heard Lynn’s irritating chuckle.
“You’re a stupid bastard,” he said.
“Goodnight baby,” Lynn said cheerfully.
* * * *
Another week.
He studied five hours a day. He tried not to think of Sally. He spent some time in trying to analyze his feelings for Melissa.
The girl had never really existed, he decided. Everything was in his mind. The total design of her was in his head. He realized that, under honest appraisal, Sally represented to him all those things of possible and substantial comfort in life. While Melissa, only a token of the larger dream, stood for every mountainous ambition, every hunger for elusive beauty, the sort of beauty which was never found because it existed only in the imagination of the searcher.
At least it was over quickly.
That was a satisfaction. Once he might have been mooning and cowsick. Now he was filled with a fierce pleasure that it was over. It was progress of a sort. Now he could go back to his lifework with a sigh of relief.
But he started to miss Sally.
One night he saw her in a café as he was having a hamburger. He got only a glimpse of her face. But, to him, she looked unhappy.
The next morning he sat down and wrote her another note.
Sally
, it said,
I was wrong and I’m sorry
.
That night he waited for her to call. It never occurred to him to call her. He sat waiting until almost nine. Then he went to the movies.
The next evening when he came from the library there was a scrawled note from the landlady on his desk.
Sally called
, it began
He closed his eyes and could not stop the two tears that ran from his eyes. And his throat closed tightly.
“Sally,” he whispered, gratefully.
* * * *
He called her later that evening. She was at the woman’s gym, Leo told him. He was to meet her there at nine if he wanted to.
He went over to the gym about quarter to nine and waited down in the hall.
After a while she came down in shorts and a tee shirt, her healthy figure bulging through.
“Well!” she said with a roguish smile, as if she hadn’t seen him for several years.
Then she told him to wait while she took a shower and got dressed. He sat in the hall waiting.
Finally, she came and they left the gym and started walking toward Main Street. They were silent a while. He knew she was waiting for him to speak.
“Well, tell me all about it,” she finally said.
He smiled awkwardly. “Nothing to tell,” he said.
“Now, just
who
was it?”
“Girl we met at Walton’s house.”
“There were two of them.”
“You know darn well which one.”
“Mmm-
hmm
.” Briskly. He almost drew back in anger. Then he let it slide, feeling in no position to take offense.
“So it’s all over, haah?” she asked.
“All over.”
“What happened?”
He wasn’t sure whether she was actually curious or just trying to needle him.
“You sure you want to know?” he asked.
“What happened?”
“I found out she was pregnant by the dean.”
“I see.”
They stopped off for coffee. As they sat there he felt an ineffable sense of comfort being with her again, doing the old familiar things.
“I saw you that night in here,” she said, “I was going to say hello but you left right away.”
“Mmmm.”
“How’s Lynn?”
“He’s all right.”
He looked over and saw the half impish smile on her face. He didn’t smile. He turned away, suddenly sorry he had written her.
At the bus stop she asked him if he were taking her home.
“Of course,” he said.
“Will wonders never cease?” she said.
“Have your revenge,” he said quietly, “I’ll listen.”
“No revenge,” she said.
They rode out in silence and half way there she hooked her arm in his. They walked to the house together.
Leo looked up from the couch as they came in. her wrappered body was draped over the cushions, her head propped up by one hand as she studied.
“Look who’s here,” Sally said. For the first time he could remember, her voice sounded strained.
“Well, well,” Leo said, “Return of the prodigal.”
Erick smiled self consciously, “Hi,” he said.
“Take off your jacket Erick,” Sally said, moving toward the hall. She went into her room. Erick took off his jacket and put it on the back of a chair.
“How you feeling?” he asked, restive under Leo’s frank stare.
“Oh, tumescent,” she answered.
She crossed her legs and her wrapper slid off her knees revealing her bare legs. Erick swallowed, pretended not to notice. Leo didn’t cover her legs.
“What are you reading?” he asked her.
“Sex book,” she said, “It stinks.”
“Oh? Oh well, that’s a dull subject anyway, don’t you think?” he heard himself saying, trying to sound nonchalant.
She looked at him. “You really think so?” she said in a low, amused voice. He felt himself tighten. Then Sally came in before his mind got to work in defense.
“Erick thinks sex is a dull subject,” Leo said, “I told you you picked the wrong guy.”
Sally’s mouth drew into an irritated line. She didn’t answer Leo. She smiled slightly at Erick. “Come on down the cellar, Erick,” she said, “I want to show you some kitchen furniture the people next door gave us. We’re going to paint it.”
“Okay.” He got up and followed her. Glad to get away from Leo.
“Have a good time, kids,” Leo said. Sally flicked on the cellar light angrily. “Sometimes she makes me mad,” she said.
The furniture was chipped and ugly.
“Isn’t it nice?” Sally said
“Uh …
yeah.”
They stood silently. She looked at him. Her lips trembled. Then suddenly, she threw herself against him and slid her arms around his back. Her lips trembled. Then suddenly, she threw herself against him and slid her arms around his back. Her lips pushed against his.
She moved back a little. He saw the color in her face. She forced a smile on her face.
“It’s nice to have you back,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
She pressed her cheek against his, convulsively. “It
is
nice,” she said, almost frightened.
“I missed you,” he said.
“You don’t have to say anything pretty,” she said.
“I did though. I’m sorry it happened.”
“It’s all right.”
She raised her mouth again and he held her close.
“Still no words of love?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t want me to lie,” he said.
She sighed. “I suppose not,” she said. She pressed close to him. Then after a moment she asked. “You told her you loved her?”
“No. Thank God.”
“You
thought
you loved her.”
“Which is better? That I thought I loved her or that I
know
I’m very fond of you?”
She tensed and writhed a little in his arms.
“I don’t know,” she said with a break in her voice, “I think I’d rather you thought you loved me and told me so. Even if it was only for a little while.”
“I do love you Sally. But it’s different.” He felt secure again. He had regained his detached attitude.
She sobbed and pressed against him tightly, her nails digging into his back until they hurt him.
“Different,” she said, beginning to cry. “Always
different
. It isn’t fair!”