Part 5 (2/2)
It was the first time anyone had ever done that, and it made me bolder. I leaned forward, holding on to her hand, and the words came out. ”I like you very much.” After I said it, I was afraid she'd laugh, but she nodded and smiled.
”I like you too, Charlie.”
”But it's more than liking. What I mean is ... oh h.e.l.l! I don't know what I mean.” I knew I was blus.h.i.+ng and I didn't know where to look or what to do with my hands. I dropped a fork, and when I tried to retrieve it, I knocked over a gla.s.s of water and it spilled on her dress. Suddenly, I had become clumsy and awkward again, and when I tried to apologize I found my tongue had become too large for my mouth.
”That's all right, Charlie,” she tried to rea.s.sure me. ”It's only water. Don't let it upset you this way.”
In the taxi on the way home, we were silent for a long time, and then she put down her purse and straightened my tie and puffed up my breast pocket handkerchief. ”You were very upset tonight, Charlie.”
”I feel ridiculous.”
”I upset you by talking about it. I made you self-conscious.”
”It's not that. What bothers me is that I can't put into words the way I feel.”
”These feelings are new to you. Not everything has to ... be put into words.”
I moved closer to her and tried to take her hand again, but she pulled away. ”No, Charlie. I don't think this is good for you. I've upset you, and it might have a negative effect.”
When she put me off, I felt awkward and ridiculous at the same time. It made me angry with myself and I pulled back to my side of the seat and stared out the window. I hated her as I had never hated anyone before-with her easy answers and maternal fussing. I wanted to slap her face, to make her crawl, and then to hold her in my arms and kiss her.
”Charlie, I'm sorry if I've upset you.”
”Forget it.”
”But you've got to understand what's happening.”
”I understand,” I said, ”and I'd rather not talk about it.”
By the time the cab reached her apartment on Seventy-seventh Street, I was thoroughly miserable.
”Look,” she said, ”this is my fault. I shouldn't have gone out with you tonight.”
”Yes, I see that now.”
”What I mean is, we have no right to put this on a personal ... emotional level. You have so much to do. I have no right to come into your life at this time.”
”That's my worry, isn't it?”
”Is it? This isn't your private affair any more, Charlie. You've got obligations now-not only to Professor Nemur and Dr. Strauss, but to the millions who may follow in your footsteps.”
The more she talked that way, the worse I felt. She highlighted my awkwardness, my lack of knowledge about the right things to say and do. I was a blundering adolescent in her eyes, and she was trying to let me down easy.
As we stood at the door to her apartment, she turned and smiled at me and for a moment I thought she was going to invite me in, but she just whispered: ”Good night, Charlie. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
I wanted to kiss her good night. I had worried about it earlier. Didn't a woman expect you to kiss her? In the novels I'd read and the movies I'd seen, the man makes the advances. I had decided last night that I would kiss her. But I kept thinking: what if she turns me down?
I moved closer and reached for her shoulders, but she was too quick for me. She stopped me and took my hand in hers. ”We'd better just say good night this way, Charlie. We can't let this get personal. Not yet.”
And before I could protest, or ask what she meant by not yet, not yet, she started inside. ”Good night, Charlie, and thank you again for a lovely ... lovely time.” And closed the door. she started inside. ”Good night, Charlie, and thank you again for a lovely ... lovely time.” And closed the door.
I was furious at her, myself, and the world, but by the time I got home, I realized she was right. Now, I don't know whether she cares for me or if she was just being kind. What could she possibly see in me? What makes it so awkward is that I've never experienced anything like this before. How does a person go about learning how to act toward another person? How does a man learn how to behave toward a woman?
The books don't help much.
But next time, I'm going to kiss her good night.
May 3-One of the things that confuses me is never really knowing when something comes up from my past, whether it really happened that way, or if that was the way it seemed to be at the time, or if I'm inventing it. I'm like a man who's been half-asleep all his life, trying to find out what he was like before he woke up. Everything is strangely slow-motion and blurred.
I had a nightmare last night, and when I woke up I remembered something.
First the nightmare: I'm running down a long corridor, half blinded by the swirls of dust. At times I run forward and then I float around and run backwards, but I'm afraid because I'm hiding something in my pocket. I don't know what it is or where I got it, but I know they want to take it away from me and that frightens me.
The wall breaks down and suddenly there is a red-haired girl with her arms outstretched to me-her face is a blank mask. She takes me into her arms, kisses and caresses me, and I want to hold her tightly but I'm afraid. The more she touches me, the more frightened I become because I know I must never touch a girl. Then, as her body rubs up against mine, I feel a strange bubbling and throbbing inside me that makes me warm. But when I look up I see a b.l.o.o.d.y knife in her hands.
I try to scream as I run, but no sound comes out of my throat, and my pockets are empty. I search in my pockets but I don't know what it is I've lost or why I was hiding it. I know only that it's gone, and there is blood on my hands too.
When I woke up, I thought of Alice, and I had the same feeling of panic as in the dream. What am I afraid of? Something about the knife.
I made myself a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. I'd never had a dream like it before, and I knew it was connected with my evening with Alice. I have begun to think of her in a different way.
Free a.s.sociation is still difficult, because it's hard not to control the direction of your thoughts ... just to leave your mind open and let anything flow into it ... ideas bubbling to the surface like a bubble bath ... a woman bathing ... a girl ... Norma taking a bath ... I am watching through the keyhole ... and when she gets out of the tub to dry herself I see that her body is different from mine. Something is missing.
Running down the hallway ... somebody chasing me ... not a person ... just a big flas.h.i.+ng kitchen knife ... and I'm scared and crying but no voice comes out because my neck is cut and I'm bleeding...
”Mama, Charlie is peeking at me through the keyhole...”
Why is she different? What happened to her?...blood ... bleeding ... a dark cubbyhole...
Three blind mice ... three blind mice, See how they run! See how they run!
They all run after the farmer's wife, She cut off their tails with a carving knife, Did you ever see such a sight in your life, As three ... blind ... mice?
Charlie, alone in the kitchen early in the morning. Everyone else asleep, and he amuses himself playing with his spinner. One of the b.u.t.tons pops off his s.h.i.+rt as he bends over, and it rolls across the intricate line-pattern of the kitchen linoleum. It rolls towards the bathroom and he follows, but then he loses it. Where is the b.u.t.ton? He goes into the bathroom to find it. There is a closet in the bathroom where the clothes hamper is, and he likes to take out all the clothes and look at them. His father's things and his mother's ... and Norma's dresses. He would like to try them on and make believe he is Norma, but once when he did that his mother spanked him for it. There in the clothes hamper he finds Norma's underwear with dried blood. What had she done wrong? He was terrified. Whoever had done it might come looking for him....
Why does a memory like that from childhood remain with me so strongly, and why does it frighten me now? Is it because of my feelings for Alice?
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