Gaming: D&D Pt. 11

Simran sighed.

- "So?"

- "I don't know if I could survive a long-distance relationship." I admitted. "I barely got through the 2 weeks we were separated in July. Honestly: do you think we could manage four, or even five years apart?"

Simran seemed unfazed by this possibility.

- "Why do you assume that we would have to be apart?"

I heard her words. It took an extra moment for them to register. My heart was thumping.

- "Are you saying ...?"

- "I'm just asking a question, Ian. It's a serious decision, though. Almost impossible to reverse."

I reached across the table, and took her hand.

- "I don't know what to say, at this point. I want to do a PhD., but I don't want to lose you. How do I manage to keep both?"

- "My grandmother used to have a favourite saying: 'Sufficient unto the day'. It's from the Sermon on the Mount. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

"Basically, there's enough bad stuff going on, without adding future problems. What my grandmother meant was that we shouldn't worry about things that haven't happened yet. If it's something you can prevent - then do it. Otherwise - relax."

- "So ... what if we were to ... discuss a few possible places where I might apply for a PhD. program?"

Simran smiled. "Then we might find a few places where I was willing to go, too."

- "Really? You'd go with me?" I could barely believe that she had said that. "But - what about your job?"

- "My skills are transferable enough. I'm sure there are many places with a reputable program for you would have opportunities for me, too." she said.

- "You're amazing." I said.

- "I'm glad you think so."

***

For a little while, I was tempted to believe that I could finish my thesis early, and I worked my ass off. Welsh was impressed with my progress.

There was still plenty of time for Simran - we got together three times a week. But it was she who insisted that Thursday nights were sacrosanct.

- "You can't neglect your friends." she said.

To tell the truth, I didn't want to. Nate had crafted a story that gripped my imagination. I hadn't experienced the thrill of playing since Burnsie had first introduced me to the game. I was always the GM, the story-teller. It was so much fun to be a player - in a story crafted specifically for me.

Nate had pilfered elements of the Arthurian legend - but not the T.H. White 'Sword in the Stone' stuff. His world was raw, cruel, and unforgiving.

And he had multiple surprises for me. In particular, in our fourth game, when Parvani sat in. She played the part of the young Prince we had rescued - who turned out to be a hermaphrodite Prince/Princess. With magical powers.

My character was just looking for a safe haven for himself and his remaining troopers. But the 'Prince' (Parvani) was seeking his mentor - a powerful wizard who might be able to protect him - and free me from the dangerous task of shepherding him.

She was an awesome player. I had to negotiate with Nate - the GM - but also with my supposed ally. I was beginning to wonder what Parvani's goals were - and whether they conflicted with mine.

On our sixth game, Coop joined in. He took over the part of Clovis, my lieutenant - the best fighter in my group (other than me). It was as if Coop had been eavesdropping on all of the previous games. He caught Clovis' personality perfectly, and played him better than I could have.

We fled to the Faerie Marches, on the contested border between humans and elves, pursued by multiple enemies.

- "Guys - this is amazing." I said. "The story is ..."

- "Fantastic." said Coop. "We know - just deal with it."

- "We wanted to do something special for you," said Nate, "after all of the great stories you crafted for us."

- "You deserve it." said Parvani.

It was a group effort, obviously - they were all experts at keeping secrets. I had no inkling that Par and Coop were even involved, until they showed up and started playing.

There was no question, though, that Nate was the chief architect. He had created the story, drawn the pictures, chosen the music, and drafted the others into playing their parts. I gave him a hug, after that game.

- "This is above and beyond, Nate." I told him.

- "Glad you're enjoying it." he said.

But my biggest surprise came on a Thursday night in December, when we gathered at my apartment on a Thursday night. Coop was already there, of course. But Nate and Parvani arrived with a dozen of my favourite beer ... and my sister ... and Simran.

- "Hi." she said.

Simran wasn't here to watch - she was here to play. I was completely baffled.

- "You're playing?"

- "She already has - twice." said Parvani, with a grin.

- "I ran your Omero and Tiluje scenario for Cherie, Coop, and Simran." said Nate.

- "It was a gas." said Coop.

- "She was really good." said Cherie.

I turned my head to look at Simran. She smiled.

- "It was fun." she said. Then she leaned over and kissed me. "My boyfriend is so clever." she whispered .

To my utter, complete amazement, Simran sat down with us, and took up her part - the elven Queen of the Faerie lands. I had to lead our little group into her territory, and then negotiate with her for temporary asylum - protection from the enemies pursuing us.

The price was high: we had to help her with her own enemies - Dark Elves and their minions. They were powerful magical beings, but vulnerable to iron. Simran and Parvani could counter some of their magic, while Coop and I brought the cold steel. Cherie played an imp, a annoying little master-trickster.

- "Type-casting." I suggested. She punched me in the arm.

I was in a state of wonder, and of disbelief at the same time. Nate's story was better than anything I had ever created. But I found it hard to get over the fact that Simran was sitting with us, playing D&D.

- "What?" she asked, when I kept looking at her.

- "I just can't believe you're playing D&D." I admitted.

- "It's like acting - but you get to make up your own lines." she said. "And it's also a bit like writing a story, with everybody contributing their character and some of the dialogue. I didn't realize, from the way you described it, how much freedom of choice there is."

"And elves!" She grinned at me.

- "I'm so glad you're enjoying it."

- "I just wanted to help - and to be a part of your story. But you're right - I am having fun."

***

Yvonne Bennett-Smythe arrived for a Christmas visit. Dr. Welsh still seemed surprised, and a little flustered when he told me. Simran was sure that the two of them had - or were having a relationship - but I wasn't going to just come out and ask.

He invited Simran and me to a 'Christmas Cheer' - a drink or two, at his house, a couple of days before Christmas. There were about a dozen other people there, but they made us feel very welcome. We had a wonderful time with Yvonne.

- "Colin has to play host to his other guests," she said, "but I'm under no such obligation. I don't know most of those people very well. In any case, I enjoy the two of you much more."

- "Ian was wondering, Yvonne," said Simran, "if you were in a relationship with Dr. Welsh."

I blushed.

- "Oh? Ian was wondering?" Yvonne looked at my girlfriend. "But you're not?"

- "I'm fairly certain that you are." said Simran.

- "On and off for the last eleven years." said Bennett-Smythe. "How did you know?"

- "I saw you with your hand on his leg, at dinner, in London."

- "Ah - bit of a giveaway, that." said Yvonne, with a chuckle. "Yes, I suppose we've been more 'on' than 'off' lately."

- "Eleven years?" I said.

- "Well, we didn't set out to do it this way." she said. "It was just going to be a few years, then two more. Next thing you know ..."

- "It must have been ... difficult." I said.

- "You have no idea." said Bennett-Smythe. She glanced at Simran. "Though maybe you can imagine it."

"It was very, very difficult, at first. Then we discovered that being together for long periods of time was enough to drive us round the bend. Nowadays, we're both so set in our ways, it's probably a good thing that we're apart."

I suspected that she was giving us a highly edited version of their story, but I didn't press her for more details. We chatted a bit more, until Yvonne asked me if I was free for lunch on the 27th.

- "I'd love to go back to that Mexican restaurant of yours." she said. "Colin took me, once, but I'd like to experience it with an expert."

I looked to Simran. "I think we can make it." I said.

- "Oh - no, Ian. I meant just you." said Yvonne. "If Simran doesn't mind being parted from you for an hour or two."

- "I have no objection." said Simran.

- "Wonderful. Alright, then Ian - push off. Make yourself scarce. It's time for some girl talk, here." said Yvonne. "Although you could be a dear and refill my wine glass for me."

- "Mine too, if you don't mind." said Simran.

I found Dr. Welsh in the kitchen.

- "Eleven years?" I said to him.

***

On Christmas day, I had two minor epiphanies.

Simran was a member of my family. Not 'like' one of the family - she was one of us. Hell, Dad and Jill liked her better than they did me. Cherie got into the habit of pinching me, and saying "Don't screw this up" - what a great vote of confidence that was.

It was eerily similar at Simran's house, with her family. They treated Nate and me like kings. It was comfortable, and warm ... and loving. Parvani had always been like a sister to me (with occasional lustful lapses, on my part). But we were back to complete trust, now - and I have to give D&D part of the credit.

Non-nerds may smirk, or even laugh. But you can't open up, and share your fantasies (the non-erotic ones, I mean), without leaving yourself completely vulnerable. Nate and Parvani, Coop and Cherie had all seen my dreams, my hopes, and some of my dearest wishes. We had shared some epic stories. and the process of creating them. They were family, too.

Simran was now part of both of my families. Both families loved and respected her. And she, I think, had come to understand them - and me - a little better.

That was my first insight.

The second occurred when she finished unwrapping my present to her. The expression on her face - I don't have the words to describe it. Glee, like a child with candy ... delight, that I had chosen something she would like - and not just for a day, but for many days to come ... and she had never looked so beautiful. The look she gave me set my heart to beating triple-time.

If she could still have that effect on me, after a year and half together ...

***

Bennett-Smythe wanted nachos, but she also had an urge to try the enchiladas.

- "You get the enchiladas." I said. "I'll order the nachos, and you can have as many as you want."

- "Elegant solution." she said. "I knew there was a reason I'd brought you along."

Yvonne had another definite reason for taking me to lunch. I waited for her to come out with it. She saw the expression on my face.

"Alright - yes, I do have an ulterior motive. Colin tells me that you're going to do your Doctorate. Where are you thinking of applying?"

I named a few Canadian universities that I was considering. "Cornell, too. But that might be a bit of a reach."

- "I suspect that they would be glad to have you." she said.

- "Thank you." I said. "But I'm not sure I could afford it, even if they did want me."

- "There's one more you could add to your list." said Yvonne.

She passed me a big brown envelope. I was a bit surprised, but her expression gave nothing away. I opened it, and found half a dozen sheets of paper, clipped together. I read the first page ...

It was an offer of admission - from Cambridge. England. My head snapped up, and I looked straight at her.

- "Professor Bennett-Smythe ..." I began. "I'm very grateful, but ... I'm not sure that I deserve this."

- "It's Yvonne, Ian. If only you knew how tired I am of waiting for people to finish saying my name. And you most certainly do deserve it."

"Do you remember when Colin asked your permission, to show the first draft of your thesis to a colleague? Well, now you know who that colleague was. And perhaps I should have asked your permission in turn, because I showed to a colleague of mine. He happens to be the Chair of Modern History at Cambridge."

"He agreed with me. Your thesis is first-class work. We both believe that you should pursue your studies much closer to the Public Record Office, since it seems likely that you'll be spending even more time there in future."

"Read the rest, will you?" she said.

I was blushing furiously, from her praise, but I did as she asked.

***

I wanted to tell Simran all about it that very evening, but when I phoned, Mrs. D. told me that she was out. I left a message that she should call me as soon as possible.

Late the next afternoon, I found a note from Coop, telling me that Simran had called while I was out. It may seem incomprehensible to young people today, but back in the Dark Ages, it was entirely possible to play 'telephone tag'. Two people could be trying to reach each other, but with a little bad luck - they could repeatedly miss each other's calls.

It took me three maddening, frustrating days to get in touch with my girlfriend. On the positive side, that gave me time to think about what I would say to her. I took a long walk, in the snow, considering my options.

I hadn't told her much over the phone. We needed to be face to face, for what I had to say. We were in my apartment. Coop had considerately made himself scarce, and I cracked open a bottle of wine.

- "I'm not sure where to begin." I told her. I just slid the envelope that Yvonne had given me across the coffee table.

Simran glanced at me, trying to read my expression, before she pulled the sheets out. She read very quickly.

- "Oh my God ... Ian - oh my God!" She looked up at me.

- "There's more." I said. "Keep reading."

Simran glanced at the second page, and the third. She raised her eyebrows at the fourth.

- "What does this all mean?" she asked me.

- "It means that I've already been accepted at Cambridge." I said. "As long as my thesis passes muster here - and it will. It also means that Yvonne has already arranged every fellowship and every scholarship that I would be eligible for."

- "How much are they worth?" asked Simran. She knew, better than anybody, that I was far from wealthy - that without some kind of financial aid, I would never be able to leave my home town.

- "Six thousand. Pounds. Sterling. That's almost $12,000." I said.

Simran came to sit beside me on our threadbare couch. "That's fantastic." she said, as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. Something about her body language gave it away.

- "You already knew." I said.

Simran hung her head. "Yvonne told me." she admitted. Then she looked up. "But that doesn't mean that I'm not thrilled for you."

- "Thrilled?" I said. "Simran - I'm not going to Cambridge - unless you're going with me."

- "What are you saying?" Simran couldn't meet my eye. "Ian - you have to accept this offer."

I shook my head.

- "No - I don't."

- "What?"

- "I've had plenty of time to think it over, Sim. I'd rather go to a university closer to home, if there's a possibility that you would go with me. If you insisted, I'd skip the PhD entirely, and get a job mixing paint, or serving falafel."

- "I would never ask you to do that." she said, her lip quivering a bit.

- "What do you want me to do, Simran?" I asked. "I need to know."

She reached into her purse, and produced a legal folder. She passed it to me. I flipped it open, and read the first page.

My jaw dropped.

- "I know." she said. "That was my reaction."

Yvonne Bennett-Smythe hadn't just arranged admission and scholarship money for me - she had got Simran a 3-year contract to work for the Cambridge University Press.

- "It's the oldest publishing house in the world. And the second largest university press, after Oxford." she said. "They publish 50,000 titles a year, in 40 countries."

- "What's ... what's the salary?"

- "Fourteen thousand. Pounds."

The pound was floating a bit, in the mid 1980s - it was between $1.50 and $2.00 Canadian. Those thoughts flitted through my head, in an instant.

- "Does that mean ...?" I asked.

Simran was smiling.

- "Yes. Yvonne is a big admirer of yours ... but for some reason - which I don't entirely understand - she likes me, too."

- "That's not what I meant." I said. "Simran - if I went to Cambridge ... would you go with me?"

- "Yes, Ian. I would."

The most beautiful, most desirable, most amazing woman in the world - as far as I was concerned - was willing to move with me. To live with me.

- "Simran - this isn't just for a year." I said. "A PhD program could take me four or five years."

- "I know."

My mouth went dry.

- "Sim ... does that mean ... do you ... could you picture us together ... I mean, spending the rest of your life ... with me?"

Even as I said the words, I knew exactly what I was saying. Offering.

Asking.

"I don't know exactly what you want. And I can't afford a ring, at the moment. But I know that I would happily spend the rest of my days with you - if you'll let me."

Simran didn't let me talk any more. She leaned forward, and pulled me into a kiss.

And what a kiss. When she finally released me, I could hear the sea, the waves rushing in, crashing against the shore. Simran blushed, and somehow got me back into my seat. There was a moment there, when she couldn't meet my eye.

- "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" she said.

- "I mean it, Sim. I want to be with you. No limitations, no conditions."

- "Thank you, Ian." She squeezed my hand. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

She was pretty close to tears. "How did you know?" she asked.

- "How did I -?" If she was asking why I hadn't proposed marriage ... I just had a feeling that the last thing Simran wanted was to be engaged again.

- "My incredibly smart boyfriend." she whispered.

- "Your idiotic boyfriend." I corrected. "Who wants to be your life partner."

- "My life partner." she repeated, with a smile.

*****

THE END