Going Back

At which point, everyone around the table said, "they said, 'some assholes set a couch on fire,' and Dave said, 'yeah, I can't believe anyone would do that,' and the proctors never figured it out," before we all laughed, remembering that day at the end of sophomore year.

I noticed Vanessa running out of the tent, her phone to her ear, looking concerned, before I turned back to our conversation. Somehow, the couch on fire story brought me back, a little, to the joy of Reunions, and I found myself succumbing again to the power of nostalgia for a vaguely remembered past.

Later that night, I was about 5 beers into the party, standing away from the band, which was blasting away, and talking to a bunch of people, most of whom, I realized, I had never spoken with when we were in college. I was feeling pleasantly numb and relaxed, in a way that I rarely did, except at Reunions, where the beer flowed freely, and the atmosphere was conducive to carrying a nice buzz. About an hour before, I had noticed Vanessa, stalking away from the tent, again, with her phone to her ear, and I hoped that everything was O.K., and vaguely wondering why I cared. We had, in fact, spoken more today than we ever had when we were at school.

I looked over at the dance floor, which was packed. You could tell what class the dancers were from based on their costume, and it looked like we had a number of people from other classes who had chosen to leave their own party to dance to our band. I never danced—almost never, that was. A couple of times, over the years, after enough beers and enough asking by Maggie, I agreed to enter the fray, although lack of space and talent meant that what I did was hardly dancing. But the band was good—a cover band that played the music that was the common language of so many of my classmates.

Drinking and chatting, I refilled my plastic cup with our class logo on it again. I spoke with a few more people, catching up as best we could over the music, when I checked my watch, and was surprised that it was after 2 a.m. It was time to call it a night before I wasn't able to remember where my room was. Walking a little unsteadily towards the back of the courtyard, towards the wooden fence, I nodded at the campus security—I don't think they call them proctors anymore—and out of the party.

Even at that hour, there were loads of people, all in their orange and black finery, walking around, including kids and even some alums who were significantly older than me. Maybe there was some sort of fountain of youth in the beer. I walked toward the dorm I was staying in, a charmless building that I had never been into as a student, and turning into the small courtyard, I heard what sounded like sobbing. There was what appeared to be a woman, sitting on a bench under a dim light, and from her hunched shoulders, it seemed like she was crying. I walked over to see if I could help, and was shocked to see Vanessa, tears running down her face, makeup ruined, clutching her cellphone.

I flashed back to the last time I tried to help her in distress, all those years ago, and her arrogance and anger. It would have been easy for me to turn into the building and pass out on the small college bed rather than risk a repeat of that scene. But more than three decades later, we were all different people, and I felt like I had to do something for a classmate in pain.

Coming closer, I said, softly, "Vanessa, are you O.K.?"

She looked up at me, and I could see her temper flash, "No, David, I'm not O.K. Obviously."

A part of me wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, walk away and leave her with her problems and her attitude, but even in the partial light, I could see that she was hurting. Instead, I did something that I never could have done back in the day. I walked over and sat down next to her. And rather than get up, she moved closer to me and laid her head on my arm. We sat there as she sobbed a little more. I put my arm around her, to comfort her, and gently stroked her toned upper arm.

After a few minutes, I said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Vanessa paused, disengaged from my arm, and turned to face me. She was still beautiful, despite the years and the crying. Not the same beautiful from our undergrad years, but a mature, lived in beautiful. "Earlier today, my daughter Lily called me. She is home for the summer from college, and is working at the mall. She came home from work and found her father—my husband—fucking some woman. She called me right away."

I said nothing. Vanessa continued, and I could sense the anger growing in her voice. "The bastard called me a little while ago and tried the usual crap, 'she didn't mean anything, it was a mistake, blah blah blah,' but I pressed him, and he finally admitted that he had been screwing this woman—a drug company rep—for months. I told him that I expected that he would be gone by the time I come back on Sunday."

"I'm sorry," I said, because there really wasn't anything else to say.

"In reality, it is probably O.K.," she said. "Things have been bad with us for a while, but I honestly never suspected this. And for Lily to have to see it..." At that, she lurched and started crying again, and I put my arm out and she moved in. I let her sob against my chest for a while, and rubbed her back. Even through the reunions jacket, I could feel the tightness of her muscles and the bones of her spine.

When her crying jag ended, I asked, "Are you staying on-campus?"

"No, I'm at the Marriott on Route 1," she replied.

"Would you like me to walk you to your car?"

"I've had too much to drink," she responded. "I probably shouldn't drive."

"I'm staying here," I said, motioning to the dorm across the small courtyard. "I'd offer to drive you, but I'm in no condition, either. Maybe you should call a cab?"

She looked at me, as if assessing my character, her blue eyes flashing in the faint glow of the streetlights. "Can I stay in your room? I think I need company."

My stomach felt like it did the first time a girl I liked said something to me back in junior high. I tried to play it cool, though. "Don't you have a friend you can stay with?"

"I'd rather not have to explain this to someone else now. And we are friends, right?"

"Of course we are. Come with me," I said, standing up and taking her hand.

We entered the dorm and headed up the dingy stairs to the second floor. My heart was beating crazily, and not just from the walk up the stairs. Thirty years ago, this never would have happened, although I certainly dreamed of it. Somehow, I managed to get the door open, and I found myself alone in a dorm room with Vanessa Carson, but now what?

I reached into my suitcase and pulled out a t-shirt and turned to hand it to her. "The bathroom is next door. Here's a t-shirt if you would be more comfortable."

She took the shirt and smiled at me, the small lines around her eyes crinkling. She was still damn beautiful. "Thanks, David," she said, taking the shirt and turning toward the door, which I propped open with the garbage can as she went out.

I quickly disrobed, tossing my Reunions garb over one of the wood chairs, and threw on a t-shirt and thin athletic shorts. I grabbed my toothbrush and went to the men's room down the hall. Seeing myself in the mirror, I certainly looked more of my age than Vanessa did, but I had never been in her league. I was mostly bald, and a little paunchy, but Maggie was able to see past that, and loved me. As I brushed, I realized that this was not a date, or even a sexual situation. I was only helping out a friend, of sorts.

When I got back to the room, I could tell that Vanessa had returned, so I closed the door and turned out the light in the living room before walking into the small bedroom. I could hear her breathing in the dark, and I took out my phone so I could see where I was going. In the weak light from the screen, I could see Vanessa in the bottom bunk, on her side, facing the wall, under the thin blanket.

I started to climb up on the top bunk, realizing that I would have neither pillow nor blanket, but decided, under the circumstances, to just make it work up there. But I heard a quiet voice before I pulled myself up.

"David. Would you lay here with me? I really need to be held." I realized that she had been crying again.

What could I say to that offer? I squeezed next to her in the tiny bed, and it reminded me of when Maggie and I started dating, and I had a small bed that we shared. Of course, we ended up, eventually, with a king bed, and often laughed about how we had once made the small bed work, because, well, we had incentive.

Vanessa pressed her back against me, and I had no choice, considering the size of the bed, but to squeeze my lower arm under her. We spooned like this for a while, and I felt her breathe, and occasionally sob, when I realized that I was getting hard pressing against her firm ass. I was mortified, and tried to pull away, but she pressed back against me.

"It's O.K.," she whispered. "It's nice to know I can still have that effect on a man."

"Are you kidding?" I whispered back. "You are beautiful."

There was a pause, and I listened to her breathe. "Thank you, David. You are a true gentleman. I'm sorry we never met in college."

I decided not to tell her that we had, in fact, met before, and just enjoyed the feeling of a woman in my arms again. I thought about trying something, but decided it was not appropriate. Instead, I just allowed my mind to drift, hoping for sleep.

April 16, 1983 8:45 p.m.

Somehow, I had convinced Amy Kantor to come to my room. A year behind me in school, we had gone out a few times over the last month, and I liked her. And what was not to like? She was smart, of course, and pretty, and had great breasts, which I had briefly groped the previous weekend. I invited her over to watch some TV and drink some wine, which I desperately hoped would lead to sex.

I had cleared my roommates out, straightened up the place, showered, shaved and put on what passed for nice, casual clothing. I turned the TV on and sat on my bed, waiting. There was a knock on the door, and I opened it, happy to see Amy, wearing tight jeans and a top that displayed her truly impressive chest. That had to be a good sign, I figured.

She came in, kissed me briefly, and without hesitation came into my bedroom, tossed her purse on my desk and sat on the bed, because there was no place else to sit.

"Wine?" I asked, pointing to the bottle of not as cheap as usual red.

"Sure," she said, and I poured us glasses.

In the days before cable, there weren't a lot of choices, but we found a not terrible movie and sat, cuddling on the bed and drinking our wine. By about the halfway point of the movie and the bottle we were making out pretty seriously, and I had unsnapped Amy's bra and had my hand on her tit, feeling the hard nipple and soft flesh.

She did not resist as I removed her shirt and bra, and began to kiss her beautiful, full breasts. I was happy to hear her moaning with pleasure and press her hips against me, so I reached down to unbutton Amy's jeans. She lifted her ass off the bed, letting me pull down her jeans and panties, releasing an irresistible smell betraying her desire. I kissed my way down her soft belly, to the top of her full bush, and was pleased when Amy pressed gently on my head, making it clear what she wanted. And what she wanted, I was happy to give, although my experience in this area was not great, and a bit rusty. I buried my face into her wet folds, and licked and sucked as she bucked her hips against my face before ultimately yelling out and laughing. I guess that I had made her cum, and I was on the edge of doing so myself.

When she recovered, Amy said, "Come here," and she reached for my belt. I was too anxious to wait for her to fumble with it, and ripped my jeans and underwear off. As my throbbing cock approached the bed, Amy reached for it, and quickly stuck it into her warm mouth. Not surprisingly, it didn't take long before I whispered, "I'm almost ready," and she locked her lips around me and increased her speed, taking in my load when the inevitable happened.

I collapsed on the bed next to her, but we didn't stay there for long. I figured that it was time to start preparing to fuck her, but when I reached down to finger her pussy, she rolled away.

"That was great, Dave, but how about we go to the Street for a while, and pick this up this later?"

As much as I wanted to keep going right then, the idea of going out and being seen with Amy, having a few drinks, and then ending the night together was pretty good, too. So, we got off the bed, Amy took a slug of wine, and headed for the ladies room. I cleaned myself off and went to the men's room, washed my face, and returned to the room. I finished my wine while I waited for her to come back.

When she did, we left the room, we set out across campus, holding hands, heading to a party at her club, which was a few buildings past mine. As we walked down Prospect, I noticed a woman walking toward us in what looked like heels. As she came closer, I realized that it was Vanessa, in a skin tight, short dress that showed off her incredible legs, and her lithe body. My head snapped around as I watched her pass, and when it returned to the forward position, I realized that we had stopped walking. And Amy looked pissed, which I could see even in the weak street light.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What?" I said, unconvincingly.

"The way you stared at that girl."

"What?"

"You're not serious, are you? You almost got whiplash."

I stayed silent for a second, trying to figure out the response that would most probably lead to Amy still sleeping with me that night. "I thought that it was someone I knew," was what I came up with. It didn't work.

"Dave, after before, you do that?"

"Amy, I'm sorry."

She looked at me, as if I was an idiot. "You really have no idea how demeaning it is to me to see you stare at another woman when you are with me, do you?"

I stayed quiet, because there really was no good response.

Amy shook her head. "I hope the look was worth it, because you don't know what you just missed out on. But I'm glad that I learned what an immature loser you were before we went any further. Bye." She began to walk away.

I was a bit dumbfounded. I started after her, and yelled out her name, but without even turning around, she shot me the finger. I realized it was probably a waste of time to follow her, turned around and went back to my club for a beer or 6.

The next day, I sent her flowers, with an apology, but I never heard back, and when we passed each other on campus, she wouldn't even acknowledge my existence.

Saturday morning

I woke up and it took me a second to remember where I was, and who I was with. I lay there, unable to tell what time it was, because my watch was on my arm that was pinned under Vanessa. It was light out, but still quiet on campus. Being a man of my age, and having drunk more beer than usual, I really had to go to the bathroom. I gently extricated my arm from under the inert form next to me, checked my watch, noticing that it was just after 6 a.m., and tried to make it out of the room. I grabbed my phone and my keycard and padded out the door and down the hall to the men's room. After I entered, I realized that I needed to do more than just piss, so I settled in on the toilet, fired up the New York Times app to see what was going on in the world while I was back in the "orange bubble," and did what had to be done.

When I was finished, I returned to the room, trying to be as quiet as possible, but when I opened the door, it was clear that Vanessa was gone. I sat in the room, wondering if she, too, had to address a call of nature, but eventually it became clear that she had bolted. No note. Nothing. At that point, I simply assumed that I was just a convenient shoulder to cry on, and a warm body to cuddle with for comfort. And that she was clearly embarrassed by having spent the night, even in a Platonic way, with me, someone who continued to be beneath her in the social strata.

I was determined not to let her bullshit ruin my weekend. I realized that I was actually pretty pleased that I was willing to let go of my grief and think about another woman, even if it was only a pipe dream. I was self-aware enough to understand that it was a good thing, a step in the right direction, even if I had been burned. I went back to the bathroom, showered and changed into the full Reunions finery. Saturday is P-Rade day, and although there was breakfast, morning activities and panels and lunch, the day revolved around the parade, until the evening parties cranked up again.

Despite the relatively early hour, a good number of my friends made it to breakfast. I guess when you are in your 50s, it becomes increasingly difficult to sleep late, especially in a strange, small and uncomfortable bed. I grabbed coffee and a bagel, and sat down with some friends. We made small talk and compared notes about the previous night. No one mentioned seeing me with Vanessa, and I didn't volunteer anything. We discussed what our morning plans were, and agreed to meet back for lunch before the P-Rade.

I finished breakfast and went off to a panel discussion about the entertainment industry, which I thought would be interesting, and also would let me see, relatively close up, one of our more famous and attractive alumnae who was on the panel.

The large classroom was impressive. It had clearly been renovated, but retained its charm. The old, dark wood chairs with the extended arm for use as a writing surface survived the update, and the windows were still stained glass. But there was a modern sound system, lights, computers, etc. The room was filled with an incredible mixture of ages, from children to recent alumni to octogenarians. And almost everyone was in some combination of orange and black. I scanned the room and saw a number of people in my class jacket, one of the more proudly garish, and I waved at a few people I knew.

The session was lively and interesting. As best I could tell, the actress looked great, and seemed to be enjoying her time at Reunions. Afterwards, we filed down the stairs, and I could hear people making small talk, cajoling their kids and making plans. It was beginning to get warm outside, as it so often was during the P-Rade, but luckily, it didn't look like it would rain.

As I walked back toward our class headquarters, fighting the heat and immersed in my own thoughts, I sensed someone gaining on me, and then I got a whiff of Vanessa's scent. I whipped my head around, and saw her, her long legs striding toward me, her body hidden by the jacket, hair covered by a straw hat. She smiled as she approached me, so I stopped walking.

"Hey," she said, a little breathlessly, briefly resting her right hand on my left upper arm.

"Hi," I replied.

"Sorry that I bolted this morning. I was feeling a little weird and a lot sweaty, and decided I needed to take a shower and change back at the hotel. And have a little time to myself."

"Sure," I said, "that makes sense."

She looked at the watch on her wrist. "Going to lunch?"

"Yep," I replied.

"Let's go," she responded, and started walking.

October 27, 1984, 10:45 p.m.

Halloween always seemed silly to me once I got too old to trick or treat. On the other hand, in college, it was as good an excuse as any to have a party, especially in the land of orange and black. I threw together something that could pass as a costume, and headed out. Even though most of the social life on campus revolved around the clubs and the Street, there were still parties in the dorm rooms, and Walt and I went to one in a part of campus that was a little unfamiliar to me.

It turned out to be mostly underclassmen, a few who I knew from my campus activities or the club, but not very well. But there was music, and beer, and weed, and it was fun. I spoke with a few people, and noticed a group of tall, mostly blonde people in one corner of the room. They ignored me, and I did the same.