Love is Stranger: Farah, Fondly

I'm much older now. I've lived a full life, a good life, full of adventures and misadventures. I've loved deeply. I've loved brightly. I've loved recklessly. I don't have any regrets on the path my life took, or about the places I've been, things I've seen, or experiences that have stacked up inside me.

My memory is a deck of tarot cards, nestled one on top of the other, each holding an incident or an event or a person. Sometimes, when it's quiet, I like to shuffle through the deck, pull a card, and indulge myself in a memory. One of those cards, one I pulled recently, is Farah, Fondly. Every now and then I pull it from the deck, smile, and shake my head.

Life is strange.

Love is stranger.

I was a few years older than my peers in college. I went from high school into the Marine Corps. In part because I didn't know what to do, I didn't really have a plan or a dream to chase. In part because of the influence of my older brother, who'd also gone into the Corps. In my memory there is a whole set of cards relating to the experiences I had in the Corps. This story isn't about them though. Well not entirely, though the Corps is going to sneak back up and bite my ass before this tale is done. Those I'll save for another day. It's just the reason I was a few years older than most of my college classmates.

After the Corps I was still drifting through life. I had a neat little stack of money set aside for college alongside my enlistment bonus and a twenty-year obligation to the inactive reserve. I went home to Minnesota, did some research, and ended up selecting the University of Minnesota, in Morris. It was a small college in a small town, about ninety miles from my home in St. Cloud. I considered St. Cloud State, but decided I wanted a little distance from my family, and the small-town environment appealed to me.

UMM, as it is known, has about a thousand undergrads, give or take. I was looking at a degree in Psychology with a minor in English Literature, a classic liberal arts education. If you want the experience of a quality school in a relaxed setting, I would highly recommend it. Morris is a small rural town. The campus is nestled on the north-eastern edge. Downtown is within easy walking distance, six or seven blocks away. The campus has maybe twenty buildings all told, including the student residential halls and the campus apartments.

Normally, incoming freshman are lodged in either Independence Hall or Gay Hall for that first year, then they can move into one of the upper-class halls, on-campus apartments, or off-campus. I landed in Independence Hall, on the third floor on the north wing. It had a nice little set up, eight rooms and a common area per floor. Independence Hall has three wings, each wing five stories. All told, there were probably a little over two hundred students nestled together there. In addition to the smaller common areas on each floor, there was a larger common area that was split into two parts. One part was a sizable TV and study room, the other part was a recreation room, with a couple of pool tables, a shuffle-puck table, and a common table for gathering and playing cards.

The campus has all the amenities one would expect. There was a dining hall, a regional fitness center, a student recreation center, a library, and, appropriate for its rural setting, a horse stable. It has everything a student would need, all assembled in a rather intimate community setting. Move in day went smoothly, registration was a breeze, and as quick as that, I was a college student.

I had a roommate for the first two weeks, but, at the end of that second week, he left. Nothing drastic. Apparently, he'd applied to multiple universities and, shortly after he arrived, a slot opened at his preferred college, so he was gone. I suddenly had a single room and managed to hold onto it for that first semester. An unexpected gift from the random college experience gods. Most floors in my wing of Independence Hall were co-ed, so it was a mix of young men and young women scattered seemingly randomly throughout the building. There were several dedicated single gender floors in the hall, for the convenience and comfort of the students, and I imagine, their parents.

After four years in the Marine Corps, Morris was a quiet little paradise. I settled into a routine quickly enough and after those first two weeks started exploring everything the town and university had to offer. I walked both the campus and the town. It wasn't big, it took no more than a weekend to figure out where everything was at, all the amenities of the university and the offerings of the town, its cafes, bars, and stores.

Three things caught my attention. First, the student recreation center was nice. I'd learned to play pool in the Corps, so I immediately gravitated to the area set up with pool tables.. The fitness center was luxurious. Most nights involved a trip there. I'd lift weights, take a swim, enjoy a sauna, and then play pick-up ball, or randomly shoot hoops. But the place I fell in love with was the stables.

I'd grown up on a small Minnesota farm and being around horses was a great experience. They're incredible creatures, strong and beautiful. Horse are good judges of character. On my exploratory walk I signed up to be a volunteer stable hand. There were about thirty horses stabled there, so three times a week I took my turn shoveling horse poop and helping keep the stables running smoothly.

Stabled there was a beautiful palomino. Simply a gorgeous horse, well-formed and friendly. I fell in love with the horse, whose judgement led me to fall in love with Farah, by a convoluted path. The horse belonged to a young lady named Paula, who was equally well-formed and friendly. She and I struck up an almost instant friendship, bonding over our shared love for the horse. Paula also shot a wicked game of pool. She'd grown up playing pool on her family's table and was virtually unstoppable with a cue in her hand. You only need a few connection points to form a friendship, so Paula and I developed a quick bond.

Paula's roommate was Georgette, another Minnesotan, smart as a whip, outgoing and friendly. Georgette worked in the student recreation center through one of the work-scholarship programs. Georgette had serious people skills. She remembered everyone's name and face and everything they told her or that she observed. Even a few weeks in, when she walked across campus, she'd say hello to a dozen people by name. If you needed or wanted to know anything about someone, you could just ask Georgette and if she didn't know, she would in a day or two.

Now, I don't know how you do it, but I fall in love in bits and pieces. It's never been a sudden thing for me. I can dive into lust headfirst, but love, love takes time for me. It's a gradual thing. It starts when someone catches my eye. Then they catch it again. Then again.

I was in the recreation center playing pool with Paula one night, about midway through the semester, when a small group of Persian students came in to use a table. Morris had a small community of international students. You'd think that in a student body of a thousand people you'd meet everyone quickly, but I'd never seen them before. Four men and two women. One of the women instantly caught my eye.

She was young, like most of the students there. She was about five foot seven, a little on the tall side, and slender. She had a head of luxurious dark brown hair and big brown eyes. Her smile was easy if a little bit shy. She turned heads when she walked in. She turned heads when she played pool. She was dressed in blue jeans and an off-white shawl sweater that was a near perfect frame for her hair, spilling down her back in a ponytail. I am not ashamed to say I looked, though I tried not to stare. They settled in a couple of tables over and animatedly chattered away in Farsi, laughing, and taking turns on the table.

I just watched her out of the corner of my eye. To my eye, she was quietly graceful, moving like a dancer. She mesmerized me from the very beginning, with her hair and her eyes, with the way she moved, simply and softly sensual. When she passed near me, I got a whiff of her perfume, something faintly floral, barely there. She smiled as she passed, making a moment of eye contact, before looking down. It was just a lingering moment, just the flash of a smile, but it sent my heart racing.

Georgette came through. She must have noticed our moment of contact, must have noticed something in my expression. As she delivered Paula and I soft drinks, she leaned in and whispered a name in my ear.

"Farah."

Beauty had a name.

Paula and I wrapped up our game and headed over to the cafeteria for dinner. That was the first time I saw Farah and she gently settled into a soft, quiet corner of my mind. You know how some people do, you see them once and they're there in your imagination, fully formed. With Farah's striking looks and that wonderful scent she was an easy memory to create.

Over the next couple of weeks, the international students settled in and became regulars at the pool tables. One of them was an excellent player, so it was inevitable that, sooner or later, he'd cross Paula's path. We had an organized tournament one weekend and, though I went out in the third round, Paula reached the final bracket with the Persian student.

As the spectators lined up to watch, I found myself standing by Farah. Okay, I kind of made it a point to end up standing next to her. When the opportunity was presented, I took it and introduced myself. I knew her name now. The faint floral hints of her perfume filled my senses. She smiled warmly when she shook my hand. Her handshake was cool, dry, and strong. Her eyes were hypnotic.

Moments after introducing myself the Persian Mafia swooped in, cut me out and moved her away. I was probably transparent in my attentions, and they didn't like it. I just shrugged it off and went back to enjoying watching Paula work her magic on the pool table. She won the final bracket handily. Her opponent didn't take it well, muttering under his breath in Farsi. I just stepped up and congratulated Paula with a hug, made eye contact with him, and smiled.

Don't imagine me as any sort of tough, threatening character. That's never been me. There wasn't a moment where we went mano-a-mano with macho posturing. I just let him know that Paula was my friend.

That is usually enough to settle people down and it worked. He had a problem losing but pulled himself together quick enough. A short while later he came over, congratulated Paula, and introduced himself as Rashid, shaking both her hand and mine. After congratulating her, he introduced us to the Persian Mafia. We all exchanged names and introduced ourselves how I got to shake Farah's hand twice in one night.

I thought of the Persian Mafia as a herd of horses. They were a long way from home and both culturally and instinctively protective of each other. Not unfriendly, but not outwardly friendly either, with the bond of a shared language and culture pulling them together and erecting a protective screen around them. The trick to getting one horse from a herd of horses is simple, you just move slowly and talk softly until you're close enough to slip a halter on and then lead the horse you're after out of the herd.

Why did I go to a horse metaphor? Because my chance to spend time alone with Farah circled back to the stables. As the semester ended the university prepared for the Christmas holiday shut-down. Most of the students were heading home for the holidays. I wasn't. Oh, I planned on driving down to my parents for Christmas Day, but I was content to stay there through December and the first few weeks of January. There were bridge seminars available to students who stayed, short little courses on a variety of topics for four weeks. A couple of them caught my interest.

Most of the volunteer stable hands were heading out, so the handful of us that remained picked up extra days and spread the work around. Between the seminars and the stable work, I had plenty to do, even as most of the campus shut down. I promised Paula I'd exercise her palomino, and I took a couple of shifts at the recreation center so Georgette could get away to go down and see her family in Iowa.

The campus was mostly empty as we moved into the winter break. It was kind of strange and kind of nice. I'd start each day with stable duties, exercise Paula's palomino, and go to my first seminar. Then, grab some lunch at the cafeteria, head to my second seminar, then back to the stables to close out the afternoon. In the winter evening I'd head over to the recreation center to staff the desk, checking out equipment or games for the students that were still there, serving soft drinks and these horrible nachos that came out of a machine. I saw the Persian Mafia on a regular basis and in the smaller social environment, they were more open and friendly, their guards coming down once they weren't so badly outnumbered by blonde corn-fed Minnesotans.

Other than his temper, Rashid turned out to be a pretty good guy. He was a few years older than the rest of their little circle, like I was and so had assumed the father-protector role over them. He had a quick wit, told funny jokes, and was general just a kind guy. One night, as he beat me at pool, alone in the recreation center, we enlightened each other on our mistaken assumptions.

Because of the language, I had assumed they were all international students. I was wrong. Rashid was from New York. It came as quite the surprise to me, probably because my mind was holding onto stereotypes about Persians and Farsi. You live and learn and hopefully you don't embarrass yourself too badly. I also learned that Rashid had a crush on Paula. I didn't blame him for that, Paula was crushable. He'd also assumed I was her brother, given that we hung out together often, but weren't a romantic couple.

So, over a game of pool, we sorted out the cultural nuances that had both of us paralyzed. His culture required that, before a couple could date, they had to be formally introduced by the family. That explained why the Persian Mafia had swept in so quickly that first night I'd met Farah. Since there wasn't any family available, we both agreed to stand in as family, me for Paula, and he for Farah. He wouldn't tell me anything about Farah, other than to say that she was full of surprises when you got to know here. Oh, and she was from Los Angeles. Though she had been born in Iran, her family had moved to LA when she was a child.

That night, I went back to my dorm room and tried to figure out how I was going to break it to Paula that I'd just traded her for Farah. Once I decided on an approach, I called her. The conversation went something like this.

"Hey Paula, something came up and I thought I'd give you a call."

"Is my horse okay?"

"Yes, the horse is fine. Well, I wanted to let you know that I just traded you to Rashid for Farah."

She laughed for several minutes.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

More laughter.

"Okay, now explain the whole thing to me."

So, I did.

More laughter and then, the best part.

"Sure, I'll go on a date with him when I get back. He's kind of nice, in a weird gentlemanly way."

She had another surprise in there, but she was going to wait a while to spring it on me.

Now, you might be saying, "I still don't understand what the horse has to do with it."

I'll get there, it's coming up shortly.

The next time I saw Rashid, gave him the good news. In return he told me he'd talked to Farah, and she'd agreed to see me. That night, over dinner with the Persian Mafia, I was formally introduced. They had a great time, asking me all kinds of crazy questions. It took me about thirty minutes to figure out that they were all taking turns pulling my leg and making me as uncomfortable and bewildered as they could. At the end of the conversation, I had their permission to see Farah socially, in public settings. I came out of the dinner feeling like I'd been put through the ringer and thinking I'd never been through that just for a date.

Farah and I made a date for dinner at one of the nice restaurants in town, then to catch a film at the town theater, which was running old Christmas movies. Our first date went well enough. We lingered over a nice meal, made get-to-know-you small talk, exchanging our histories, our family stories, our interests, and our plans.

Farah had not chosen Morris as a school for her college education. It had been chosen by her parents, who thought the experience of a small rural school would keep her focused and out of trouble. She wouldn't tell me what trouble she'd been in, just gave me that beautiful smile and said maybe some day she'd tell me. I didn't mind that she had secrets. If anything, it added to her charm for me. I think everyone has secrets that we don't spill on first dates. I know I gave her the clean version of my four years in the Corps.

Later, when we sat together at the movie theater, the whole Persian Mafia lined up in the row behind us, Farah snuggled in under my arm and once again I was struck by her scent, that faint floral mix, and the warmth of her body curled up there. You know those times when you put your arm around someone for the first time and it feels awkward for a while? Never happened. She felt as natural as could be, inside the embrace of my arm, her warm body leaning against me. I wasn't quite in love with her, yet. But there was a naturalness about her that made me feel comfortable and warm inside.

We said our goodnights and she went home with the Persian Mafia. I walked back to the dorm by myself on a coldly beautiful Minnesota night, high on her scent, still feeling her warmth as she had leaned against me in the theater. She was still on my mind the next morning as I headed over to the stables. I wasn't expecting it, but she was there, waiting for me, standing under the sheltering eave of the front door. I opened the door and escorted her in.

I didn't realize it, but she was about to pass the hardest compatibility test I've ever submitted a date to, even if it was unintentional. When you're cleaning a stable, the first thing you do in the morning is clean up the previous night's poop. There's no easy way to do it. It's all shovel and bucket work. After the first stable, Farah got a shovel and leaned in to help.

Horses can be touchy when it comes to people. Some of them they take to instantly. Some of them they reject instantly. I didn't plan it, but it dawned on me halfway through that it was a pretty hard test to pass, just given the personalities of all the horses there. She passed with flying colors. The herd accepted her quickly, simply, and easily. She was a natural with the horses.

As for the buckets of horse poop, well, she was a natural at that too. It was right there, inside that stable, shoveling horse poop, that I realized I was fell in love with her. She had a simple grace in her that shined through when she worked, as we moved stall to stall.

She'd stripped off her winter coat, so she was wearing a cable knit sweater and a pair of blue jeans. The sweater and jeans were just tight enough that I could make out the lean lines of her form as she worked. She had a dancer's body, all long lines and smooth muscles, with enough curves to make her unmistakably a woman. Every now and then, over the strong scent of horses, I'd get a whiff of her perfume. Each whiff intoxicated me.

As we worked, we settled into each other, making more small talk, talking to the horses as we moved down the row of stalls.

We eventually reached Paula's horse and I introduced Farah to her. They immediately hit it off. As Farah was rubbing her neck, she leaned in, and stage-whispered into the palomino's ear.