Cow Country

NIGHT

With my foot pressed firmly on the gas, the six-hour drive to the city took us a little over three and a half. Along the empty highway we barreled headfirst, blazing by vacant fields and sleeping cattle and the occasional off-ramp leading to another stretch of unmarked highway. Out past the town the night itself was absolute darkness and if not for the headlights and the center line passing under the wheels of the Starfire, there would have been nothing at all for us to see. Amid the darkness outside the window and the emptiness of the surroundings, our only proof of forward motion — the only sign that our car was in fact moving from one point in time to another, that we ourselves were moving — was the old odometer turning slowly on the walnut dashboard of the Oldsmobile.

“We’re going eighty-eight,” said Raul. “Which is a little fast, you know….”

And I nodded.

In lieu of words, Bessie had taken to manning the AM radio and for a while we just sat in the wordless car listening to the far-off strains of classic country, the songs coming one after another over the radio, each telling of a life that was different and defiant yet just barely hanging on. These were not simply songs about love achieved or lost; these were songs about the great difference between staying and leaving.

“I haven’t heard this one in ages….” Bessie would say and close her eyes to listen better.

And I would nod.

A half-hour out of Cow Eye Junction the last AM station faded to static and Bessie leaned forward to switch it off. Immediately the air of the night grew more present, the night itself perfectly quiet but for the rumble of the engine. The center stripe in the road was now flying by so fast under the wheels of our car that it came and went as a single unbroken line. The smell of vinyl and old cigar from Will’s ashtray gave the car its warmth, and as we drove headlong we spoke about the things that had brought us all to the notchback bench seat in this most venerable of all great cars — to this particular moment in time and space. Ahead of us was a city and behind us was a town. And even further back were the untold arrows once hurled from a terrific distance — the twists and happenstances that somehow led each of us to end up here, in the warm cab of Will’s ‘66 Starfire, rolling down an empty highway toward the outer limits of darkness. In our rearview mirror were the pills that we had taken and the reports that we had written and the fantasies we had once imagined for ourselves. Behind us too were the broken treaties and the buried languages, a promising frontier, the unexplored rivers with their pitiless dams that could now be relied upon to block the water from flowing. All of it was somewhere in the brightly lit past, while up ahead in the distance beyond the steamy windshield where the end of the highway meets the beginning of pure darkness were the hopes that we were pursuing and the dreams we still held. The unfinished report. The innovative proposal. The untenable plan that would one day need to be written under the dark illumination of a single desk lamp. In the faint light of the Starfire’s cab — amid the soft glow of the dashboard and the chalky warmth of its heater — it was all so clear to see. And so we talked about it wholeheartedly. The squandered loves. The sundered dreams. The Supreme Court decisions. The soteriological debates. A vanquished frontier. Favorite supermarkets. The patron saint of lost travelers. Our vague futures and even less coherent histories. Lost in the interval between the darkness left behind and the darkness still ahead, we spoke about the only things that we could now see. The night. Its darknesses. The far-reaching emptiness of eternity.

“Have you ever seen a night this dark?” asked Raul.

I squinted my eyes at the night beyond the headlights. But the darkness in front of us was truly dark.

“No,” I said. “Not even close.”

“Me either. It’s as if we’re traveling through that unseen part of the universe where no light can go.”

“Precisely. In all my years I don’t think I’ve ever seen a darker night than this.”

“Well, I have….” Bessie had opened her eyes and was staring straight ahead into the oncoming night. “It was the last time my dad and I went fishing. I was untouched back then and there was no moon.”

“You were untouched once?”

“Yes. And there was no moon out. It was a night as dark as this one. The clouds were thick before the rain. In the pitch-black you couldn’t even see your own hand if you held it in front of your face. The sounds were so intense. The smells were everywhere. The night was so electric that you could actually feel it in your bones. It was the only time I’ve ever felt the night. My dad was sick at the time. He was sick in ways that I couldn’t have understood. Afterwards we lit up a fire and sat around it. I was very small but I can still remember the darkness of that night. The smells. The intensity of the sound. The pulsations. I shivered under a blanket and sobbed. It was the last time I saw the river over my father’s shoulders.”

The car was now going well over ninety, and I held my foot firmly to the pedal. As the three of us talked away the minutes — the miles — the car itself seemed to be frozen in time, as if the Oldsmobile were perfectly motionless, deathly still. Defying the odometer, it might have been that our car was staying in one place — and that it was the world itself, with all its intricate madness, that was so inexorably rushing by.

“When I was a child I used to be afraid of darkness like this,” said Raul after the latest silence had passed. “My mother would come in to turn off the light in my room before putting me to bed. In the unlit room she’d lie on my old mattress and tell me the stories her own mother used to tell her when she was young. A good story, she would say, can take place in the darkness of one’s own imagination. Just imagine, Raulito, that there is no light in the world. Outside this room there is nothing but everlasting darkness and the black of impenetrable night. Words can be the light for the seeing that happens in the darkness of your own mind. Close your eyes, Raulito, and let me tell you another story. Close your eyes, Raulito, and pretend that this night will last forever….”

As the car sped along through the distance of time and space, the three of us talked about the ways that night tends to become day. How the two become each other. And how, despite the tenacity of our efforts, these opposites will always be in conflict and can never be reconciled. These were the lessons that we had learned, each of us in isolation along the way. And staring out past the cold glass of the Starfire, at the vacant darkness of all-enveloping night, we talked about the things that we had seen. The smells that we had experienced. The people loved. The miracles witnessed. The longings. The moisture. A casual touch of thigh against thigh on a crowded bench seat. From here the silence that followed lasted longer than most — filling the car and taking the three of us well into the heart of our journey, headlong past the vacant fields and the changing scenery that we could not yet see: the fence posts, the farm houses, the unlit billboards and banners that might have told us we were getting closer to a city. Surrounded by this silence, neither Raul nor Bessie felt the need to speak. All around us the world was very dark. I clenched the steering wheel tightly and drove further into the night.

*

With the countryside whisking by unseen, the mood in the car gradually edged along from one extreme of darkness to the other. A few miles down the road Bessie dialed in another AM station and we listened to the music for as long as it lasted. When we’d outdriven the last country song she turned it off again and the three of us began to sing Christmas carols over the drone of the engine: first the somber and reflective ones, then the sprightly ones as well. Raul’s voice was strong and pure. Bessie’s was angelic. Mine came from a place I’d not visited in many years. Though our singing was approximate it was also very sincere, the carols bursting forth like fireworks into the cold March night — and when it was done we turned our discussion toward the more immediate things in life: the chalky outlines of smoke and water and history. As the miles passed beneath us we spoke about the emptiness of this empty highway, about the ambulance that had sped off toward the city with our stricken friend inside and how we had vowed to follow it to the farthest ends of the earth. And of course we talked about the sad plight of our friend himself, about Will Smithcoate, whose own heedless pursuit of bourbon and cigars had brought him to such a lonely place in an unknown hospital room somewhere in the unforeseeable future.

“It’s not right,” said Bessie as a light trickle began to descend onto our windshield a few minutes later. “The man can be aggravating as hell. He’s jaded and out of tune. His lecture notes are anachronistic. His tongue is acute and his reminiscences imprecise. But he deserves something a little better than this. To rot away in a hospital somewhere, forgotten by the world. Wifeless and childless.”

“And speechless….” Raul added.

“And homeless,” I said.

We all muttered our agreement.

“It’s sad indeed,” said Raul, finally. “But this is not the end for him. Trust me, my friends, guys like Will Smithcoate never die. They just smoke and drink and teach undergraduates until there’s nothing more to live for….”

We drove for several more minutes in silence. It must have been a good twenty miles of wordlessness with none of us feeling the need to talk. The silence itself was natural and well-received.

About halfway into the journey we hit a sudden patch of rain, the water thumping the windshield then snaking up the glass like little transparent worms. Against this new moisture I flicked on the wipers and focused even more intensely on the road stretching before us. The rain continued to come and soon the droplets were bouncing off the road so heavily that the center line disappeared completely and all that could be seen were the frenzied explosions of water against the asphalt.

“Wow,” said Raul. “When’s the last time any of us saw rain? I bet the Diahwa Valley Basin hasn’t seen anything like this for years!”

“It won’t last,” said Bessie. “It’ll pass.”

“The rain? How would you know that?”

“It’s a fact of life. All things that come unexpectedly will sooner or later leave just as unexpectedly….”

Bessie’s words sounded ominous. Yet the further we drove, the harder the rain came down. Ahead of us the drops were cutting through the glare of the headlights like tracer bullets. At times the wipers could not keep up and the only thing visible was the blur of the moisture on the windshield and the vague outline of the asphalt under the headlights. Undeterred, I aimed the Starfire for the gray void beyond the windshield where the half-lit asphalt would hopefully be.

“You don’t think you’re going a little fast?” Raul asked. “In this weather especially?”

“Yes I do think I’m going a little fast. Of course I’m going fast. That’s exactly the point, Raul! I’m driving at excess speeds because I want to make it to the city as efficiently as possible. If we can get to the hospital early enough we’ll have time to visit Will and still make it back for tomorrow’s accreditation activities. And if we make it back in time I just might have enough time to get a little sleep before the Christmas party….”

“The party starts at six, right?”

“Yes. Which means we can visit Will in the morning and still make it back to Cow Eye by two for a few hours of sleep before heading over to the cafeteria for the party. That’s why I’m driving so fast. The fate of our institution depends on it. My very legacy depends on it.”

“It’s a worthy goal,” said Raul, “though more of an objective, really. But would you mind slowing down just a little anyway? Please!”

I took my foot slightly off the gas. The needle retreated a bit then settled firmly on seventy-five.

“Thank you,” said Raul. “That’s a lot better for my nerves….”

From there I drove through more heavy rain, Raul and Bessie keeping their silences amid the pelting drops. At last Raul pointed through the windshield.

“Hey, Bessie, look at that…!”

Bessie obliged but saw nothing.

“At what?” she said. “I just see rain.”

“Exactly. The moisture is still coming down!”

“So?”

“Well, it goes against your idea that all things that come must also go. The rain is still coming, just like all the other things in this world that stay and stay forever. Like water. And darkness. And the essential laws of mathematics.”

“No, Raul, there is nothing in this world that stays forever. Not the sun. Not the moon. Not the lover. Not the parent. All things will eventually come to an end. Day and night. The people we love. The whims of man. The dams. The many nations of the world. They all must come to an end at some point.”

“Not our nation!” said Raul, leaning forward to make his point more emphatically. “Ours will stay and stay forever!”

“And your evidence of this is?”

“The evidence is all around you. Just take a look. What do you see?”

“Rain.”

“And?”

“Endless darkness.”

“Right, you see these things because it’s night. But during the day you’d see the purple mountains. And the fruited plains. The flag with its thirteen stripes and forty-seven stars. The mile markers. The dichotomies. The silver trout. The dissenting opinions. They still exist — all of them. Existence is the best argument for itself. Our country exists because it has continued to exist through the many mystic discords of collective memory. And that means it will continue to exist forever…!”

“Like the rain now falling?”

“Right!”

“This rain,” I said conciliatorily, “is falling without a doubt. And our great country surely does exist. These things are incontrovertible. But as to the other suppositions the two of you have expressed, well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Bessie shrugged her shoulders and slid very slightly over to me. Raul said nothing.

In front of us the rain was falling just as hard. Amid the darkness of endless night it seemed that it would fall forever.

*

To the sound of the car rumbling through the darkness the three of us talked away the remaining distance. Between the edge of Cow Eye and the promise of a city up ahead we found the words to voice the great topics of the day — and then, when they were fully exhausted, the even greater topics of this night. And as we moved further from Cow Eye Junction the focus of our discussion moved with us as well: from the specifics of the accreditation visit and the upcoming Christmas party….to the rain now falling heavily onto our windshield. From desiccation to darkness. From daylight to dissolution. In short order we talked about time and moisture and darkness and love — and how these things have come together to produce all the meaning in our world: the things that stay and stay forever.

“Darkness added to time,” Raul declared, “produces eternity. Just as moisture amid darkness inspires hope.”

“Love to the power of time equals darkness squared,” added Bessie. “While the average of love and moisture is greater than their equivalent for darkness and time.”

At all of this I nodded.

“I agree with each of you in principle,” I said. “Though in my case it’s been something slightly less mathematical — more paradoxical, if you will. Without time you cannot experience love. Without love you cannot achieve moisture. Without moisture you cannot love darkness. And without darkness — without the pure night that follows the purer day — you cannot know time. Such is the unbroken cycle of incarnation. But we seem to have lost our connection to it. We seem to have lost our bearings somewhere along the way….”

“Like the three of us tonight….”

“In this car….”

“Surrounded by darkness….”

“Heading down an empty highway toward a city that might not exist….”

“Toward a hospital of our own imagination….”

“In a state whose name is never given….”

“No!” I protested. “That’s not true at all. We’re not lost! We’re just traveling slowly but indisputably toward a destination that is unknown!”

“It’s the same thing, Charlie. And in any case, it’s too late now. The clouds are dark. The sky is black. The rain is still falling. But then we interrupted you. Weren’t you saying something about humanity losing its way…?”

“Right. So as I was saying…. each of these things requires the others. But we have gotten away from them.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. And yet all is not as lost as it may seem. All is not lost because it is still quite possible to have all of them together. You see, to have one you must have all the others. For without one you cannot have anything at all. And so perhaps it is this that is the great calculus of life? Perhaps it is this revelation that has eluded us in our implacable quest to sow the seeds of future civilizations?”

The car sped forward. By the time we reached the three-quarter point of the drive it was a little after one-thirty in the morning, we’d already run the gamut of travel talk and Christmas carols, and each of us had begun to notice telltale signs of weariness in the others.

“How are you doing there, Charlie?” Raul asked. He had leaned forward to stare across Bessie at me. “Let me know if you want me to take over the driving for a bit.”

“I’m fine, Raul.”

“You don’t look fine. You look tired….”

“That’s because I am tired. I’m tired because I’m not sleeping. I haven’t slept in seven months, remember?”

“But you look really tired now. More tired than ever. On a scale of one to ten… with ten being a well-rested student on the first day of class and one being a lifeless pelican after it has been trammeled by an accreditor … you, Charlie, look to be barely one-and-a-half.”

“That bad?”

“If not worse. Your eyes are bloodshot. Your hands tremble. Your knees are knocking against the bottom of the steering column. Did you remember to take a pill from the vial you just bought?”

“I did.”

“Was it the pill to stay awake?”

“I believe so. Though it’s becoming increasingly difficult to say. I seem to be in control of my senses for the time being. I feel alert and attentive. The things I see are eminently clear and consistent. The road. The rain. The darkness up ahead. So far none of it makes me shiver. None of it moves me to desolation. But we’re not quite to our destination yet, are we? So I suppose we’ll find out soon enough one way or the other. For example when we reach the city. Or, oppositely, if I fall asleep at this wheel….”

“Not funny, Charlie.”

“Yeah,” said Bessie. “I am not meeting my maker in an Oldsmobile…!”

At this the three of us fell silent. The journey continued. The road stayed the course. Now we talked about time and space and eternity and time. Then eternity. Then space. We talked about darkness and light and other mutually exclusive things until, to lighten the darkness, Raul decided to change the tenor of the discussion entirely. “Hey!” he said, as if he had just experienced an epiphany. “I know what we can talk about. We can talk about love! You know, what it is…!”

“Again?!”

“Don’t worry….it shouldn’t take very long. We’re almost coming up to the city. In fact, I think I can make out a sign in the distance….”

A few seconds later the sign flew by: the city was less than a hundred miles away.

“But, Raul,” I said, “a lot of things can happen over the course of a hundred miles.”

“Naturally,” he said. “Which is why we should talk about love before it’s too late…!”

And so over the next fifty miles we spoke about the universal particulars of love, the eternal exigencies of romance, the most common idiosyncrasies of sex. As I looked through the rain for the first indications of the approaching city — the dull glow in the sky that would soon be overwhelming the stars — I listened along as Raul and Bessie engaged each other in a graphic discussion of male and female orgasm. To the sound of the rain and the rhythm of the wipers, the words overcame me; like desire itself, the conversation started slowly, picking up momentum with each utterance until it had blossomed into a heated intercourse that lasted several anxious minutes — several miles of undulating tension and release — Bessie speaking with inner authority on the subject, yet Raul managing to hold his own in the evenly matched communion of shared experience. When the fumbled beginnings had turned to lively intercourse and when the intercourse had found its breathless culmination, Raul summarized the experience that had just been witnessed by all:

“What you’ve just said is all fine and good,” he explained to Bessie. “But at the end of the day your orgasm is a lot more well-rounded than ours.”

“Than whose?”

“Than ours. Mine and Charlie’s. Which is to say, without a doubt your orgasm is more elaborate than ours will ever be.”

“You’re telling me?”

“Yes. If you were to diagram the male orgasm, it would appear as nothing more than a straight line ascending toward its zenith. A simple geometric line moving from foreplay through coitus and on toward a resounding ejaculation. It is straightforward and predictable with equal rise and run…. “ At this Raul used his forefinger to draw an ascending diagonal line through the air. “…Meanwhile, the female orgasm is far more complex. If you were to represent it visually it would look something rather like this….”

With his finger pressed lightly against the steamy windshield, Raul traced onto the glass a series of concentric circles representing emanating waves of female pleasure:

When he’d drawn the smallest circle he could draw, the tiny circumference barely wider than a pea, he tapped his finger against the glass. “There!” he said. “That is the female orgasm in all its splendor!”

“It looks like an old tree stump,” said Bessie.

“Or a target to be used for shooting-practice,” I added.

“Or a heavenly body that has lost almost all of its orbiting moons.”

“Moons?”

“Yes, those most feminine of all satellites.”

“Yeah, well these are not moons. They are emanating waves of female pleasure. Duh…!”

Bessie and I exchanged sideways glances. Then I asked:

“But why only three circles, Raul? Why are there only three concentric rings surrounding the pea-sized center? Why only three moons around that celestial body?”

Raul had apparently prepared himself for this particular question:

“Simple,” he said. “We all have jobs, right? And obligations to fulfill. And reports to write. And early meetings to attend the following Monday morning. It’s certainly not that you and I aren’t capable of more. And besides, there’s only so much room on this windshield….”

I nodded in full agreement.

But at this Bessie seemed to take exception to the diagram that Raul had drawn.

“Spoken like a true man!” she grunted. “This all might have been true in some bygone era, Raul. When life was geometric and Civilon still roamed the earth and Barcelona was the center of the romantic world. But that is no longer the case….” As Raul’s concentric circles slowly succumbed to the balmy warmth inside the car — from the heater, our exhalations, the rising intensity of the discussion itself — Bessie drew her own representation using the very tip of her forefinger. “Actually,” she said, tracing her finger into the condensation on the windshield, “my orgasm looks more like this….”

“It’s a house!” said Raul, nonplussed.

“It’s an orgasm.”

“Where’s the orgasm?”

“It’s there,” said Bessie, “inside the house. Somewhere deep inside. And it will reveal itself to those who know how to ask. It will open up to you and let you enter. But first you have to knock softly on the door….”

Raul raised his knuckles as if he were going to knock on Bessie’s orgasm, but then he changed his mind.

“Right,” he said, and grew silent.

At this another road sign sped by announcing thirty-seven more miles to the city. A few minutes later a car passed by in the opposite direction: the first oncoming traffic we’d met since leaving Cow Eye Junction.

“I wonder if that car’s headed to Cow Eye?” Raul said, opening up the tantalizing possibility of symmetry.

“It’s doubtful,” said Bessie, slamming Raul’s possibility back shut. “It’s awfully dark where we’ve come from. The moon cannot even be seen. And let’s face it, there are just too many forks in the road between here and there.”

*

And just like that the oncoming traffic began to meet us with more frequency. First a car every ten minutes — then one every five — until within minutes there was a steady stream of headlights coming toward us from the city. Soon the road itself doubled in width, then doubled again — two lanes became four, then eight — with well-lit billboards that could now be seen along the side of the road and directional signs that passed overhead. At one point a late-model Ford overtook our Starfire to the left and went screaming past us toward the city.

“We’re almost there,” said Raul. “About twelve more miles.”

Now the billboards and freeway signs were coming more frequently. Automobiles sped in both directions: import car after import car charging at us from the city, while one domestic truck after another plodded along in our direction. The further we drove, the newer the cars became — and the newer the cars, the brighter the halogens. In time we began to see the lights of a metropolis up ahead, the overall glow getting steadily brighter as we drew nearer.

“The city!” said Bessie.

Raul, who was now assertive in his role as designated navigator, had unfurled a map on his lap and was studying it meticulously with a flashlight.

“Five more miles,” he said. “Exit at 94A….”

I slowed down: at a mere fifty-five miles per hour the approach to the city seemed to grind to a crawl. The dull glow beyond our dashboard grew softer and more present at the same time. The lights of the area became more distinct.

“It’s not even a very large city,” said Bessie as the glow approached. “But just look how bright everything is….”

“It’s definitely a world apart from Cow Eye!” I added.

“So much more brilliant….”

“And faster.”

“Infinitely more efficient.”

“And organized.”

“And dynamic.”

“And interesting!”

“But how can anybody actually live here?” Bessie asked.

“I don’t understand it myself,” said Raul.

“If nothing else,” I offered, “city people are resilient. Somehow they find a way….”

“It’s sad though,” said Bessie. “The dull illumination that serves as their starlight. All of it is just too sad.”

“Yeah, and you might as well get used to it. One day we’ll all be living in cities like this. Whether we like it or not….”

“Is that some kind of malediction?”

“Next exit…” said Raul.

“No, it’s not a malediction,” I said. “It’s impending reality. It’s a future that’s approaching just as fast as….”

“Our exit!”

I veered the car off to the right.

“Geez, Charlie!” Raul shouted. “Watch the road! Dammit, your affection for the timeless is going to get us killed…!”

The exit led to an off-ramp that veered right then straightened out. I hit the brake firmly for the first time since leaving Cow Eye Junction and our car quickly decelerated, heading toward a traffic light that was pure red; at the light I came to a complete stop, the Starfire idling under us. On the right was a gas station and up ahead were countless truck stops and fast-food restaurants. Everything was open and well-lit with neon signs and racy captions and other urban invocations.

“Now what?” asked Bessie.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after two.”

“Two?”

“It’s always two, Charlie.”

“Right. It’s two. So I guess we made really good time, huh? Much better than I thought we would. See? Our odometer was faithful to us after all! In retrospect I could have driven slower, I suppose. But that is just more water under the bridge. Because here we are at this traffic light at two in the morning. And now that we’re here….what do we do?”

“I have to pee,” said Bessie.

“Me too,” said Raul.

“And we need some gas,” I added.

The light changed to green and I drove ahead to the gas station. At the pump I filled the Starfire with premium gas and in the grungy bathroom I slid two pills out of the vial I’d bought and washed them down with water from the tap. When we were all back at the car Bessie flicked a piece of lint off her skirt and asked once again:

“Now what should we do, Charlie?”

“I don’t know. How about we take a drive downtown — you know to that place in the urban landscape where the nightlife is?”

“At this hour?”

“Yes. We’re in a city after all. So why not visit that place in our not-so-distant future where life is truly alive…!”

After a discussion of logistics the three of us got back into the Starfire and Raul unfurled his map again. I started up the engine. Bessie dialed in an FM radio station, then quickly turned it off.

“I hate FM music!” she said, as if it were a genre.

Raul tapped a place on his map:

“Charlie, go straight under the off-ramp and take a left at the next light….”

Following Raul’s instructions, I guided the Starfire back toward the off-ramp and past the fast-food restaurants — all of them still open — and toward the part of the city where the nightlife was in full swing. Though the road was just as wet, the rain had turned down to a light drizzle, and driving through the glistening city, we saw the all-night diners and blues bars and crowded sidewalks still brimming with people. In the heart of the city there were crowds of young revelers and late-night establishments and strip clubs and double-parked cars and panhandlers sprawled out on the sidewalk under plastic coverings. There were street performers dancing in the light rain and musicians playing under the eaves. There was a silver-painted mime and a cross-dressing dance troupe and acrobats in leotards and contortionists bending over backwards and a clown on stilts and gay bodybuilders flexing their collective muscle and a tall, scantily clad woman in high heels peddling ninety unforgettable minutes of urban sprawl. Cars splashed through the water now swirling in the street, black music blared, shirtless torsos hung out of car windows. Every sound was loud. Every light was big and all-consuming: the yellows, the reds, the pinks and purples and greens. So much sound. So many colors. A police siren. A horn. The quick burst of gunshots in the distance followed by a louder burst of laughter from a bar nearby. An unattended car alarm. A bullhorn. Loud shrieks of adolescent joy. A salsa band. Two shirtless college students with their faces painted Greek. A barrel filled with fire. A wet cat curled up on the hood of a car. Slowly we drove by it all.

“There sure are a lot of African-Americans here,” Bessie noted.

“You mean Americans of African descent….” Raul prompted.

“Whatever you call them nowadays, they’re everywhere….”

“And just look at all the beautiful women!” Raul added. “You don’t see too much of that in Cow Eye…!”

As we drove through the streets, each of us took in the startling imagery that was the city’s greatest offering: the young women in impossibly short skirts, the festive bars, the neon signs, the outlandish demeanors, the careless laughter, the individuated personalities, the half-hearted marriages, the religious revelations and reevaluations, the sights and sounds and smells of uncollected trash and backroom abortions and open sewers and burning bras and unfettered freedom sprinkled with cocaine dust and gun powder and stirred into a melting pot of gelatinous tallow.

“And you, Charlie? What strikes you about this city that we are driving through at two in the morning? What about this bustling urban landscape impresses you the most?”

I had to think for a few moments. Then it occurred to me:

“The lights,” I said.

“And…”

“And the noise.”

“And…?”

“And the nervous movement.”

“These things are beautiful, are they not?”

“Oh yes, absolutely. They are without a doubt beautiful things in their own right. They soothe the human need for novel titillations. They give hope for resurrection. They allow people to forget where they’ve come from… and overlook where they’re going. It is all very understandable. But having lived in Cow Eye for seven months I look at things a little differently now. I have seen cities before. And I have seen the same dispatch in them all. But now I see it so much differently. Now I can look at all this bustling nightlife and see it for what it really is.”

“And what is that?”

“Evanescence.”

“Wait, Charlie. You mean to say that amid a tumult of swirling bodies and laughter and flashing light and sound….amid all this life being lived, that is what you see?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all you see?”

“No. I also see the emptiness.”

“Of life?”

“Of living.”

“They’re different?”

“Oh, yes…quite….”

“Anything else? Aside from evanescence and emptiness is there anything else that you have come to find solace in while driving through this city?”

“Yes. Vacuity. And pointlessness. Alienation. Silence. Loneliness. Futility. Careerism. Each of these things I see as I drive through the bustle of this city. Making my way over so much asphalt, I have come to see many, many things. And having seen so many things, I can see them so much clearer now. The darkness. The moisture. The dissolution. I see these things for what they are and what they pretend to be. But mostly I see the glistening evanescence in it all….”

*

The rain came and went and by the time we pulled into the hospital parking lot it was early morning, still dark, and the pavement was wet from what must have been the same storm we’d encountered along the way. The lamps in the parking lot were sparse and meager, our conversation was dour, and in the cold darkness of early morning the three of us waited for the true light to come up over the horizon. I started up the Starfire for its heater and its AM music station. Then I shut it back off. As we sat in silence, knee-to-knee in the front seat, the windshield fogged up and the rain came down once again on the hard metal roof of the car.

“Now what?” asked Bessie.

“Now we sit here and wait for the dawn. The hospital opens for visits at five-thirty. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s two.”

“Wait….what?”

“It’s two a.m.”

“But I thought…! I mean, it was just…!”

“It’s two, Charlie. So now what do we do? Now that it’s only two in the morning and we have more than three hours to wait, what do we do?”

“We do just that. We wait.”

“For the dawn?”

“Yes. And its accoutrements. Amid the darkness in this car. Amid the darkness beyond our windshield. Amid the evanescence of it all. We wait in this car for the dawn to finally come. Because it will come.”

“Maybe we should get a little sleep in the meantime?”

“It’s a good idea. Bess, you can take the back. And Raul, feel free to stretch out across the entirety of this long bench seat up here in front.”

“But what about you, Charlie? Don’t you want to sleep a little?”

“I’d love to, of course. But I can’t. Surprisingly, I’m not at all tired anymore. In fact, I think by now I am beyond sleep.”

“It’s impossible to be beyond sleep. It is physically impossible. Sleep always comes.”

“Perhaps. But not to me. At least not yet.”

“Suit yourself….”

Bessie climbed over the seat to the back. Raul stretched his long legs over the vinyl bench seat, his head next to the steering wheel. I had removed the key from the ignition and put it in my pocket. Pacing outside in the darkness, I peeked in through the windshield from time to time. Raul had sprawled across the front seat. Bessie was curled up in the back.

Within minutes they were asleep.

*

For the next three and a half hours I stood outside the car with my hands in my pockets and paced from one end of the curb to the other. Here and there the rain would return and I would huddle under the leaves of the parking lot’s largest elm. Then the rain would stop and I would again step back out into the light of the asphalt lot. Time passed slowly. At three a group of nurses walking to their cars saw me huddled under the tree in the darkness and scurried away. At four I wiped the water from the hood of the Starfire and lay on top of it gazing up at the night. The sky was black and unforgiving. Looking straight up I could see nothing but darkness, the clouds covering the moon and the stars. This was by far the darkest night that I had ever known.

And the longest I had ever seen.

*

In time the horizon began to lighten and in the dim light I tapped softly on the Starfire’s windshield. Inside, the two bodies stirred slowly, then shifted, then sat up squinting at me through the glass.

“It’s five-thirty,” I said. “Time to go in.”

The two exited and together we headed inside the hospital where we were directed to the fourth floor. There the hospital waiting room was harshly lit with white light that was all the more glaring after our long journey out of darkness. When we told the nurse that we were here to see William Smithcoate, the professor from Cow Eye Junction who had been taken by ambulance earlier that day, the woman checked some paperwork then pointed down the hall.

“One visitor at a time, please,” she said.

Both Bessie and Raul looked at me, and so I made my way down the long white hallway toward the room, where I found Will asleep in a bed with a tube taped to his arm. In the artificial light the old historian’s skin looked rough and pale with white whiskers just beginning to poke above the surface. His hair was sweaty and thrown to one side as he lay with his neck twisted against his pillow.

I glanced around the room, which was sparse and functional. There was a television mounted in a corner. A table and a chair with a fake flower in a vase. In the closet hung the old clothes that Will had been wearing when he was transported here: the tweed jacket and gray slacks and red bow tie. His shoes were neatly arranged on the floor of the closet. His fedora had been placed on a shelf.

“What’s happening in there?” Raul and Bessie asked when I walked back to the waiting area to give them an update.

“He’s still sleeping.”

“So now what do we do?”

“Well, now we just wait….”

Bessie grabbed a crossword puzzle. I sat on a cold vinyl chair. Raul was thumbing through a woman’s magazine.

“He’ll probably be sleeping for a while,” the nurse said after an hour had passed. “Why don’t you go get some breakfast and try back again in another hour or so?”

And so over coffee and donuts in the hospital’s cafeteria the three of us sat and talked about nothing. Around us hospital workers were coming and going. A vacant wheelchair was pushed across the floor. An old woman sat reading a Bible at an empty table. Eventually I noted the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost seven,” I said. “The dawn has come once again. The sun is definitely up by now. If you look closely you can see the light streaming in through that window over there. But Will’s still sleeping. I’m not sure what else we can do at this point but wait.”

“I hate hospitals,” said Bessie.

“Who likes them?”

“Doctors!”

“I’m pretty sure even they don’t like them.”

“You’re probably right,” said Raul. “I suppose the academy does not have a monopoly on quietly suffering professionalism….”

Each of us ate our breakfast without hunger, the conversation weary and dispirited. Perhaps in our hearts we had expected Will to be as energetic as he was before he left: that he would greet us in the hospital with a cigar in hand, a doff of his fedora, and a far-reaching story of matrimonial prowess. Instead we’d found an old man half-breathing and alone in his sterile hospital room. This was hard to accept and each of us seemed to be dealing with it in our own way.

“He’s always been a pain in the ass,” said Bessie.

“I’ve read that smoking is hazardous to your health nowadays,” said Raul. “Not to mention the bourbon….”

I listened to these pronouncements, then added my own contribution to the coping that was being articulated:

“It is not easy,” I said, “to reconcile a man’s histories with his future.”

The time passed in the hospital cafeteria even more slowly. We ate. We talked. We stirred our coffee listlessly. The sun was shining in through the far side window. At last a sudden smile came over Raul’s face. Under the circumstances it seemed abrupt and out of place.

“Look over there!” he said. Raul was gesturing behind me to the wall across from him. I looked back over my shoulder but saw nothing. Turning back, I said:

“A wall.”

“No, not the wall itself…. Look closely…!”

Once again I turned around to look. And this time I saw what Raul had been pointing to all along: about three-quarters up the wall, in white stencil on a black background, was a line drawing of a cigarette with smoke rising from it in a single squiggly line. The cigarette was crossed out in red and underneath it were the words: NO SMOKING.

“I think Will would have appreciated the table we’ve chosen…!”

I laughed at Raul’s observation and took another drink of coffee.

“Let’s drink to Will,” I said and touched my coffee cup to theirs. “A real pain in the ass!”

“To history!” they said and did the same.

*

At eight a.m. the three of us made our way back up to the waiting area outside Will’s room where the nurse told us that our friend was still sleeping. At nine we found ourselves sitting again in the cold chairs. At ten I peeked inside to see Will fast asleep. At eleven the doctors roused him to conduct some tests only for him to fall back asleep right away. By twelve we still hadn’t seen him awake.

“It’s getting late,” said Bessie. “Maybe we should head back?”

“To Cow Eye?”

“Yes. We may be late for the afternoon activities on campus, but if we leave now we can still be in time for the party itself…”

“Though just barely…” Raul added.

“If we leave now we can still get a good seat for the awards ceremony…”

“And the costume contest….”

“And the many flags of the world!”

But here I objected:

“Let’s wait a little more. Let’s give it another hour or so. We can afford it. The Oldsmobile is filled with premium gas so there’s no need to stop along the way. We won’t take any detours on the road back to Cow Eye. And we won’t stop for food no matter how hungry we get, because there will be plenty to eat at the Christmas party once we get there….”

“But, Charlie, the fate of our college is hanging in the balance. Are you sure we can wait? It’s your legacy at stake after all….”

“Yes, I’m sure. Let’s wait just a little longer….”

And so we sat in the waiting area and waited. But whereas earlier the time seemed to lag, now each minute seemed to be imposing its own weight. Each tick of the clock — each downward strike of the pendulum — served to pull us toward our professional obligation, to tug us in the direction of Cow Eye with its all-important Christmas party.

“It’s almost one o’clock,” said Raul. “Charlie, shouldn’t we be heading back?”

“Let’s wait a few more minutes,” I said. “We’ve come all this way. We can’t just up and leave now can we? Without seeing Will?”

“But your plans, Charlie? You’ve spent so much time devising them!”

“To hell with my plans.”

“How can you say that? After all this time! After all this planning!”

“Some things are much more important.”

“Such as?”

“Well, such as Will Smithcoate. My faculty mentor. The person who now lies on the threshold separating our respective histories from our shared present. Or the shared present from our lonely and isolated futures. Let’s just be patient and wait a little bit longer.”

A few minutes after one, the nurse came over to tell us that Will was awake and expecting us. When I walked into the room Will raised his head delicately.

“Charlie…” he said.

“Mr. Smithcoate!”

I reached out to take his hand but there was no strength in his grip.

“How are you doing, Mr. Smithcoate? Raul and Bessie and I came to see you. But you were sleeping. So we just sat outside and waited. We waited for quite a while. But we’re all here now. And we’re really glad to see you. How are you feeling?”

Will looked up at me from the bed.

“I feel like crap, Charlie. I don’t like this place.”

“That’s normal of course. It’s a hospital. And nobody likes hospitals. Not even the doctors…”

“My wife died here.”

“In this hospital?”

“They took her here when I was at work. I was in class. It was a lecture on Hope and Desire. They took her here on a Wednesday and she was gone before I could even get halfway across the Atlantic.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smithcoate….”

“Before I could even say goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry….”

“Charlie, this is not a living place….”

“I understand.”

“It’s too bright and too cold and I don’t want to be here…”

“I understand entirely.”

“I want to go home….”

“Home?”

Will was looking up at me with eyes that were tired and sick and gray.

“Ask them if I can go home, Charlie….”

“Me?”

“Yes. Please ask them. I’m too medicated. They’ve got me on all these pills. It makes me drowsy and incoherent. They won’t understand. You talk to them….”

“But…”

“You’re the most sober one among us. You’re an educational administrator, Charlie. You’ve got a talent for persuasion. A way with words. Let them know I need to go home. Tell them it’s important. That something very essential depends on it. That it’s a matter of life and death. Tell them your legacy is at stake….”

“But Mr. Smithcoate, you need to stay in this hospital. There are people who can take care of you here. People who are experts in such things. They have the latest medical equipment at their disposal. They know what they’re doing and can…”

“Please, Charlie.”

“But we can’t just take you to Cow Eye, Mr. Smithcoate. You need to stay here…”

“Charlie, please…!”

When I told Raul and Bessie what Will had said they shook their heads:

“The man’s sick! How can he go back to Cow Eye?”

“I don’t know. But stranger things have been achieved. And we owe it to him to try, don’t we? I know I owe it to him to try….”

At the nurse’s station the new nurse on duty was professional, if not exactly cordial.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I told her. “But it’s just that our friend really wants to go back with us to Cow Eye Junction. He really wants to be home for the holidays….”

“Holidays?”

“Yes. You see, we’re having a Christmas party tonight and our entire campus will be there. Everyone has committed to attend and so they’ll all be together in a confined segment of time and space. It’s something I’ve promised Dr. Felch that I would do. We’ve promised our accreditors. And now it’s already past one and we’re getting very late on. The party starts at six, and there’s a six-hour drive to Cow Eye ahead of us — which means that for us to get there in time, we really need to leave now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m asking if we can take our friend back with us to Cow Eye Junction in his 1966 powder blue Oldsmobile Starfire. It is a spacious car with a notchback bench seat. There is ample room up front for the three of us, so the professor can have the entire back seat to himself. The vinyl is really quite comfortable and I’ll drive slower than I did on our way here. We’ll drive back in comfort and safety and we’ll get there in time to attend the Christmas party. We might be a little late perhaps, but we should still be in time for the formal program. At this point we’re probably only going to miss the costume contest and maybe the first part of the awards ceremony — but if we leave in the next ten minutes or so we still might make it in time for the keynote address and the flags of the world and the apple-bobbing and the bowl full of barbiturates and the dunking booth and the opening of the wet bar and the intimate sessions of exploration involving coupled relaxation and tender anal….”

“Look,” said the nurse. “Your friend is under observation. He’s not up for a long drive. And he has not yet been released from this hospital. He will not be leaving any time soon. And definitely not today. So you will need to make other plans. Better plans.”

“But all he wants is to go home! Is that so much to ask? I mean, isn’t that what any human being would want in his condition? Isn’t that what we all deserve? A place to live? And sleep? And read? A quiet place to fondly remember? A place under the sun that is different from all the other cold places in the world that are not home? Is it so hard to understand where the man’s coming from? And where he wants to go? Can it be so hard to find empathy for a man who is here, wifeless and against his will, and very, very far from home?!”

“Please don’t raise your voice with me.”

“I’m sorry…!”

“Your friend requires serious medical treatment. He is under close observation of our hospital. He will not be going home until the doctor authorizes it. And the doctor will not be authorizing it for some time….”

Dejected, I started to walk away from the nurse’s station. For the first time since moving to Cow Eye I could feel myself wanting something unequivocally. Now after so many days and nights, so many amorphous experiences, I wanted this thing more than any other. I wanted what Will wanted, and what Will wanted was to go home. It was as self-evident as that. It was not a brazen request. Nor was it seditious. But it was clearly intolerable. He could not leave this hospital now and no amount of coaxing could change that. Yet as I stood in the sanitized hospital where his wife had been taken to die, I vowed that I would achieve this goal for him without fail. Somehow I would bring him home.

And so I walked back.

*

“Look,” I said. “I understand the situation completely. And I’m sorry I raised my voice at you earlier. I haven’t slept for some time — months in fact — and I’m a little on edge. It’s my fault and my fault only. But perhaps we could try one final thing….Perhaps we could reach a compromise of sorts?”

“A compromise?”

“Yes, perhaps somewhere amid the great conflicts of our day the two of us could find a conciliation that would work for both of us?”

With dispassion in her eyes the woman listened to my plea. Like a true caring professional she heard out my plan. And when it was done she blew her nose into a napkin and said:

“So that’s it? That’s your new plan to take your friend home?”

“Yes. That is my revised plan.”

“Without leaving this hospital?”

“Yes.”

The woman folded up the napkin and threw it into a metal trashcan behind her nursing station.

“I’ll see what I can do. But please know that as a professional I have been sworn upon the Hippocratic Oath….”

The woman explained that she would need to consult the doctor, then left. Twenty minutes later she came back to inform me that my plan had been approved, that an orderly would be up in a few minutes to help get Will ready for his trip, and that we would be allowed to take our friend to the place he had requested.

We would be allowed to take him home.

*

And so a little after one-thirty a wheelchair was brought up to Will’s room where a male orderly helped to settle him into the seat. By then Cow Eye’s longest-tenured faculty member had been dressed in his teaching clothes — the tweed suit and brown pants and red bow tie — and in his lap he held his faithful fedora. From there the orderly wheeled him out of his room, down the long hall, out past the nurse’s station, into the elevator and down four stories into the lobby of the hospital, where, through the glass doors of the main entrance, he was able to catch a distant glimpse of the powder blue Starfire sitting serenely in the parking lot.

“It’s a beautiful car,” Will said.

“It sure is,” I agreed.

“They don’t make cars like that anymore, Charlie.”

“I hear you, Mr. Smithcoate. And I hope you don’t mind us borrowing it to come here?”

“Of course not. You did what you had to do. Just make sure she gets back safely….”

The three of us stood admiring the car through the glass doors for a few poignant moments. Then spinning the chair around in the opposite direction, the orderly wheeled Will away from the lobby entrance down the hall past the radiology section, along the children’s handprints, past Obstetrics and straight into the cafeteria where the lunchtime crowd was in the midst of bustling.

“They’re over there…” I said and the orderly headed in that direction, rolling the wheelchair right up to the table where Bessie and Raul were waiting with their lunch trays under the NO SMOKING sign.

“Professor Smithcoate!” said Raul

“Hello, William,” said Bessie. Then motioning her hand to indicate the table where the cafeteria trays were aligned, she said: “Welcome home….”

“This is as good as it gets,” I added. “Look, there’s even a NO SMOKING sign right there…!”

Will gave a slight smile of recognition. Then he turned to thank the orderly who had pushed him all the way from his cold room to the cafeteria table.

“I appreciate it,” he told the man. “And please know I’m very sorry for what happened to your people. Lord knows, my hands are not entirely clean….”

The orderly looked confused but smiled anyway. Then he left.

*

Over lunch, the four of us talked about the simpler things of this day. The lack of salt on the hamburger steak. The raw sugar granules that simply would not dissolve in the tall glass of iced tea no matter how faithfully you stirred them. From time to time Raul would check his watch and look over at me surreptitiously. And each time he did this I pretended not to notice. At one point Raul cleared his throat purposefully and said:

“Charlie….It’s well past two. Almost two-thirty. Shouldn’t we be heading back?”

And I responded just as purposefully:

“Yes,” I said. “Of course we should be heading back. That would be the right thing to do. But let’s wait a few more minutes instead….”

And so we talked some more. About the things we shared. And the things we could never share. We talked about concepts that were painfully obvious and those that were hopelessly ineffable. We talked and talked. The more we talked, the later it became. And the later it became, the more nervous Raul seemed to get.

“Charlie!” he said finally. “It’s really late! We need to be making our way back to Cow Eye! We should be leaving now!”

And I said:

“Yes, Raul. I do not disagree with you. Of course we should be making our way back to Cow Eye. We are very far from where we need to be right now. And so it only makes proper sense that we should be heading back to the desiccated comfort of Cow Eye Junction. It would be the straightforward thing to do. And it would be the right thing to do. Hell, it would probably even be the justifiable thing to do. Several hundred miles away from here there is a Christmas party that I am entirely responsible for. I am an educational administrator and as an educational administrator I have been planning this Christmas party for a very long time indeed. It is a watershed moment in my life. It is an important event in the history of Cow Eye Junction, if not the whole of humankind, and it is something that will determine the very worth of my own long journey from verdure to desiccation and back again. This planning has not been easy and in fact has cost me hundreds of waking hours and many more hours that were spent in fruitless semi-wakefulness that might have been better applied toward sleep. Now my professional reputation is at stake. My personal legacy is in jeopardy. I have created much furor over this party — and not a few expectations. And of course the future of our college — of the entire Cow Eye community itself — depends on the successful resolution of our yuletide event. So yes, Raul, as usual you are correct. In fact, you are very correct indeed: we should be leaving soon….”

At this Raul seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“But…”

“Charlie?!”

“….But!” I continued. “…Before we do that there is one thing that I need to do first. You see, we have driven many miles to end up here in this cafeteria under such a portentous NO SMOKING sign. We have gone to great lengths to be sitting here with Will Smithcoate in this sterile yet safe place that is only slightly reminiscent of our own cafeteria. It is only slightly reminiscent of the place that Will has called home for the past seven years. And so there is one final thing that I would like to ask Will before we make our way back to Cow Eye. Back to the guard shack. To the verdure. The pelicans. Regional accreditation. Christmas. There is one unresolved question that I would be remiss to overlook while I still have the opportunity to ask it — that is to say, while it’s still possible to ask such questions of my esteemed faculty mentor during such a pivotal time of my life. During this tenuous time when William Smithcoate himself is still in this world. While I am still in this world. While the two of us are still in this large and lonely world. While the four of us — Bessie, Raul, me, Mr. Smithcoate — are still at this table. You see, we are all here in this makeshift cafeteria together in a confined segment of time and space. But we should not take as a given that this will always be so. Because it will not always be so. Things change. Moments come and go. And things will come and go. People, places, ideas. Nations of the world. A passing storm. The severest drought. It all comes and goes. And so there is one final question that I feel compelled to ask now that the sun has begun to settle beyond the salad bar over there….”

“…Dammit, boy, get to the point!”

“Right, Mr. Smithcoate….I’m getting to that very thing….”

“You’d better get to it a little quicker…before I croak over this chicken cutlet!”

“Of course,” I said. “That chicken cutlet will not always be as hot as it is at this singular moment in time. That is just a sad fact of life. And so my question to you, Mr. Smithcoate, is one that I’ve asked you many times but that you have never given me a straight answer to. You have never quite answered my question completely and so I would like to ask it to you one final time. I would like to ask you one last time to tell me a little something about history. More specifically, about the history of the world. That is, from its very beginning to its ultimate conclusion. It is a question that I have long wondered about. And so now as we sit in this crowded cafeteria under this NO SMOKING sign — and as we wait for the simultaneous coming of eternal spring, the resurrection of our eternal lord and savior, and, most quixotically, the reaffirmation of our regional accreditation — as we wait for all of this to come together, could you please, Mr. Smithcoate, tell us about the history of our world?”

*

“Charlie!” Raul interrupted. “It’s too late for all that! We need to leave right now to have any chance of making the party…!”

But here I raised my hand calmly:

“Just hold on, Raul. There are things in this world that are infinitely more important than accreditation. There are things that outweigh tenure. And so right now I’d like to ask Will to tell us about the history of the world. From its inception to its apex. From the dawn of mankind to that woman purchasing her Fritos over there….”

For the first time since I’d appeared in his hospital room, Will smiled broadly.

“That really takes the cake, Charlie!” Will’s words were slightly slurred and a bit slower than usual — he was clearly having some difficulty speaking — and yet I could at last see in his expression the same sparkle of restless irreverence that I’d always appreciated during our discussions at the cafeteria. “You want me to talk to you about history, my boy?”

“Yes, would you please tell me — that is to say, us — about the history of the world?”

“From its beginning?”

“Yes. All the way to its ultimate resolution. The resolution, of course, being this very place in time and space where all of us are sitting in this cafeteria. I am quite sure it was not a given that we would all end up sharing this moment, right now, right here. I’m sure there were many competing possibilities along the way. Many arrows. Many forks in the road. Many decisions made. Myriad bends in the perilous river of time. And so would you help us understand how it all happened to bring us here? Which is to say, could you please tell us the untold story of the history of our world?”

*

“Absolutely not!” said Will. “I have just had an apoplexy, god damn you! And I am so heavily medicated that I can’t even tell you whether it’s day or night right now!”

“It’s day.”

“See! And besides, the history of our world is too well-documented. It has been covered by researchers since the beginning of time — or at least since these researchers have been receiving tenure. So, no, I will not tell you about the history of the world. Instead I will tell you the story that only I can tell. Settle comfortably into your respective chairs and let me tell you the history that each of you shares. It is a story worthy of the greatest history books yet one that will likely never be told. Yes, my friends who drove all the way from Cow Eye Junction just to visit me in my time of greatest need. It has been a long drive, I’m sure. So let me make it worth your while. My dear friends and respected colleagues — Bessie, Raul, Charlie — let me tell you the little-known story that would not otherwise be told: the long and storied history of Cow Eye Community College…!”

*

“…But first give me a napkin will, you?”

Raul handed Will a napkin so he could wipe away some drool that was dangling from his lower lip.

“This isn’t going to be easy. My mind is a bit numb from all that’s come before. The occlusion. The long ride in the ambulance. The medication. It’s not going to be easy to tell you this in a coherent manner. But I am prepared to perish in the attempt…!”

Will crumpled up the napkin and tucked it under the lip of his dessert plate. And with that he began to tell his story. As the afternoon sun continued its descent beyond the salad bar, Will Smithcoate began to tell us the long and complicated story of Cow Eye Community College.

“The history of Cow Eye Community College,” he explained, “begins ten thousand years ago with two fertile cows: one that was red with horns, and another that was hornless and black….”

“Cattle?”

“Yes. Our history begins with those two cows….”

*

“Once upon a time, there was a man who had two cows: one that was red with horns and another that was hornless and black….”

Here Will stopped.

“Hah!” he laughed. “Once upon a time! I’ve always dreamed of beginning a historical treatise with those words. And now I finally have…!”

“How does it feel?”

“It feels great!”

Will nodded in satisfaction. Then he said:

“Where was I?”

“You were home. It is day. There was a man with two cows ten thousand years ago….”

“Oh, right. The man with two cows….”

Will cleared his throat throatily. Then he continued:

“Once upon a time, you see, there was a man who had two cows: one that was red with horns and another that was polled and black….”

*

“This was in the early days of the world when color itself was a thing to be reckoned with. When the earth was wide and the animals of the plains roamed at their discretion. Back then there were animals that were unfathomable to us today. There were bears with broad shoulders and giraffes with short necks. There were oxen the size of Oldsmobiles and birds that were taller than your average educational administrator. These were the days when man was man and the animals were themselves. And amid this all was an ambitious agrarian who became the first domesticator of cattle….”

“….Now before I continue we should stop to dwell a bit on this accomplishment. You see, in those days it was no given that the bovine would be our domesticate. In those days the precursor of the compliant bovine was several times its current size. As big as a trumpeting elephant. As vigorous as your average math instructor. The cows of those days were wild and wayward and they were not of a mind to be domesticated. And in this context this one man noticed two cows grazing on a hillside: one that was red with horns and another that was black and polled….”

“….Now the man saw the two cows and one day he cornered them into a pen of his own design. They were both wild and unpredictable. But locked in the man’s pen, they took divergent approaches to their fates. The first cow — the black one — chose conciliation. It was temperate and amenable. It stayed within the fences that the man had made and caused no trouble. Over the years the black cow multiplied prolifically and became the black cow that you see today. The black cows that you passed by on your voyage to the now-defunct Cow Eye Ranch and whose little black calf you castrated with a simple pocket knife….”

“….Now the red cow, on the other hand, well that was a different story. The red cow, you see, chose conflict. At every turn he rammed his horns against the cowherd’s fence. He smashed the gate that had been constructed to contain him. He jumped and bashed and ground against the barriers that were meant to keep him in. When the man came he charged. And when the black cow approached he butted and lunged. He gouged. He gored. And one day when the man wasn’t looking the red cow smashed through the fence and ran back up to the hillside where he’d come from….”

*

“….At this the farmer was discouraged. For where he had once had two cows he now had only one. But not to be denied, he immediately began to breed the black cow to itself. In time the black cow produced its own offspring, which were other black cows — both male and female — and in time these too were bred. Over time the black cows lost their memories of once having horns or a hillside with freedom, and over time they acquired the thick legs and meaty flanks that would become the hallmark of the breed. The cowherd, looking at this, was pleased. This, he understood, was progress….”

“….Over many centuries the ambitious cowherd discovered countless other efficiencies that enabled him to improve the breed. He bred his tamest bulls to his tamest heifers and this produced tame offspring. He bred his meatiest bulls to his meatiest cows and this produced meaty calves. Over time he bred for weight and size and temperament. He bred for the quantity of milk and for the quality of meat. He bred for fertility and motility and docility. He bred to increase the marbling and to decrease the miscarrying. In time he had perfected the breed to the extent that it gave more milk and produced more meat and was more tolerant and more loving and more hearty. And this too he understood as progress….”

“….And meanwhile the red cow gazed down on all of this from the hillside. Over time the red cow watched as the black breed became bigger and meatier and more numerous. The red cow, scrounging for food on the hillside, lived imperfectly. His conditions were less precise, and yet he watched as the black cow received food easily in troughs and buckets. The red cow grew only slightly from generation to generation, while the black cow gained mightily over time. In size and numbers. In the affections of its master. And through the years the red cow continued to graze on the sparse natural grasses of the hill that looked down on it all….”

“…One day the cowherd gathered up his best black cows — his biggest and his darkest — and herded them onto a large boat that took them across a wide sea in the middle of winter. The ocean was rough and the cows lay on the shipboard, sloshing through the excrement and the vomit of a long ocean voyage. For several months the cows rode in the dark holds of the ship, chained to the floor, motionless, abandoned by their gods and consigned to their fates. It was not an easy journey but at last they arrived in a new land where they disembarked, their legs emaciated and so weak that they could barely walk down the gangplank to the raw land that would be their home. Eventually, they came before their new master and this new master checked their tongues and prodded their flanks and when this was done he brought them to a place many miles away where they could graze, a pasture with green grasses and free-flowing rivers. A place of countryside so verdant that even poetry struggled to describe it. This, my friends, was the beginnings of the Cow Eye Ranch….”

“…Though truth be known, the ranch in those days was not much of a ranch at all. In fact, it was not much more than a simple pasture with a few sheds where the cows were herded into large swaths of territory and where they were able to roam. The herds roamed freely and then, when the time had come to be culled, they were rounded up and herded into the cattle chutes where they were marched efficiently toward the slaughter grounds one after another. This too, you see, was more efficient than how it used to be done….”

“…From there it is all written in the history books. The ranch formed around the ranges where the cattle roamed. The town formed around the ranch. And the community college — our beloved Cow Eye Community College — was formed to serve the town that had been created. In time the college grew and the campus was built and the swimming pool was constructed. And all of this became the Cow Eye Community College that we know and love. In fact, if this were a traditional historical treatise it would end right there. If this were the history you find in school books, the history of our college would end with the black cow grazing happily in the pastures of the Cow Eye Ranch. But there is one important thing that we’ve forgotten along the way. There is one thing that has been overlooked….”

*

“What’s that, Mr. Smithcoate?”

Bessie and Raul and I were leaning forward over the cafeteria table to hear the rest of the story.

“What has been overlooked, Mr. Smithcoate?” we asked. “What has been overlooked in your telling of the history of the world?”

Will looked at us solemnly.

“Simple,” he said. “The red cow.”

“The red cow?”

“Yes. While the black cow was acquiring the desirable traits that would make it the ideal meat for meat-eaters and the ideal milk for milk-drinking, the red cow was still standing on that hillside observing the trajectory of our world.”

“It was?”

“Yes. And standing there on the hillside, the red cow saw the unfolding of historical events across time and space. This cow, with its untamed horns, witnessed the advent of the plow and how it was used to subjugate the once-proud oxen of his time. It witnessed the invention of the printing press and how it allowed for better coordination of the slaughters that were held over the centuries. Advances in shipbuilding allowed for more cows to be transported across the ocean in their own excrement. Technologies in farming allowed for greater expansion of areas for the farmer to plough. All of this was progress for the farmer, if not for the cow….”

“…And from its vantage point this recalcitrant cow also observed the wars that were fought with the most modern technologies. And it witnessed the diseases vanquished and invoked. It saw the oceans conquered and the skies tamed. The rivers dammed and plains trammeled. There were railroads to build and factories to construct. Each of these things was witnessed by the unassuming cow. And each of these things was progress….”

“…And so it was that the simple cow saw the progress of the world from mankind’s earliest beginnings to the technological wonders that abound. The innovations. The efficiencies. The continuous improvements and feats of ingenuity that have made the culling of his offspring so much more inevitable. From the cradle of man’s civilization to the consecration of his greatest monuments, the cow was present for it all. And all of it, it seemed, was progress….”

*

“And then, Mr. Smithcoate? And then what did the cow see?”

*

“…And then the cow saw the invention of modern weaponry. The nuclear reaction. Chemical warfare. He witnessed the falling bombs and mass exterminations. The genocide. The ecological devastation. The polluted rivers and politicized skies. The damming. The droughts. The demise of earlier peoples at the hands of those who came later. All of this he witnessed with the blades of straw dangling from his mouth. All of this he witnessed from his lowly vantage point at the top of the hill….”

*

“And then, Mr. Smithcoate? And then what happened?”

“Well, and then the cow went back to his grazing.”

“That’s it?”

“Of course. It’s just a cow, right?”

“Well, yes. But there has to be something more! So what happened then?”

“Well then I slumped against the table in the cafeteria where I was found the next morning by a former student…”

“And that was the end of history?”

“For her, yes.”

“And it was the end of the world?”

“Not exactly. From there I was taken in an ambulance across time and space to this lonely hospital room in the city. I was taken here and given medications that made me sleep until the moment I opened my eyes and saw Charlie. You see, since the beginning of time, everything that has ever happened is one perpetual chain of progress — an unbroken series of inspirations and discoveries — leading from the vacant fields of our beginnings to the achievements of modern life. From the darkness of first night to the car ride the three of you just experienced. From the apple to the celery stalk. From the first seed ever sown to the forkful of jell-o that Charlie is now readying to put into his mouth…”

Self-consciously, I put the jell-o back onto my plate.

“….You see,” said Will, “every single event in the history of mankind — every technological invention, every progeny of progress — has conspired to bring the four of us together in this cafeteria. History has culminated in the four of us being here today. The apex of history is here and now; it is this crowded hospital lunchroom where the three of us are sitting at this table: Bessie sipping her tea, Raul doodling on his napkin, and Charlie placing that piece of jell-o into his mouth. We are, in the here and now, the ultimate culmination of the many miracles of history…”

“We are?”

“Yes, you are.”

“And the woman over there discarding her empty Fritos bag?”

“Her too.”

Bessie took another drink of her tea.

Raul crumpled up his napkin and threw it onto his tray.

“The world,” said Will, “ends at this singular moment in time and space. It ends with the four of us. For we are the climax of history, the culmination of mankind’s story, the ultimate consequence of it all….”

In the cafeteria, the sun had now descended well beyond the salad bar.

I placed the forkful of jell-o into my mouth and swallowed it down.

*

After lunch, an orderly — a white one this time — came back down to wheel Will back up to his room. Bessie gave Will a long hug before he left. Raul patted him on the shoulder and said, “Take care, professor. We’ll see you back at Cow Eye when you’re better.”

Then it was my turn for words.

“Okay, Mr. Smithcoate,” I said. “I’ll see you soon. Sometime in the very near future no doubt….”

“Future?” said Will.

“Yes, the future.”

Even then I understood that it was probably the wrong thing to say to him. But it was all that I could think to say.

Will grunted. I shook his hand, which was very soft — almost lifeless — and made my way back to the car where Raul and Bessie were already inside waiting.

*

“What time is it?” I asked Raul.

“It’s well after two, Charlie. In fact, almost three. The party will be starting in three hours. It’s a six-hour drive back to Cow Eye. Now what do we do?”

“Simple,” I said. “We drive very fast….”

From there I sped along the streets of the city, overtaking the taxi cabs and delivery trucks, out to the on-ramp, onto the highway, out past the suburbs of the city, out past the exurbs. As expected, the daytime traffic was intermediate algebra and as we made our way, Raul informed me of our temporal challenge with ruthless efficiency.

“It’s already four o’clock,” he would say. “And we’re not even thirty minutes out of the city….” And then: “Charlie, we’re going to be very late. It’s exactly four-thirty and we’re not even halfway there!” In rapid succession came five o’clock…five-thirty…five-forty-five…five-fifty-five. At exactly six, Raul looked up from his map and glumly announced:

“It’s six. The party’s officially starting….”

Bessie whistled her amazement.

I nodded. It was well past six o’clock and we were not even halfway back from our six-hour journey from verdure to desiccation and then back through the gate to verdure. The city was far behind us, yet Cow Eye was equally far ahead.

“The party’s already started,” said Raul. “And we’re still hours from being there….”

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “The event is underway and it will just have to proceed without us. I’ve left Dr. Felch detailed notes. It’ll work out.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“Because I planned everything meticulously. I am an educational administrator and so I’ve left no stone unturned in planning the Christmas party that has just started.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. As we speak, it’s a few minutes after six. Which means the cafeteria by now has been decorated exactly as I planned it.”

“And how is that?”

“Meticulously. And festively.”

“Yes, but how specifically?”

“Well, for example, on one entire wall there is a full-scale replica of the American flag — all thirteen stripes and forty-seven stars. The flag is so large that it takes up the whole wall from one corner to the next. It is enormous. And imposing. And across from it, on the opposite wall, is this flag’s diametrical opposite: hundreds of smaller flags representing the lesser nations of the world. On this wall the world’s various expressions of nationhood are receiving their moment in the sun: from Afghanistan to Yugoslavia; from Albania to Zimbabwe. The Soviet Union. Tanganyika. Every single country now extant on the face of the earth has been given its own flag and in perfect unison these flags are crowding together to take up the breadth of an entire wall of our cafeteria….”

“What about Zaire?”

“It’s there.”

“And Serbia?”

“Next to Croatia.”

“And India?”

“To the left of Pakistan.”

“Bosnia and Herzegovina?”

“They’re both there.”

“Eritrea?”

“Yes.”

“Kyrgyzstan?”

“Yes.”

“Palau?”

“Yes.”

“Taiwan?”

“After tense negotiations, yes.”

“Tibet?”

“Yes!”

“The Maldives?”

“For now, yes.”

“They’re all on that wall?”

“Yes! You see, our Christmas party will be an inclusive event representing all the polities of the world. All the different nations that make up our rich geopolitical tapestry. The governments. The races. The ethnic affiliations. The religions. By now there will be an enormous evergreen set up in the corner and on this tree there will be Christmas decorations sent in by children from around the world. There will be precious figurines hand-crafted by little Arab children in Palestine and old women in Bavaria and orphans from the burnt villages of Vietnam. There will be tiny decorative rocking chairs and candy canes and glass balls with snow and ice. Ornaments of all possible denomination will be hung from the boughs of the evergreen: a peaceful Buddha; a portrait of Jesus Christ suspended from the cross; a grinning Mohammed flashing an enthusiastic thumbs-up; a self-decapitated Chhinnamasta offering up the severed head of our humanity. The tree will be draped in garland and tinsel with angels strumming harps. And at the top there will be a large Star of David shining down upon it all….”

As I described the decorations for the Christmas party — the ice-sculpted reindeer, the gingerbread village with miniature train running through it, the games table featuring Monopoly and mahjong — my friends settled back in their seats to listen. In lieu of the actual party, I realized, my words would have to serve as their vicarious celebration: amid the warmth of our Starfire, my impassioned imagining would have to suffice. And so I described the Christmas party as best I could. In vibrant tones I unveiled the party now joyously under way so that my friends might experience it in all its revelry:

“Meanwhile,” I said, “in front of the wall next to the American flag there is a very long table covered with a festive red table cloth and green napkins. The cloth is depending from the table and is cut-edged. The napkins are frilly. On this table there is a large crystal punchbowl that has been filled with apple cider and cinnamon and nutmeg; next to the cider is a pitcher of eggnog; next to the eggnog is butterscotch cocoa; and next to the cocoa are two more bowls of holiday punch, one spiked with rum and coke and the other with Prozac and Thalidomide. And of course, there is the wet bar….”

“Wet bar?”

“Yes. How could you have a Christmas party without that?!”

“It is hard to imagine indeed. Could you describe it for us, please?”

In the quiet of the car my friends had closed their eyes to better picture the scene.

“Of course,” I said. “You see, in a previous life Luke Quittles was an aspiring bartender and so he has agreed to run the wet bar. Right now as we speak — at this very moment while the three of us make our way slowly along this dry and dusty highway — Luke is standing behind the counter in a red Santa hat and elf’s vest beaming like a proud parent. In front of him there is a keg of beer and bottles of wine and flasks of bourbon and rum. There are liqueurs and mixed drinks to order. There will be classic cocktails such as piña coladas and margaritas and daiquiris and screwdrivers — but also original concoctions with exotic names like Flaming Orgasm and Cow Cunt and Math Teacher Gone Wild. If there is a drink to appeal to the heart of a hard-working faculty member of Cow Eye Community College after a long week of accreditation activities, you can be sure that it will be there…!”

“Well, it seems like you’ve got the drinks covered. How about the seating? How have you managed to fit so many people into such a confined segment of time and space? Our cafeteria is not that big. In fact it’s quite small. And our faculty is divided. So how are you going to solve that?”

“Simple! You see, by now everyone has checked in and each attendee has received a folder with a personalized agenda. They have been assigned to small groups and forced to sit with these groups at tables that have been arranged tightly in the small cafeteria. By doing this we can keep the crowded room from becoming overly polarized and in this way our faculty and staff will be forced to interact collegially with colleagues they wouldn’t normally share the time of day with. Thus, we will put tenured faculty on maintenance workers, and counselors on groundskeepers. The financial aid staff has been assigned to disparate tables as well, where they are now interacting with academic advisors who have been forced to do the same. We have assigned secretaries to faculty and faculty to support staff. We will even pair untenured lecturers with their tenured peers. After careful planning each group will boast a representative of every demographic that we are blessed to have at our school. Importantly, they have been divided along regional lines so that each table will have one person from the North, South, East, West, Northeast, Southwest, Northwest, Southeast, Old West, New South, Far North, Midwest, and California. And of course at each table there will be at least one token employee who was born and raised in Cow Eye Junction.”

“Interesting. So you’ve mixed them according to geography?”

“Right. But that’s not all. We’ve also made sure to bring them together politically, economically, and ethnically. In each group there will be at least one laissez-faire capitalist and one left-leaning socialist. One centrist and one anarchist. One tenured faculty member and one who is non-tenured. One white, one Asian. A lumper and a splitter. A Catholic and a Protestant. Sikh and Hindu. Jew and jihadist. Social scientist and actual scientist. Vegetarian and anti-vegetarian. Introvert and extrovert. Isolationist and expansionist. Loved and unloved. Metaphysician and empiricist. Here, we will find a way to bring together the different dichotomies of the world — both true and truish — each of humanity’s myriad conflicts, into a tense but respectful homogeneity. With this, the cafeteria will be perfectly balanced. The groups will be demographically diverse yet united by a common mission. And in the name of accreditation they will sit with each other in cultural, economic, political, professional, and institutional harmony at their respective tables.”

“That should be interesting to observe. So then what? How are you going to entertain all these diverse groups?”

“This too has been carefully planned! As soon as they enter the cafeteria they will be accosted by the sweet strains of the Cow Eye jazz band and chamber orchestra playing familiar Christmas standards. We have asked the Esperanto club to sing holiday carols and so they have already started, I’m sure. In fact, if you listen closely you may even be able to hear them now…the mellifluous voices…the gleeful gaiety. ‘Ĝi estas la sezono por esti gaja….’ they are surely crooning to a rapt audience in the crowded cafeteria: ‘…Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la….’

“….la!”

“Right. And when they’re done Dr. Felch will come to the microphone and he will say…”

“…Is this thing on?!”

“Exactly! And then he will give some opening remarks — something about how all of us at Cow Eye Community College need to work together as a single unit, as a cohesive whole, to get through this fucking accreditation nonsense and that all of our efforts are for the benefit of our students. Of course the accreditors will still be there so he won’t use those exact words — and when he’s done he’ll introduce the accreditors themselves, who will present their findings from the week of intense scrutiny they’ve just enjoyed here on campus. I imagine they will want to sweeten the pill by starting with the positives….”

“The positives being our beautiful campus with its majestic fountains and carefully cut grass!”

“And its pelicans!”

“And don’t forget the many construction and reconstruction projects that we have underway!”

“And the ducks quacking!”

“…Exactly. And after all these commendations have been issued they will pause. And here they will grow serious. The mood in the cafeteria will change. Here things will become tense as the accreditors proceed to announce the findings of their visit. The deficiencies that they discovered. The grave institutional concerns. The inconsistencies. The worrisome trends….”

“The iambs!”

“Right. And after that they will thank us for hosting them this week and stand up from their chairs.”

“And then?”

“Well, and then the accreditors will quickly leave as a group for their bus, which will be waiting to whisk them away from Cow Eye Junction back to their own communities. They will leave as a group and now as the front door shuts behind them, the latch closing with a decisive click, everyone will breathe a deep sigh of relief.”

“And now?”

“Well, and now the formal portion of the festivities will begin, as always, with a benediction. At this the atheists will turn their backs; the agnostics will shrug their shoulders; and the Jews will feel a slight disturbance in the pits of their stomachs. But when it’s done the silent majority will look up from their prayer and with an utterance of “Amen!” the wet bar will be opened and the formal portion of our Christmas program can begin with the awards presentation….”

“Awards?”

“Yes. As you know, our society is thoroughly enamored of awards. Awards are more numerous than stars in the night sky, more countless than cockroaches behind the icemaker of our cafeteria. Awards are the straw that stirs the mixed drink of academe. It is the long needle that is threaded though the receptive heifer’s cervix and stabbed into her uterus so that new life can be conceived. Without awards, I dare say, there would be little to distinguish the worth of our contributions as academicians from those made by the maggots out back of our cafeteria.”

“Maggots perform an invaluable service to humanity!”

“As do academicians! And so we will conduct a comprehensive awards ceremony to recognize them.”

“The maggots?”

“The academicians! I doubt maggots require such things….”

“And then?”

“Well, and then people who value awards will learn of the new accolades and be justifiably impressed!”

“No, not that. We meant what is happening after the awards ceremony?” Raul checked his watch. “It’s getting late. The sun is beginning to set. Our award-winning peers are sitting in that cafeteria as we speak. So having finished that, what’s happening now?”

“After the awards ceremony comes the costume contest.”

“That sounds fun. Are you dressing up, Charlie?”

“Of course. I’ve got my outfit in the duffel bag in the trunk of our car.”

“And your costume is?”

“A sheriff!”

“A sheriff?!”

“Yes, from New Mexico!”

“And then? After the costume contest, what’s happening?”

“Next comes the exchanging of gifts.”

“Secret Santa?”

“Yes. And then the apple-bobbing and face painting. The mistletoe and dunking tank. The stocking stuffing. The pony rides. The piñatas. The kissing booth. The pie toss. The silent auction and charity raffle. Holiday-themed karaoke. Massage tables. The photo stand. Musical chairs to the patriotic strains of our national anthem….”

“And then?”

“Well, by now the party will be fully underway with most of the attendees having devoured their share of alcoholic drinks many times over. They have mingled with their peers and engaged in fuzzy dialectics. They have complimented each other on their costumes. They have no doubt helped themselves to the large bowl of barbiturates so that by now their muscles are relaxed, their minds cloudy, their defenses lowered. Despite their strong wishes to the contrary, our faculty and staff will find themselves sharing conversation with their worst enemies. The Buddhist and the gentile. The historian and the mathematician. Dreamer and empiricist. Liberal and conservative. Poet and professor. The Muslim, the Hindu and the Anglican will have no choice but to stare in loving admiration at the diverse ornaments depending from the all-inclusive Christmas tree. The generalist and the specialist will exchange hugs. The businessman and the metaphysician will shake hands in mutual respect. Even the secretaries from the competing academic departments will put aside their personal and professional enmities for the sake of yuletide harmony. Before long the cafeteria will join hands in a circle to sing Silent Night. By now, you see, everything has coalesced quite nicely. The diversity. The unity. The promise of a vanquished frontier. While the three of us sit here in this Oldsmobile, this dream of mine is coming together rather perfectly….”

My friends nodded again.

“Meanwhile,” I continued, “the break-out rooms will be heavily attended throughout the evening. In fact, these rooms will be as diverse as the human condition itself. In one there might be a tribute to campus artists and their works, while another could feature a display of animal husbandry. In one room there will be a hands-on demonstration of artificial insemination complete with cow in estrus and shoulder-length gloves. In another a lecture on Esperanto. In a third, a thought-provoking discussion of syllogistic fallacies. In a fourth room — a small conference room with poor lighting — a prominent literary agent will be conducting a workshop for our English faculty on the subtleties of query writing. There will also be seminars on estate planning. And a slideshow on the transcontinental railroad. Outside the cafeteria there will be ten rooms dedicated to the slaking of pent-up desire — quiet rooms equipped with candles and champagne and satin pillows where couples can break away from the festivities to explore their inner fantasies and desires. For obvious reasons these ten rooms will be heavily visited throughout the evening. And of course one of these ten rooms will be Room 2-C….”

“Room 2-C?”

“Yes, you see, there is much trepidation and misinformation that is circulating nowadays. And I admit that I myself am guilty. But where would our society be without intellectual inquisitiveness? Where would we be without the courage that inspires an intrepid researcher to venture into the darkest reaches of pleasure and pain? To cast aside all fear and to test a fearless hypothesis? And so in room 2-C there will be candles and champagne plunged in buckets of ice. There will be pictures of fruits and Venetian gondoliers. Greek goddesses and reclining nymphs. Copulating ancients and elephants bearing grapes. But, significantly, there will also be vats of lubricant and multi-colored anal beads….”

“Oh my!”

“Right. And meanwhile the formal program will be moving on as planned. Alan Long River has agreed to deliver the keynote address. The Esperanto Club will sing a second set of Christmas carols. The Drama Club will act out the nativity — complete with real-live Caganer. All of this has been meticulously planned and will surely happen without a hitch at the long-awaited Christmas party that is now taking place in our cafeteria. All of it is now taking place as we speak, and it should last several more hours — or at least until our Oldsmobile arrives at the cafeteria.”

Raul nodded respectfully.

“It looks like you’ve done your due diligence, Charlie. It sounds like they’re having a wonderful time right now. Which is not to imply that I am not — please don’t get me wrong. I love the interior of this Starfire as much as anyone. The vinyl upholstery. The hump on the floor in between Bessie’s ankles. The sun streaming in through this windshield. It’s all been quite a revelation. But now I just hope we can make it to the cafeteria in time to catch at least some of the party….”

“We will!” I said. “You just need to have faith…!”

Raul nodded.

I drove on.

“But Charlie,” Bessie said, “There’s one thing you didn’t mention….There’s one important thing that you forgot to include in your envisioning of the Christmas party….”

“What’s that?”

“In your account you didn’t mention the food. What are you serving the attendees? As it is already getting late, surely the food line has opened up by now! So what are you serving them? Which is to say….what are our colleagues eating at the Christmas party that you have spent so much time and creative energy planning?”

“Ah, yes, the food!” I said. “It’s a fair question. And an important one. You are very observant, Bessie. You are very observant and for this reason I am sure that everything will work out for you someday. Someday you will move beyond gravel. Someday you will be loved unequivocally. To answer your excellent question, Bess, yes, I did make elaborate plans for the food. And it will be truly fantastic. It was not easy given the constrictions that were imposed. But I am convinced that I have come up with the perfect solution to the conundrum.”

“The conundrum being that you promised to serve both meat and no meat? That you’ve committed to both vegetables and no vegetables? That you’ve promised to be both of those world views entirely?”

“Right. And I think I’ve come up with the perfect solution. But I can’t reveal it just yet. It will be a special surprise that only I am privy to. And so I will need to be there in person to unsheathe the mystery myself.”

“You mean, there’s no food yet?”

“Right.”

“Our hungry faculty and staff have been sitting there in the cramped cafeteria for several hours with alcohol and barbiturates and forced professional interactions….but no food?! And you won’t be serving it until we get there?!”

“Right.”

“Even though we’re going to be several hours late?”

“Yes. So let’s not talk about any of that yet. Let’s just focus on this road in front of us — the one bringing us closer and closer to the celebration of humanity that is now several hours old….”

*

To say that the drive to Cow Eye Junction by day differs considerably from the drive we’d taken at night….is to say that the sun differs from the moon, or the light of day from the totality of darkness. As we drove, we felt the sun enveloping our car and the glare from the black asphalt slicing into our eyes. Without any sleep at all, I felt myself growing even more weary, the warmth and the glare offering an irresistible sedative.

“Wake up!” Bessie yelled and punched my shoulder several times along the way. And each time I straightened up.

With time the miles flew by, and from the city we made our way headlong through a countryside that was greenish at first and then — closer to Cow Eye Junction — browner and more brittle. The landscape had changed yet again, and now as we crossed back into the cattle country of our beginnings we saw the changes that had taken place. The Cow Eye Ranch that once stood as an emblem for the region but had since fallen into neglect and decay. The former ranchlands where cattle once grazed but where strip malls now stood like shining theorems long since proved. Along the way we felt the heat of drought and the warmth of forgotten emanations. Then the pleasant feel of incarnation on our skin. And then finally the crisp coolness of the day’s dissolution. At seven the sun had mostly set and only a dull glow of light was still visible. At seven-thirty it descended beyond the horizon entirely. At eight it was night once again. By eight-thirty we had pulled into the desiccated landscape of the Diahwa Valley Basin. And by eight-forty-five we were driving by the mayor’s house and the Cow Eye museum and the health food store where the Champs d’Elysees used to be. At exactly nine we hopped over the railroad tracks and a minute later we pulled up to the entrance where Timmy had left the gate open for the night.

“The campus is so dark,” said Raul.

“And empty,” said Bessie.

“Do you think the party is still going?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I suppose we’ll find out shortly….”

From the guard shack I directed the Starfire toward the cafeteria where to our relief we saw a parking lot full of cars. In the distance the lit-up cafeteria shone like an island of light amid a sea of impenetrable darkness.

“They’re still here!” said Raul. “The party’s still happening!”

I parked the Starfire in the handicapped stall nearest the cafeteria entrance. Stepping out of the car at last, I stretched my legs and reached for the night sky.

“That was a long ride,” said Bessie.

“It certainly was,” I said. “But a necessary one.”

My friends agreed.

“Look,” said Raul. “It’s absolutely dark again.”

He was smiling.

“But the rain has stopped,” said Bessie.

She was not.

I nodded at them both.

It was nine-fifteen. Ahead of me at the entrance to the cafeteria a lone figure was feeling its way through the darkness toward the front door.

“Who’s that?” said Bessie.

“I don’t know,” said Raul. “It looks like an Indian chiefess….”

I recognized the figure immediately:

“It’s Gwen! She’s here! She must have just stepped out for a bit of fresh air….” Grateful, I called out to her through the darkness: “Hey, Gwen! Wait for me…!”

The figure looked up and squinted into the darkness.

Grabbing my duffel bag, I ran toward the entrance and reaching Gwen just before the double doors, I opened one of them wide to let her in. As the door swung open the sudden sounds of gay revelry and the warmth of overheated bodies washed over us.

“Please….” I said.

“You first…” she insisted.

“No you….”

“No, Charlie, you! Those other days are over!”

“Oh, right,” I said and threw my duffel bag over my shoulder. “I almost forgot.”

Tired and hungry from the exertions of our respective journeys through time and space, she and I stood before the cafeteria entrance under the breathless banner welcoming us to the event.

“That’s a nice banner,” Gwen said.

I nodded and thanked her.

“And I like your costume,” I said.

“I am Hiawatha.”

“Yes, I know. It’s big of you. I mean, I really appreciate you coming tonight.”

“My pleasure.”

And here she laughed:

“An amazing pleasure indeed!”

“You mean figuratively, of course?”

“No literally. Room 2-C was everything I’d hoped it would be.” Gwen was still holding the door gingerly and waiting for me to enter. “But it was also a lot of work. It is never easy to overcome long-held prejudices — to be open to new experiences — and this took quite a bit of exertion on my part. But it was certainly worth the effort. I am exhausted but exhilarated. I feel newly enlightened. The world has just become a slightly more complicated place. And boy am I hungry…!”

With these words the two of us entered the cafeteria where the Christmas party was already approaching its climax.

* * *

THE CHRISTMAS PARTY

By the time I stepped into the Christmas extravaganza on March twentieth, the formal festivities had concluded, fine liquor was flowing like milk and honey, and the many faculty and staff of the college, dressed in rich and elaborate costumes, had taken to milling about the packed room with their various drinks in hand; or sitting at the crowded tables; or lying atop the massage benches over by the poinsettia display. The room had been decorated exactly as I’d envisioned, and seeing all the pieces in their rightful places I rejoiced as if it were my own personal triumph: in the far corner was the stage; on the stage was the Christmas tree; next to the tree was a rocking chair for Santa; behind the chair was an elf’s house; and protruding from this house was a chimney. Around the perimeter of the room countless stockings were strewn about, one per attendee, with each employee’s name written lovingly in glue and glitter. Meanwhile, dangling from the very center of the room, and spinning just as slowly and relentlessly as the world itself, was a disco strobe casting a million pieces of reflected light around the cafeteria. The wet bar was buzzing. The roulette table was crowded. Along an entire wall of the cafeteria one could take in the enormous tri-colored flag of incipient democracy — all thirteen stripes and forty-seven stars — while on the wall immediately across from it, occupying the same amount of space but with less unity of purpose, was this flag’s perfect converse: the diverse quilt of nationhood representing the lesser polities of the world.

In the lively and chaotic scene I took heart that our faculty and staff had turned out in costume and were mingling in unprecedented historical combinations: a southern plantation owner with his northern industrialist counterpart; a brakeman and a strikebreaker; a dowager and a missionary; even John Jay and Alexander Hamilton appeared to have made amends at a busy table where they were now bemoaning the subtleties of query-writing and the hopelessness of finding a reliable literary agent. From one historical era to the next I witnessed the progeny of a future now past. The robber baron and the indentured servant. The carpetbagger. The racketeer. A woman in whalebone bodice. The tarred and feathered scalawag. A slave driver with a whip. The pilgrim. The pioneer. A Sandanista. One of the reference librarians had painted a scarlet “TBD” across her cheek, while another followed behind her bearing a cardboard pillory. A sharecropper was driving his ox. A flapper danced the Charleston. Two behavioral scientists performed in blackface. Even the cross-dressing horticulturist had gotten into the act by impersonating a straight-laced and very dignified presidential candidate. Inspired, I headed to the men’s room with my duffel bag where I slipped into my own costume for the night: the jeans and boots and chaps and Stetson hat that would mark me as a New Mexico sheriff on patrol. When this was done I took out the holster and cinched it around my waist. Then I pinned my sheriff’s badge to my shirt. Delicately, so as not to release the safety from its locked position, I slipped the borrowed pistol into the holster.

“Just be very careful with that!” Ethel had told me when I informed her of my latest costume idea. She was lending me an antique pistol that a beloved grandfather had bequeathed her in his will. “A loaded gun is no joke, Charlie. I don’t care if it is Christmas! I don’t care how much unity and goodwill you’ve assembled in that cafeteria…!”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Your pistol will stay right here in my holster. It will not go off — I promise!”

“Well, you know the rule…never point a firearm unless you intend to use it!”

I laughed into the mirror.

“No really,” said the creative writing instructor to Maude. “If you bring that condom to the laundromat, it damn well better get put on…!”

I washed my face and took another pill. Now my costume was complete. I was ready for the masquerade that I had spent so much of my life planning. Taking it all in, I felt the joy of a plan coming together and the relief of a legacy that was finally finding its fruition. At last I could see the fruits of the seeds that I had planted. The pulp of my tireless preparations.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Stan asked me in front of the mirror. Behind him I could see the bathroom door closing to the party outside.

“What am I supposed to be? Why something entirely, of course!”

“No, not that. I meant the costume.”

“Oh that. I’m a sheriff. From New Mexico. And you?”

“He’s a cuckold,” said Ethel. “But a good one!”

And she gave her husband a playful kiss on the cheek.

“That’s great, Stan. It’s great that you can have a sense of humor about such things.”

“What else can I do? And besides — it’s okay now. Ethel and I are back together. And with the restraining order hanging over him, that bastard Luke can’t even poke his toe out from behind the bar he’s tending!”

I nodded and made my way through the crowd with my duffel bag.

On one side of the room was Rusty and his team of animal scientists dressed as cowboys. On the other side sat Gwen and her fellow neophytes in Indian attire.

Gwen laughed out loud when she saw me in full costume.

“Let me guess…” she said. “You’re a sheriff!”

“Correct.”

“From Arizona?”

“Not quite. That would be premature. I’m from New Mexico.”

“I see. That’s probably prudent. And you know what all of us are, right?”

She pointed to the side of the cafeteria where her acolytes were sitting.

“To the casual eye,” I ventured, “it looks like all of you are dressed as a gathering of native peoples….”

“You’re close…!”

“An antediluvian village?”

“Closer…!”

“I give up.”

“We’re Indians. Get it, Charlie? Indians!”

“I get it. Though there is definitely some irony in that. And besides, you shouldn’t call them Indians anymore, you know. They’re now more rightly referred to as American Indians, or even better, Native Americans….”

Gwen straightened the feather sticking out of her headband.

“Whatever,” she said. And then: “You know, I’m even more hungry now than I was a half hour ago when you and I entered this room together. When’s the food coming?”

“Very soon.”

“I hope so. We’re all starving!”

I nodded. A few minutes later I bumped into Rusty at the urinal.

“Nice party!” he said though his arm was in a sling and he was having difficulty managing the zipper.

“Thanks,” I answered. “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s a long story….”

“They usually are around here!”

“And I don’t want to get into it.”

“I understand. Please know that I really do appreciate you coming tonight. And I think it’s great that you and all the other animal science faculty have taken to dressing up as cowboys!”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re playing the role of cowboys, right? The cowboy boots. The hat. The jeans and plaid shirt. The bolo tie…!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nobody’s dressing up….”

He looked hurt. I apologized and Rusty went back outside to sit with his colleagues.

In the men’s room the air was moist and scented from the aromatic pads of the urinal. My costume was lying untouched in the duffel bag.

“Are you still in here?” said Raul. “I thought you were going to put on your costume?”

“I am.”

“So how long does it take to do that? It’s been more than thirty minutes since you came in here. Bessie noticed you were missing. I figured I should come and check on you….”

“Really? Time flies, doesn’t it?”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distant. Your eyes are not just red anymore but crystal clear — and not in a good way. As if they were pools of transparent water affording a view of the murkiest depths of human suffering. You seem calm and composed. It’s not like you, Charlie. And it worries me.”

“I’m fine, Raul. I appreciate the concern. But I just need to get this costume on so I can join the party….”

“Is that gun loaded? The one still sitting in that duffel bag over there?”

“Yes, it is. Cool, huh?”

“I suppose. Just be careful with it. You know what they say about loaded firearms and good intentions. In any case, I guess we’ll see you outside in the cafeteria when you’re changed….”

A few minutes later Bessie and Raul came up to where I was standing by the entrance under the welcome banner:

“The party looks good, Charlie!”

“Thanks,” I said. “I did put a lot of planning into it.”

“We’ve heard. When are you going to change into your costume?”

“Very soon. I’ve got it right here in my duffel bag….”

Bessie left to get a beer and when she came back the three of us surveyed the lively scene.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s one of the Dimwiddles,” she said.

“And that young man over there with the handheld electronic device?”

“That’s our student body president, the future and the fate of our society.”

“And the girl next to him? The one with the baby?”

“That’s Rusty’s teenage daughter. She’s still claiming it was a virgin birth.”

“And that figure over there? The morose one sitting by himself?”

“That’s the man from the Champs d’Elysees. The one you met on your ride into town.”

“I almost didn’t recognize him. He looks so old!”

“Yeah, well, time does tend to fly. And youth comes and goes….”

I splashed more water on my face.

When I went back to the party, the revelry was all-consuming. In the faint light of the incandescent menorah Dr. Felch approached me for the first time. He was dressed as Santa Claus and his words reeked of liquor, the bell at the tip of his Santa’s hat was somewhat tilted, his fake beard slightly askew.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” he exclaimed. “Where the hell have you three been?!”

Bessie smiled at her ex-husband and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Bill,” she said. “Cute hat!”

“Good evening, sir!” Raul added. “And feliz navidad!”

“Yeah, well frère jaques to you too….”

Bessie made her way past her ex-husband back into the crowded cafeteria. Raul, after patting Dr. Felch on the shoulder and wishing him a merry Christmas in English, followed her and the two quickly dissolved into the teeming crowd.

Turning back to Dr. Felch, I said:

“I’m really sorry to be so late, sir. But I had to visit Will in his moment of need.”

“You said you’d be back by noon!”

“That was my plan, yes. But we ended up staying much longer than I’d envisioned. We had to stay well into the afternoon — quite a ways past two, in fact — to find out how the history of the world will end.”

“And how will it end?”

“Efficiently.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good. But why’d you take Bessie on your adventure? Without her I couldn’t find my damn notebook with the notes you left me. Without my notes I’ve had to wing everything by memory and intuition. I’ve had to improvise the agenda every step of the way….”

And here Dr. Felch told me how, by memory, he’d begun the party with a rousing benediction followed, intuitively, by the opening of the wet bar. From there he’d proceeded straight to the apple-bobbing and musical chairs. Then the piñatas and pony rides. The dunking tank. The ring toss. At some point he remembered to go back for the awards presentation and the costume contest — and just in the nick of time — even combining the two separate activities into a single event in an inspired stroke of executive decision-making and organizational efficiency. After that came the rousing karaoke performances, the foot massages, the kissing booth under the mistletoe.

“It’s been an uphill battle all the way,” he sighed.

I nodded.

“You have no idea how hard it is to find mistletoe in Cow Eye!”

I nodded again.

“Let alone a priest to bless the menorah.”

We talked for some time. Finally, I swallowed hard and said, “Excuse me, sir, I need to go to the restroom to change into my costume….”

When I came back Dr. Felch was in the same place talking with a secretary.

“Is that an accreditor over there?” I asked.

“It is. They missed their bus. So they’ll be joining us for the festivities tonight.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes. And they’re not the only ones. Over there you have the Dimwiddle heirs. And over there you have the adjuncts. At that table along the wall next to the glory hole is where our student leaders are sitting. And across from them is the dignitary table with the mayor and his wife, the county engineer, the local high school football coach, his niece, and three successful alumni who now run their own enterprises at the Purlieus. It’s a lot of diversity in such a small cafeteria. It’s a heck of a lot of inclusiveness, Charlie. Oh, and you just missed Merna. She left a few minutes before you came….”

“Merna Lee was here? But I thought she was dead?”

“Dead?! What made you think that?”

“Well, everyone keeps talking about her as if she’s dead. Remember, you all had that poignant remembrance for her at the river? You even scattered her ashes…!”

“She’s not dead — my god, Charlie — she’s retired! Despite some overlap, the two concepts are distinct….”

“But what about the remembrance you all held for her? Why conduct a remembrance for someone who’s still alive?!”

“Why not? Or should we only remember the dead? Shouldn’t we also remember the living with the same degree of affection? Why should we always wait for a thing to pass into history before we fondly pay homage to it?”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Of course it does! I mean, isn’t that what all consequential literature aspires to do?”

“I wouldn’t know. But what about the ashes…how do you explain them?”

“Merna was a lifelong smoker and kept a large urn of ashes — forty years worth — on the floor in her office. And so we finally scattered them for her that night at the river.”

“I see.”

“And you missed it.”

“Right.”

“Just like you missed her tonight.”

“Right.”

“You are a lot of different things, Charlie. But not being any of them entirely has caused you to miss a lot of things in this life.”

“I know. And I’m really sorry. I tried to get here on time. But I also realize that there are things in life that are just so much more important….”

“Than time?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like darkness.”

“And?”

“And rain.”

“And?

“And love.”

“And?!”

“And the stars in the sky. All of those things are truly important, Dr. Felch. Living in Cow Eye has taught me to appreciate them all. Living here I’ve come to learn this lesson the tortuous way….”

“That may be so. But I thought you were going to change into your costume….”

“I didn’t?”

“Obviously not. You’re still in the clothes you wore to the city….”

“I am?”

“Charlie, are you still taking those pills?”

“Oh yes.”

“Both of them?”

“Oh no! I’m only taking one of them.”

“The pill to make you sleep?”

“I believe so. Though it’s hard to say anything with certainty right now. It’s all kind of blending together at the moment.”

“Anyway, don’t forget about the costume. The math faculty have just arrived as a group. And I have an important announcement to make to everyone.”

I grabbed my duffel bag and returned to the men’s room where Dr. Felch was already standing next to the paper towel dispenser.

“That’s a nice set of boots!” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “But how did you get here so fast? How did you beat me to the towel dispenser?”

“What do you mean? I just walked in here. I’ve been out glad-handing for the last fifteen minutes?”

“But…!”

“Charlie, you seem to be slowing down, my friend. You seem to be losing track of your surroundings.”

“It’s entirely possible. This pill I’m taking…it’s…working, I guess….”

“Good. Let’s hope it brings you some well-deserved sleep….”

Dr. Felch ripped off the towel from the dispenser.

“By the way, when’s the food coming?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Very soon!”

“Well, you’d better let everyone know what’s going on, or you’re going to lose them. It’s almost ten and these people have been in this room since six o’clock. Some even longer! It’s absolutely packed. They’re huddled in here like cattle in a cattle chute. Like bullets in a box of bullets. Like pieces of chalk in a box containing many pieces of chalk. The room is sweaty and warm with poor circulation. The costumes are hot. Your peers are tired and very hungry. Charlie, if you don’t get them some food — or at least the promise of food — we’re going to have a mutiny on our hands…!”

“But…”

“…or an insurrection…!”

“But I…”

“Charlie, listen up! I’m preparing the finishing touches on the announcement that I’m going to make now that the math faculty have arrived dressed as Roman senators. In the meantime, you’d better say something to the crowd. You’d better say something to quell the tension. To appease the hunger pangs. To assuage the growing doubts. Go on. The microphone’s over there….”

Dr. Felch crumpled up his paper towel and threw it into the trash can and walked out.

I nodded…

“Yes, sir,” I said.

As the door closed after him I took out the vial from my shirt pocket, twisted the cap off, and slid out a pill. Leaning my head back, I dropped it down my throat and chased it with water from the tap.

“Alright,” I said to myself. “It’s time to let everyone know what’s going on…!”

Tired and bewildered, I made my way from the bathroom to the microphone at the front of the cafeteria. The microphone was cold and thumped loudly when I turned it on.

*

“Good evening!” I said. “Good evening, everyone, and welcome to our First Annual Springtime Masquerade and Christmas Extravaganza for Intra-faculty Unity and Student Success. Otherwise known as the Cow Eye Community College annual Christmas party….Thank you all for coming….”

Here I wiped a collection of spittle from the corner of my mouth. Then I turned off the spigot of the restroom sink and continued:

“…I know it’s already quite late and you are all very hungry. And so I just wanted to reassure you that the food is on its way. The caterer has been given the green light and so the food we’ve ordered should be arriving any minute. Specifically, I’ve been told that it will be here by eleven at the very latest….”

“Eleven?!”

“Yes, eleven.”

“P.M. or A.M.?”

“Very funny, Max. P.M. of course. So please be patient. This is not easy for me either. As you probably know by now, it’s been many months since I’ve had a decent night’s sleep. And it’s been many days since I’ve had any sleep at all. And yet here I am. Here I am in this men’s restroom in this sheriff’s costume. Here I am shepherding this Christmas party to its successful resolution. At eleven the food will be here — I promise. And it will be worth the wait. It will be a joyous occasion. A reason for celebration. A personal triumph against overwhelming odds. In the meantime, I encourage you all to use this opportunity to get to know each other in this crowded cafeteria. Or if you prefer, in one of the ten exotic rooms that we’ve procured for your enjoyment. While you wait you might as well talk incessantly with the many people you normally wouldn’t have the time of day for. And if you’ve gone that far you might as well get to know them in other ways too! Biblically, for example. You see, for especially intimate acquaintances we have arranged those ten exquisite rooms for your enjoyment. And for the more adventurous we have room 2-C. In addition, I encourage you to frequent the wet bar and the punch table throughout this evening. Please help yourself to the bowls of multi-colored barbiturates and amphetamines that have been positioned as centerpieces throughout the room. Don’t pass up the marijuana that is making its rounds. Or the lines of cocaine that have been carefully laid like rural highways across our vast continent. Or the LSD and heroin available under the NO SMOKING sign over there. (Just remember, folks, that we are a tobacco-free campus!) Oh, and while you’re at it, don’t neglect to take your prescription medication and to wash it down with some proscriptive legislation. The Prozac. The vitamins. The Ritalin and Viagra. The sign ordinances and leash laws. After so much planning and preparation it’s great to know that my quixotic plans are becoming observable reality. It’s great to see them taking shape in the form of this long-awaited Christmas party. And so, yes, I’m going to celebrate my own success by helping myself to Luke’s concoctions over there at the wet bar. I’m going to drink them enthusiastically. And indiscriminately. And I’m going to use them to wash down this amazing pill of mine that I’ve been taking and that has helped me stay up this long. This pill that will keep me awake forever! I am going to do all this. But first I’d like to acknowledge some people who’ve been instrumental in all this success. Some people without whose help none of this diversity and inclusiveness could have been possible…. It takes all kinds to organize a successful Christmas party. Just as it takes all types of personalities to run a struggling community college. Just as it takes all manner of Homo sapiens to make up this rich tapestry of human experience that swaddles us in our humanity…!”

And so over the prattling audience — were they even listening to me? — I thanked Dr. Felch for bringing me to Cow Eye and for trusting me with the planning of this Christmas party as a sure means of resurrecting my legacy after so many failed attempts. And of course for giving me the roll of twenty-dollar bills that I’d since learned did not actually come from official coffers but rather from his own personal retirement account.

I paused to allow the sparse applause to die down. Then I said:

“And of course I need to thank Bessie and Raul for accompanying me on my drive to visit Will Smithcoate in his moment of need. It was a long trip for sure, but I now feel eminently more knowledgeable about the world we live in. About the nature of darkness. And of desiccation. About our shared history and lonely futures. And of course I am much more versed in the difference between male and female orgasm. Please know that it was a sacrifice well worth the wait and that I will be knocking softly on its front door from here on out. Oh, and you’ll surely be happy to know that Professor Smithcoate is doing just fine, all things considered. He is doing just fine and he sends all of you his kind regards…!”

“He does?!”

“Not literally, of course. But in a roundabout sort of way I’m sure he misses you all very much….”

I paused to look up at Dr. Felch, who was waiting in the wings.

“And speaking of missing,” I said, “they tell me there’s happy news to report from the opposite end of the cafeteria where you yourselves once entered this party several hours ago. They tell me we just hit one hundred percent attendance tonight! That’s right, folks….the math faculty have just arrived! The male teachers are dressed as Roman senators. The women instructors are sultry felines. All of which means that for the first time in the long and storied history of Cow Eye Community College — from the first two cows that ever roamed the face of the earth and up to the era of me standing here before you in my sleep-deprived stupor — we have achieved one hundred percent buy-in for an important educational endeavor. We now have one-hundred-percent participation for this party, ladies and gentlemen! And so let me be the first to congratulate you! Yes, congratulations are in order! And with this having been accomplished, we’re now ready to move on to Dr. Felch, who has an important announcement to make to our overcrowded cafeteria. To an award-winning professoriate. Amid a house undivided. As you can see, this party is shaping up to be a total and elaborate success…!”

I paused again.

“Sir? Are you ready for your announcement?”

Dr. Felch nodded and walked up to the dais. Taking the microphone from me, he said:

“Thank you, Charlie!” As the heating unit whirred in the background, and as the disco strobe continued to cast its reflections around the room, and while I celebrated the one-hundred-percent attendance milestone in my mind, Dr. Felch cleared his throat to begin his speech:

“Friends and citizens,” he began. “Friends and citizens of Cow Eye Community College, I address you today not as your college president but as a simple, and very humbled, man….”

*

Before he could finish this sentence a series of shouts rang out from the audience:

“It’s not on!” the audience was shouting.

“What?” said Dr. Felch.

“The microphone….it’s not on! We can’t hear a thing…!”

“Bessie!!!”

Bessie walked briskly up to the front and turned the microphone on. Dr. Felch thanked her. The audience applauded. Now, with the microphone on and the disco strobe spinning and the fake Santa beard bobbing to the rhythm of his words, Dr. Felch began his important speech a second time:

*

“Alright, let’s try this again….” he said. “Friends and citizens! Esteemed colleagues! Residents of Cow Eye Junction — both tenured and non-tenured! Can you hear me? Is this thing on? It is? Great! My fellow educators, tonight I address you not as a college president but as a simple man. For the past thirty years, you see, I have had the distinct honor of being your humble servant. I have devoted my life to public service at this unparalleled institution of higher learning — first as an adjunct in the animal science department, then as a tenured professor and department chair, and finally as your college’s venerable president and chief executive. It has been a glorious time spent here over the years and I assure you it is a period of my life that I will always look back on with fond memories….”

Dr. Felch checked his notes, then continued:

“…Recently, it has begun to occur to me with increasing urgency that the world we live in, just as it so often tends to do, is changing. That our world is becoming an ever more exciting and complex place — complex and exciting in ways that could not have been envisioned even a generation ago. And it has also occurred to me that this is a difficult thing for somebody like me to grasp. And that it should be for the newer generations of young men and younger women to deal with these unanticipated excitements and the many new-fangled complexities that are arising like flies from the trashcans out back of our cafeteria. There comes a time when all people must reach this understanding. And I have reached it. There is a time when we all must come to terms with such realities. And I have come to those very terms. Believe me, I have often considered it my turn to move on toward that peaceful domicile that awaits me at the older part of Cow Eye Junction where the pastures are still untrammeled. Yes, I have often thought of quitting the academic scene. A year ago I had gone so far as to draft an announcement like the one I am delivering tonight. But after talking the matter over with my latest wife, and after a bit more reflection on the perplexed affairs of our college at the time — the impending accreditation visit, the unresolved Christmas party dilemma, the inability to rally our divided faculty around a common vision for our future — I decided to abandon the idea. Now I stand before you for the last time as your humble president: the current, and soon to be former, president of Cow Eye Community College….”

Here Dr. Felch pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he continued:

“….Along the way, my friends, we have achieved amazing things together. The expansion of our liberal arts program. The re-roofing of the library. Electric typewriters in the vast majority of our departments. A many-fold growth in our enrollment, and an increase in our influence far beyond the vacant field where the apiary now stands. Over the years we have moved mountains and redirected rivers. We have conquered a continent and its appurtenances. We have subdued the vicissitudes of nature. Hell, we have even made the moon our own personal bitch. In short, my time with you has been enjoyable and, I would like to think, not without success. Looking back on the sum of such a long tenure, I would like to think that I am leaving our college in a better position — or at least a less precarious one — than the one you all found yourselves in a few moments ago in Room 2-C….”

Dr. Felch looked up from his notes.

“Joking!” he said. And then:

“…But, seriously, I would like to think that I am leaving our college in a much better position — or at least a less precarious one — than the one I inherited so long ago. Of course it would be impossible, given our mortal fallibilities, for there not to be errors committed along the way. And this has certainly been the case with us. Yes, my friends, we have made many errors along our serpentine path to continuous improvement. For along this path we have sowed seeds that we ourselves have then trampled. We have actively harvested our just rewards only to watch those robust harvests rot in railcars or be covered over in mass graves to stabilize market prices. We have overlooked our native languages in favor of those from abroad. We have sent our sons and daughters — my god, how many of our sons have we banished? — to all ends of our far-flung nation with most of them never to return again. And of course there have been isolated examples of infamy: the venture into soy; conscription and nullification; the many baseless lawsuits and their out-of-court settlements; August sixth and ninth, respectively; and of course the shoddy reconstruction of our campus after the great earthquake and conflagration of twenty-six years ago. Yes, these things are true. All of these things are true, my friends! But as we look back together I hope you can agree that any errors made along the way — no matter how seemingly egregious — were not made intentionally but rather with the best interests of our beloved college in mind….”

At this Dr. Felch removed his reading glasses from his nose. Pulling out the same handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped away some moisture that had collected in his eyes, then blew his nose into the handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is not easy for me. It’s been thirty years and after being here so long I feel like I’ve given more than a small part of myself to this college. There is not an inch of ground on this campus that I have not personally traversed. There is not a single project that I have not been privy to in one form or another. There is not an idea implemented on this campus that I have not attended at least twelve separate meetings to deliberate. Believe me when I say to you that over the last thirty years I have given everything I have to our beautiful college. My heart. My soul. My virility. Three of my marriages. I have sacrificed every last ounce of my humanity to our institution. To Cow Eye Community College. To all of you. And it truly has been a great privilege and an honor.”

Here Dr. Felch stopped. In the silence of the cafeteria the ice maker in the kitchen could be heard to start up.

“And here, perhaps, I ought to stop….”

Dr. Felch paused to allow his words to sink in.

But of course he did not stop.

*

“…At this, perhaps I ought to stop. Yet duty compels me to leave you with a few final observations that they might help your generation in some small way as it moves forward through time and space. You see, each of you in your infinite diversity makes up the rich cultural fabric of Cow Eye Community College. In your collective unity is your strength. And this is no less true whether you come from the North, South, East, West, Northeast, Southwest, Northwest, Southeast, Old West, New South, Far North, Midwest, or even from a place as far away — as timeless and ineffable — as California. You are the products of the unique experiences that shape you. But do not let your geographical differences divide you. Nor your diverse backgrounds. Nor your spiritual convictions. Nor your religion. Nor political affiliation. Nor class. Nor race. Nor gender. Nor sexual orientation. Nor even the sectarian loyalties that you so dutifully — and understandably — feel toward your respective academic disciplines. Do not let these contrivances interfere with the greater love that you harbor for your institution — the love that unites you all as faculty and staff of Cow Eye Community College….”

Here Dr. Felch turned serious, his voice acquiring an even deeper sense of gravity:

“…It has been noted — and not only by myself — that in the history of mankind the role of parties is an especially egregious one. Their existence serves only to inflame the innate differences that would separate us. To drive wedges into the crevices of our hearts. To divide our cafeteria into factions: this side of the crowded room for cowboys, that side for Indians. Tonight, however, we are on the threshold of a new era. For tonight we are witnessing a new kind of party. One that is open to inclusiveness. A party that does not divide but rather unites. A party that says to the world, yes, it is possible for faculty of every imaginable ilk to co-exist in harmony and self-respect on the verdant campus of even the most tenuous community college….”

“…As you move toward fulfillment of your regional accreditation — and no, I will not be able to finish this journey with you — make sure to cultivate good relations and harmony with all that you meet. Avoid harmful alliances and allegiances. Love God. Trust love. Worship peace. Pay taxes so that we may one day have an imposing military presence around the world. Do all this and everything else will naturally work itself out — even the most calamitous application for regional accreditation….”

By now Dr. Felch’s voice had grown weaker, almost tremulous.

“….In offering to you, my fellow colleagues, these counsels of an old and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they will make a strong or lasting impression on you. But should they happen to do so — well, that would be super-duper, wouldn’t it! Ultimately, though, that is for you to decide. It is for the next generation to take our college into its shining future. And so it is with a heaviness in my heart, and a pinch of tobacco in my lower lip, that I wish you all the best in the future. It has been a glorious thirty years, my friends. And now all that remains is to bid you a final adieu.”

With these words of resignation still lingering in the air, Dr. Felch stepped away from the microphone and slowly disappeared into the crowd.

*

(…)

Like so many things in life the opportunity to withdraw is all about the timing. Which makes the decision a restless one. Newly bewildered, the longtime community college president may be left to continue blindly with the familiar movements that have brought him to this point in time and space, or, oppositely, to end them once and for all. But when? This is the question that has confused the world’s most certificated minds. For neither ‘why’ nor ‘how’ can stymie the educational administrator like the eternal question: when?

(…)

*

After Dr. Felch’s valedictory the mood in the cafeteria went from electric to subdued. The shock of the announcement came and went and in its place arose a general dullness and acceptance. The barbiturates, perhaps, were doing their duty. Or maybe the peppermint schnapps. Standing at the wet bar I took it all in — especially the peppermint schnapps.

“Thanks for manning the bar tonight, Luke. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, Charlie. It’s been enlightening.”

“Has everyone had their fill of drink?”

“And then some!”

“I’m glad.”

“Everyone but you. What’ll you have?”

“I’m open to suggestions. What do you recommend?”

“The food’s on its way, right? So how about an apéritif while we wait? Would you be open to vermouth?”

“You could say that.”

Luke poured the drink into a plastic cup and handed it to me:

“You might want to drink this one slowly though. She can be a real bitch!”

I drank the bitch slowly. When I was done I thanked Luke for the tip.

“Don’t you want to sit down or something?” he laughed. “You’ve been standing over here for quite a while now!”

“No thanks. I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind….”

And so I did. And standing there with my lime wedge in my hand, I engaged my peers in collegial banter.

“Are you drinking tequila, Charlie?” a passerby would wink.

“You could say that!” I would respond and down the observation in a single gulp.

“And what about cognac?”

“You could say that too!”

“And gin?”

“Yes!”

“And rum?”

“Yes!”

“And sherry?”

“Yes!”

“And zivania?”

“Yes!”

“And mead?”

“Yes!”

“And pulque? And kumis? And baijiu?”

“Oh, yes! I’m open to them all!”

And so over the next several minutes I accepted every invitation handed my way. The peppermint schnapps. The sprightly grasshoppers. The bloody martini. When Vanzetti offered me a margarita, I accepted. And when Sacco handed me a gin and tonic, I did not refuse. When a minuteman gave me the choice of either sweet wine or dry, I chose both. When Justices Byron and Hugo poured me a colorful mixed drink I made sure to down it with gusto. And when Betsy Ross got up on a ladder to add a new star to the large flag on the wall — now there were thirteen stripes and forty-eight stars — I toasted the occasion with a glass of scotch in one hand and a cup of grog in the other. In this way I drank both hard liquors and soft. Both citrus and milk. Happily I drank. Indiscriminately I drank. Dutifully and wearily and boisterously and drowsily and historically and meekly, I drank.

“And you are…?” I asked a masquerading peer who was passing by.

“I’ll give you three guesses!” said Sam Middleton.

“Abraham Lincoln?”

“No!”

“John C. Calhoun!”

“No!”

“Marcus Garvey?”

“You’re getting colder!”

“I give up then….”

“I’m Geoffrey Chaucer!”

“Oh, right. I should have known….”

“And you?” asked the ethics teacher.

“I’m a sheriff,” I answered.

“From New Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“I went there once. It was better than North Dakota but not quite South Dakota…”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have been to neither.”

“It’s okay. You’ve still got many years ahead of you…”

“I do?”

“Yes. You’ve got a good ten more years to leave a legacy of some sort.”

“I hope you’re right. But, in the meantime, what is that?”

“What is what?”

“That chiming?”

“What chiming?”

“Don’t you hear it? That light chiming that is emanating throughout the cafeteria? That insistent knell that despite all scientific principles is drowning out the much-louder chords of injustice?”

“That is the timely and delicate chiming of a triangle being played.”

“Alan Long River!”

“Yes.”

“He’s giving his keynote address!”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful!”

“Yes, it is….”

“Let’s listen, shall we?”

And so the two of us listened.

“But, Charlie?” said the Esperanto teacher when Long River’s keynote was done.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t answered the most meaningful question of all?”

“The food? It’s on its way…I promise!”

“No, not that.”

“What then?”

“Love, Charlie!”

“Love?”

“Yes! What is it?”

“You’re asking me that now? With this bloody Mai Tai in my hand?”

“Yes, Charlie. Since you’ve been here we’ve heard Will Smithcoate tell us what love would be, and Dr. Felch tell us what it was. We’ve heard from Gwen what it shouldn’t be and from Rusty what it ain’t. We’ve even listened attentively while the accreditors informed us what love will need to be if we are to have any chance of reaffirming our regional accreditation. But after all is said and done, we still have not heard anyone tell us what it is!”

I nodded.

“Charlie, could you please tell us what love is?”

“Of course,” I said.

“You will?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Well…?”

And so I told her.

And when this was done I sat down heavily at the table in the corner of the cafeteria where Will Smithcoate used to sit.

“Are you okay, Charlie?” one of the secretaries asked on her way back from Room 2-C.

“I’m fine,” I said, twirling the celery stalk from my bloody cow cunt and then crunching it between my teeth.

“You don’t look fine. You look tired. Your face is flushed. Your eyes are hollow and transparent. Have you not been sleeping very well?”

“You could say that.”

“And have your pills run out?”

“You could say that too.”

“And have you drunk more than you can handle?”

“That’s another thing you could probably say.”

“Your costume is compelling.”

“Thank you.”

“Your pistol is rather suggestive.”

“Thanks.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Of course.”

“Metaphorically or literally?”

“Literally. I’m afraid this loaded gun is strictly literal at the moment.”

“Because you haven’t slept enough….”

“Right.”

“And you’ve drunk far too much.”

“Correct.”

“Are you still taking those pills?”

“Yes.”

“And have they brought you any closer to being something entirely?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But when will that happen?”

“Soon, I fear.”

“Before or after the food comes?”

“After, of course. Surely it will come after the food.”

“You’ve done a great job organizing this party and I’m looking forward to the food if and when it does come.”

“Right,” I said. “Thank you, Rusty. But, Rusty…hey, Rusty, what time is it anyway?”

“It’s ten-thirty, Charlie.”

“That late?! No really, Gwen, is it truly that late right now?”

“Yes. In fact, it’s after eleven.”

“Already?”

“Yes. Just look at the clock. It’s almost midnight.”

“Midnight?!”

“Yes, Charlie, it’s well past midnight and the food still hasn’t arrived. Time seems to be moving inexorably along. Faculty are beginning to stream toward the exit. This party seems to be winding down.”

“But it can’t! Timmy, our party can’t end like this! It’s not over yet!”

“Then you’d better do something….”

“Right!”

Stumbling to the front of the room, I switched on the microphone, which thumped just as loudly.

“Attention!” I said. “Attention, everyone! Please listen to this important announcement. I know that it is late and the food is not here yet. But I have been assured that it is on its way. Please don’t leave yet! Please don’t leave! The food will be here shortly — I promise! Hey, Timmy! Timmy, could you please be so kind as to lock the front door so nobody can leave? It’s a little after one o’clock in the morning and it would be a shame if after waiting so patiently everyone missed out on the food when it finally does come! Believe me it will be a memorable event. Timmy, could you please lock the door and bar it with that baseball bat that we used for the piñata…!”

Timmy looked back at me with a surprised look but did not lock the door nor bar it with the baseball bat that we used for the piñata.

“The food should be here any minute,” I promised. “And so your patience is much appreciated while we wait for it to arrive. In the meantime, please visit the wet bar over there for an apéritif. And the bowls of barbiturates. And of course, Room 2-C is something no self-respecting educator should miss out on…!”

I sat back down at my table. By now the sights and sounds of this night were flying by like the many metaphors I had experienced along the way. The bubbling springs. The flowing rivers. The sun and moon and stars and clouds. The esplanade leading from the rumblings of prolonged ecstasy to the cold bench at the edge of the universe. The asphalt beneath the center line under the wheels of our Starfire. The pendulum swinging between wintergreen and evergreen. The light sarong. The pills I’d taken. The symphony with its violins and flutes and melting glaciers that will sooner or later become rain. An unbroken chain of fountains with their nesting pelicans and gigantic carp. In the warmth of my own reverie it was now swirling around me faster and faster.

“So Charlie,” Dr. Felch said when he’d approached me at my table. He had pulled out a chair and was sitting directly across from me. By now he’d ditched the heavy Santa suit and was reduced to a white tank undershirt half-tucked into his red Santa pants. The fake beard was long gone. There was alcohol in his words. “So Charlie,” he repeated. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yes, Dr. Felch, it is.”

“Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Felch. And congratulations on your retirement. I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure some people will be disappointed that Santa Claus is retiring. But to hell with them. Retirement is a very personal decision. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer man….”

“That’s swell of you to say, Charlie. But, Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“Charlie, now that it’s Christmas isn’t there something you want to tell me?”

“Of course.”

“So what is it…?”

“Merry Christmas!”

“No, not that. You already said that. I mean is there something you have to say for yourself?”

“About what?”

“Well, about the world we live in? About that calf we castrated, for example? Anything along those lines that you’d like to tell me?”

“You mean the metaphor we squeezed out like prunes from a package?”

“Yes. What is the metaphorical significance of it all, if there even is one?”

“Oh, there is! There most definitely is one alright! There is metaphor in everything. That is a truth I’ve learned since coming here. It is one of the many lessons I’ve acquired.”

“So what is it then?”

“The lesson?”

“No, the metaphor? What then is the metaphorical significance of the calf?”

“I’m not sure, sir. In fact, I was sort of expecting that you might have forgotten about it….”

“I may be old but I’m not senile! I may be retiring but I’m not retired. Not yet anyway. Things are happening very quickly, Charlie, so I think I’d better ask you now; otherwise, given how things are unfolding, I may not get another chance. So what’s the metaphorical significance of the calf in the corral? Or rather, wait….no…let me do this the right way! Which is to say…if the corral is our college, the dirt is our revised mission statement, the fences are attempts to mitigate our humanity, the bus is our collective destiny, the driver is hopelessly lost, and the self-study we’ve concocted is our submission to the higher authority of an alien body of like-minded yet data-conscious accreditors….if all of this is true, then what, Charlie, is the calf whose testicles you ate on that moonlit night down by the river…?”

I nodded gravely.

“It’s a good question,” I said. “And a timely one.”

“So what is it then?”

“The calf is you and me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Dr. Felch. And me. It’s both of us.”

“Together?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“I’ll try. You see, the calf’s position in that corral, I think, represents our metaphorical ascension as educational administrators. It is the culmination of our collective trajectory. It is the summit of our legacy. No matter how much we excel….no matter how far we climb in the arena of educational administration, we will never be anything more than a calf chewing the hay next to the trough of intellectual enlightenment. No matter how high we rise as a people we can never rise any higher than those boards that run around the corral of our hearts like arbitrary boundaries between nations of the world.”

“That’s not very encouraging, Charlie.”

“It’s not?”

“No, it’s downright depressing.”

“But it doesn’t have to be! It doesn’t have to be depressing at all! If you look at it differently this is not a bad thing by any means. It’s just a necessary evil. Because what kind of world would it be if the community college’s calves jumped out of the corral whenever they felt the urge? What kind of a world would that be?!”

“Okay. I can see that. I’ll buy that the calf might be your typical community college administrator. That it might be the world’s quietly suffering professionals. But how about the testicles themselves? What are they?”

“They are scrumptious!”

“Yes, of course. That statement is true a priori. But metaphorically what are they?”

“Well, Dr. Felch, I haven’t honestly thought much about this question. It’s been a while since I’ve had to. But if I were to venture a guess on the matter, I would have to say that in the complicated metaphor that is our community college — and my goodness is it complicated! — those testicles that you held up in the Ziploc bag — and that I unwittingly consumed the following day — are the remnants of our humanity….”

“They are?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all that remains?”

“Pretty much.”

“But there were two of them!”

“Oh right. Well in that case maybe they are the dual tendencies of conflict and conciliation. The two go together, you see? We tend to perceive them as separate things. But no! They are one and the same! And when we sever one, we sever the other with it. And in this way we sever those very things that allow us to function as living, feeling, procreating human beings. But with these things removed we will never know the offspring of our actions — the legacy that we might have left. The legacy that will never be inherited from the fruitless historian. Or the childless administrator. Or the unpublished novelist. Instead we will be left to jog off to our unknown fates with the stream of blood trailing after us in the dirt….”

I stopped to watch my words trail off in the dirt. Dr. Felch was regarding me curiously. Grabbing the napkin from under my empty martini glass I said:

“It’s like this….” And fumbling for a felt pen from the pocket under my chaps I drew the following with an impassioned yet unsteady hand:

“Do you see?” I asked.

“See what?”

“The confluence?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Here, look again….”

And using the felt pen I added an imperfect circle of life:

“Get it?”

“Get what?”

“We!”

“We?”

“Yes, we! You see, Dr. Felch, that’s the key! It all comes down to how we define that word. For some it will be a religion, for others a race. For some it will be a nation, a country, a polity — while for others it will be their family or their neighborhood. Or their football team. Or the color of their favorite political party. Or a gender. Or a sexual proclivity. Or even a deeply held leaning in the great North Dakota vs. South Dakota conundrum. And, yes, for those of us working at a community college it may very well be our professional affiliation….”

“The trade we ply?”

“Right. A human being without a we is not a human being. And so we manufacture them. We plant these markers deep into the ground like marble pillars along the prairie.”

“Which is somewhat inevitable, right?”

“Perhaps. Except that in order for there to be a we, there also has to be a they….”

“The other?”

“The outsider.”

“The red cows?”

“Right.”

“Looking mournfully upon the others.”

“Correct. And yet if you look at all these intersections of human experience — all the occasions to invent yet another we — an interesting thing comes to light. You see, if culture itself is shared experience creating different planes of culture, an interesting paradox emerges….”

And here I flipped over the napkin and began to draw circles on its back. One after another, I drew the intersecting three-dimensional planes of human experience that so contribute to our very personal notions of we. Circle after circle after circle after circle after circle after circle after circle. Relentlessly I drew. Desperately I drew. As if possessed, I struggled to articulate the infinite circles of experience that make up the rich culture of Cow Eye Community College. “This is Rusty’s religion….” I would say and draw an imperfect circle: “….and this is Gwen’s spirituality…..” Nationhood. Race. Gender. Age. Passionately, I drew these affiliations one on top of another until the napkin had become a collection of sopping blotted ink. “This is the story of darkness our parents used to tell us,” I said. “…And this is the place in the river where our fathers once took us fishing….”

And when I had drawn it all entirely, I held up the intersecting circles for Dr. Felch to see:

“There it is!” I exclaimed.

“There what is?”

“The circles!”

“What circles?”

“The intersecting planes of human culture. They’re all there. Every one of them. And amid these circles, right there in the middle where all the planes meet, is a single tiny dot. Do you see it?”

I stuck my finger on the dot. Dr. Felch squinted his eyes to see.

“That dot is each of us. Amid the endless circles of human experience, you see, each of us is a culture of one. Each of us is a culture of one because there is no other human being who shares all of our experience.”

“Which is a bit of a lonely proposition.”

“For some it might be. But for others it is a liberation….”

“Amid the homogeneity of modern life?”

“Yes.”

“A tiny oasis amid the desiccation?”

“Yes. For water is but a collection of moisture, right?”

“Right.”

“Just as humanity is nothing more than a motley collection of human beings, right?”

“Right.”

“So are we not, then, the many I’s that make up the we in COW EYE? Are we ourselves not the center of the eye that brings it all together to make we?!”

“I don’t know….are we?”

“We are!”

“We are?”

“Yes, Dr. Felch, we are!”

And here I folded up the napkin and put it in my pocket with the rest.

“Okay, Charlie. I’ll take your word for it. Given how late it is, I’ll just have to take your word that this really is the secret to Cow Eye’s redemption. That this really is the metaphorical significance of it all.”

I nodded.

“But Charlie…?”

“Yes, Dr. Felch?”

“Where’s the damn food?!”

“What food? You mean the hay in the trough?”

“No, Charlie, the food that you promised us all here tonight. The meat without vegetables. And the vegetables without meat?”

“It’s on its way.”

“All of it?”

“Of course. Like everything else in our world, it’s just a matter of time…”

“Not unlike retirement!”

“Yes.”

“And taxes.”

“Yes.”

“And the passing of our beloved history teacher.”

“Our what?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought you knew….”

“Knew what?”

“About Will…it happened some time ago…in the hospital where you visited him….they say it was peaceful enough, quietly and in his sleep…”

“But how can that be! I mean, we just…the three of us were just…he was just…!”

“Sorry, Charlie.”

“But!!!”

“Charlie!”

“Yes?”

“Charlie, are you…are you crying?”

“No, of course not. Of course I’m not crying. I’m an educational administrator.”

“Here, take this handkerchief….”

“But I’m not crying!”

I took the handkerchief and blew my nose.

“I am not crying. This is just moisture that has accumulated incrementally through the years. The moisture of a thousand rivers being liberated. The moisture of….”

Eventually, Dr. Felch got up to refill his glass, and sitting alone at my table I looked around the cafeteria once again. The disco strobe was casting its spinning reflections around the warm room and in the spinning light it seemed that all the metaphors of the world had coalesced. As I stared through the alcohol at the world around me I saw the arrows flying from every corner of the cafeteria and in all imaginable directions. On the table in front of me was a Ziploc bag. On the wall was a flag. And out past the wet bar was a saffron sarong and the lonely bench at the edge of the universe. Wintergreen and eucalyptus. Trusted pills. A truncated symphony with its violins and flutes and melting glaciers and triangle player standing patiently off to the side. The rain. The river. The stars. In the light of the cafeteria — in the dim neon of the bathroom stall — I saw all of these, though not as their isolated images. As the light shone bright into my eyes I saw them as the oneness that they are. A single splotch of unity where the sun and the moon cease to be opposites but shine down instead on a river of saffron. A timeless procession of moisture flowing over beds of asphalt and glaciers of alabaster toward the perfect tranquility that is the equinox.

By now it was getting late and I was very tired.

Putting my head on the table, I closed my eyes to it all.

*

(…)

So what then is love? What is love if it is not what it could have been and it is not what it shouldn’t be? If it is not what it would be or should be or was? If love is not what it isn’t nor what it will need to be? These are difficult questions to ask, of course, though even more difficult to answer. For such is the existential question of our species: If love is not what it ain’t, then what exactly is it?

Throughout the centuries this timeless question has been asked incessantly by the great lovers of the world. It has been studied by the world’s finest philosophers and empiricists through the ages. To solve its mystery, experiments have been conducted and mathematical models have been developed. Studies have been proposed and reports have been written. And over time the measurable outcomes of all this wondering have gradually trickled down to the outstanding men and women who teach at our community colleges.

Among noble concepts of the world there is perhaps none that has created more consternation and debate. More conflict and contempt. To some, love is immeasurable, while to others it is ineffable. To the youthful it is passion while to the experienced it is love. To the guilty it is forgiveness. To the condemned it is mercy. To the student it is edification while to the teacher it is youth. Love, in all its guises, is hope and compassion and repentance and joy. It is grief and pain. It is sorrow and shame. And warmth. And envy. And affection. And longing.

Yet is it any of these things? And if so, is it any of these things in their entirety? Is it really a passing rainstorm any more than a lengthy and consistent drought? Is it the solstice of deepest winter or the solstice of summer’s peak? Is it a steaming tray of meats? Or the coolest vegetable sampler? Is it an endless highway at night? The moonlit river? A bloody sunrise? Is it the sun at dusk? A brush of thighs? Is it silence more than words? Or words more than silence? Is it an awkward embrace? A nod of the head? A light caress? Ducks quacking? Copulating ancients? Wordlessness? Serendipity? Or a bull’s triumphant erection at dusk? The feel of asphalt on your skin? An arrow passing in flight? Is it music or poetry or mathematics? Is love itself the great flow of humanity from time immemorial down through the ages to the crowded cafeterias and offices and classrooms of our day? Is love a fertile heifer? Is it in fact any of these things? Is it even any of these things at all?

It is!

(…)

*

When I raised my head the cafeteria was empty and dark. The sound of the ice maker could be heard in the distance. Bessie was standing over me.

“Wake up, Charlie!” she was saying. “It’s over.”

“What’s over?”

“The party. It’s over. Everyone’s gone. It’s only you and me here. And the woman vacuuming the floor.”

“But the food’s on its way!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is! I planned everything so meticulously. The food will be here in a matter of minutes…!”

Lifting my head off the table, I felt the world swirling around me. The light streaming in through the windows. A trickle of blood had run down my temple and dried onto my cheek.

“What time is it anyway?”

“It’s almost two!”

“Two?”

“Yes, two.”

“A.M. or P.M.?”

“P.M., Charlie. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon — a Saturday — and everyone’s home recovering from yesterday’s celebration.”

“What do you mean? Where are all my colleagues? Why didn’t they wait for the food? What happened to the party I spent so long planning?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Bessie dabbed a wet napkin against my temple.

“Here hold this….” she said.

I held the napkin.

“But why wouldn’t I want to know?! And why am I bleeding? And where is everyone?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No….”

“Anything?”

“No.”

“So you don’t remember what happened after you woke up from your sleep last night?”

“What sleep?”

“Don’t you remember falling asleep at the table?”

“Not really. I mean, maybe somewhat.”

“Well, that’s exactly what happened. You fell asleep on the table over there….and then Timmy woke you up to tell you everyone was leaving….”

“He woke me up?”

“Yes, Timmy tried to talk you into going home. But you wouldn’t have it. ‘No!’ you yelled at him. ‘This party is not over yet! It’s not over until the food comes! Don’t let anyone leave! Our party can’t end until I become something entirely!’…”

“I said that?”

“No — you SCREAMED it! And then you ran over to the door with a baseball bat and tried to keep everyone from leaving. With the bat in your hand you stood in front of the door blocking everyone’s way.”

“I did?”

“Yes. But Timmy wrestled the bat away from you. He was a high school quarterback, remember? Timmy wrestled the bat away from you and that’s when things got really bad. Things got really bad because as soon as Timmy wrestled the bat away, you….”

*

…As soon as Timmy wrestled the bat away from me I reached into the holster for Ethel’s pistol.

“Look,” I said to the crowd gathering around me. “I know what you’re all thinking. You’re looking around this vast cafeteria and thinking that because there is no food here, that there will not be any food here tonight. This, I tell you, is faulty reasoning. It is fallacious. Just because the rain is not falling on Cow Eye Junction, that does not mean that it never will again. And just because the sun has not yet risen on the new day, it does not mean that the sun will never again rise. In fact, everything is quite the opposite. The sun will rise! And the rain will fall on the Diahwa Valley Basin someday. And the food that I ordered will arrive as promised, by eleven o’clock…”

“But it’s already past two!” somebody yelled out.

“…That may very well be so. But what is a temporal thing like time when you are among the things of the world that are everlasting? Like love. And darkness. And the sound of ecstasy coming from the other side of the wall? The important thing is to have something to believe in. Something tangible and easy to grasp…” — I took out the pistol from its holster — “…something that is heavy to hold and rather cold to the touch. In life, you see, there are things that are timeless on this side of the room and things that come and go on the other. Things that are beyond words and things that are merely replicable. Ideas that transcend our comprehension and those that can be cited with impunity in a self-study report. Since the beginning of time there have been choices that are safe and justified and those that take us into deeper and darker places where no sun can reach…” — here I undid the safety on the pistol — “…and no light can shine. But unless we pay close attention, these things slip from us very easily. For example, just look at that strobe over there….” — I motioned with my gun in the direction of the disco strobe; a hail of gasps and shrieks rang out — “…Over there is a strobe that represents a different kind of light. It is spinning as fast as the world — and like the world itself it is casting a million pieces of light on all of us. It is beautiful, no doubt. And it is stimulating. It is shiny and exciting, yes. But will it last forever? WILL IT??!!…”

“We don’t know, Charlie! We don’t know what the answer to your question should be. But how about you put down that pistol? How about you set it down on the carpet right there so nobody gets hurt…?”

“…Well, I’ll tell you the answer. The answer to my question is no! No, it will not last forever! It will not last forever in the same way that the Cow Eye Ranch did not last forever. And my relationship with Bessie did not last forever. And Will Smithcoate did not last forever. That strobe over there will not last forever in the same way that you or I cannot last longer than we are destined to last — in the same way that my stay at this college will surely not last beyond the dissolution of the world around me. All of these things, you see, merely come and go. And yet we love them so much while they are ours…”

I pointed the gun at the disco strobe. Another hail of shrieks and shouts rang out.

“…Sometimes we put so much value into things like that strobe over there that we lose sight of the truly meaningful things in life. We become so focused on keeping the lesser targets in sight…. — Here, I trained the gun’s sights on the middle of the spinning strobe — “…that we miss the more meaningful things that are in this world. The people who love us. The friendships that pass us by. They all come and go while we stare in wonder at those dazzling things that are shiny and sparkling and spinning….”

I pulled back the hammer of the pistol.

“The gun, Charlie!”

As I squinted my eye to align the strobe between the sights, I said:

“….But why? Why? I ask. You know, I’ve been told that there is a purpose for everything in this world. That it all has meaning. Or that it should. And so this strobe is here for a reason, right? As is this sheriff’s costume that I’m now wearing. As is this pistol that I am now holding in my trembling hand….If you want to be something entirely, they say, then you have to pull the trigger every once in a while….”

I shook my head.

“…But why? Right now I am aiming my sights at this disco strobe. A mere twitch of my finger and it’s consigned to the annals of history. Such is the fragility of the things in this world. But why should I have to commit to such a thing entirely? Why do I have to be either meat or vegetables? Why must I be either tall or short! Logical or intuitive? Infinitely complex or infinitely simple? Why must I strive to say, without hesitation, that I am this or I am that? And that I am this or that entirely? That my geometry is Euclidean or non-Euclidean? Why should my legacy come down to either me or that spinning strobe?”

“Put the gun down, Charlie!”

“….You see, I am here to say that it is possible to be something entirely without being those other things at all. Just as the Midwest is neither west nor east, but its own place on the map. Just as the centrist Supreme Court justice — and yes, they do occur from time to time! — is neither left nor right but provides just as much value to the world by casting a deciding vote in favor of moderation. Just as the equinox is neither predominantly day nor predominantly night….but its own special time of the year. Each of these things is what it is. And each is what it is…entirely!”

“Charlie, put the gun down! Please!”

“….You know, there was a time once when I longed to be something more toward the ends of the spectrum. A solstice perhaps. Or a proven theorem. I longed to have a diametrical opposite to guide me. To be the bos indicus among bos taurus….or the bos taurus among bos indicus. But those days are long gone. They have passed into history and now I am content to be my own opposite. Just as the spring equinox is the opposite of the fall equinox. Just as today, March twentieth, is the exact opposite of both summer and winter solstices. Just as paradox is the opposite of itself. These things are opposites just as that strobe dangling from our ceiling is the exact opposite of the sun that in a few short hours will surely bring a new day….”

“Pull the trigger, Charlie!” said Ethel.

“What?” I said.

“Charlie, it’s time. Pull the trigger….”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “Thank you for whispering these words of advice into my ear. It is very late and so it is about time for me to become something entirely.”

And so over the gasps of the faculty and staff in the cafeteria, I released the hammer and closed the safety. Without firing I lowered my gaze from the strobe.

Meekly, I set the gun on the floor.

*

Here Bessie shook her head:

“Except that, well, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“Nope. Standing alone in the crowded cafeteria you were not yourself, Charlie. You seemed possessed by an idea. Or a sound. The voice of eternity perhaps. Or the promise of ending time. Or maybe it really was Ethel Newtown whispering into your ear to pull that trigger…”

Bessie stopped to press the napkin against my forehead.

“…But whatever the case,” she said, “you really did it. This time you pulled the trigger entirely.”

* * *

SUMMARY OF EVALUATION REPORT

INTRODUCTION

Our twelve-member accreditation team visited Cow Eye Community College from March 15–20 for the purpose of determining whether the college continues to meet accreditation standards, evaluating how well the college is achieving its stated purpose, providing recommendations for quality assurance and institutional improvement, and submitting recommendations to the regional accrediting body regarding the accredited status of the college.

In preparation for the visit, team members carefully read the college’s self-study and related evidentiary documents provided by Cow Eye Community College. Three weeks prior to arriving on campus, each team member prepared written reactions to the Cow Eye Community College self-study and identified inquiries to be made during the visit. This included detailed analysis of the college’s administrative structure, curriculum, fiscal standing, facilities plans, assessment process, and its ability to support meaningful dialogue among an increasingly diverse community of tenured and non-tenured educators. During the five-day visit, the team met either individually or in groups with over 80 college faculty, classified staff, students, and administrators. In addition, team members held two widely publicized sessions open to all members of the college community. The week of accreditation activities included visits to special showcase projects, in-class observations of key instructional faculty, a fireworks display and ceremonial opening of the campus’s three cattle-themed fountains, and a memorable Christmas party in which the college’s Special Projects Coordinator employed a Ruger.38 to shoot out the rotating disco strobe in the cafeteria.

The team appreciated the hospitality of the college’s employees as well as the candor of its faculty, staff, and students throughout the visit. In general, the self-study is complete and despite a series of misspellings and some suspicious iambs in the chapters concerning its assessment practices, the document covers all important topics and all standards and eligibility requirements. The team noted that the college did a good job in organizing its accommodations. Individual team members also expressed appreciation for the frankincense and myrrh, as well as the shoulder-length gloves that were handed out as tokens of esteem upon the conclusion of our visit to the college.

MAJOR FINDINGS AND RECOMMENDATIONS

To acknowledge the good work that Cow Eye Community College has done, the team makes the following specific commendations:

The college is to be commended for its ongoing commitment to student success as evidenced by the flickering 22-inch color-television set with push-button remote control.

The college is to be commended for the commitment to excellence of its faculty. This encompasses a broad cross-section of disciplines and perspectives ranging from Art History to Eugenics and from Autobody to Philosophy. A special commendation is also given to the college’s creative writing instructor for his mesmerizing approach to facilitating an environment of creativity and lifelong learning in his classroom.

The college is to be commended for its efforts to promote cultural diversity and unity through a variety of means including Campus Conversations and focus groups.

Along with the above commendations, the following forty-three recommendations are made as a result of the team visit:

Recommendation 1:

The team recommends that the college continue its two-year cycle of reviewing the mission statement and in so doing ensure the statement’s alignment with ongoing assessment results of college-wide planning and quality assurance processes.

Recommendation 6:

The team recommends that the college continue its efforts to develop comprehensive plans for continuous improvement. It is further recommended that these plans be implemented within a reasonable timeframe and that they be entrusted to faculty and staff whose commitment to campus engagement and student success is not only sincere but also shared entirely.

Recommendation 17:

The team recommends that the college develop a more rigorous hiring process to discourage the employing, sight unseen, of under-qualified applicants with sparkling curricula vitae after a mere phone interview.

Recommendation 26:

The team recommends that the recently vacated Special Projects Coordinator position be re-envisioned to include more specific duties and that this position be filled by an applicant with a proven track-record of administrative success in the field of Educational Administration.

Recommendation 39:

The team recommends that the college’s cafeteria be equipped with ADA-accessible egress and clear paths to the exits to ensure that a sudden and mass exit through the doors can be accomplished in a safe and expeditious manner.