The Rules of Attraction

PAUL I started walking but was then running when I caught sight of the motorcycle at the Guard House. I was walking quickly at first, then jogging, then I broke into a full-fledged run, but Sean, who had a helmet on, started driving faster, skidding at first on the wet snowy lane, then regaining speed. I don’t know why I was running after that motorcycle but I was. I was running fast too, skipping over piles of snow, moving faster than I can ever remember moving. And it wasn’t because of Sean. It was too late for that. There had already been a Richard and a Gerald and too many carnal thoughts about others. But I was running and I was running because it felt like the “right” thing to do. It was a chance to show some emotion. I wasn’t acting on passion. I was simply acting. Because it seemed the only thing to do. It seemed like something I had been told to do. By who, or by what, was vague. The bike sped up and disappeared around a curve and I never caught up with it.

I stopped and stood there on College Drive panting, bent over. A car pulled up. It was some guy who lived across the hall from me; Sven or Sylvester — something like that. He asked if I needed a ride. I could hear the song playing on the radio, an old childhood tune: “Thank You for Being a Friend.” I stopped panting and I started nodding, laughing my head off, feeling unchanged.

“Come on. Get in,” he said, reaching over and opening the door.

Still laughing I stumbled into the car thinking oh what the hell. Rock’n’roll, right? Deal with it. Sven’s pretty cute, and who knows, maybe he could give me a ride to Chicago. And then, what was it Raymond told you about German guys?