Mirrors of Narcissus Read online

  He was about my height—six feet tall—with curly black hair and light blue eyes. The eyes were what held my attention. They were large and soulful, and hinted of artistic sensibilities. As if to confirm this, his skin was very fair, a shade too delicate for a boy, though it didn’t make him seem effeminate in any way. He was of medium build and carried himself lightly, as long-distance runners do. He was very attractive.

  “My name’s Guy Willard.” I sat down on his bed. “Do you need any help moving in?”

  “No thanks. I’ve already unpacked everything I need.”

  “When did you get in?”

  “Just an hour ago. With a suitcase and a box of books; I travel light.” He smiled, looking around the room as if he still couldn’t believe he were here.

  “So what do you think of your new room?” I asked.

  “It’s great. You should have seen the place I was living in till now. One of those rundown apartments down by Parkside Theater. The location wasn’t so bad, but the rent was just a little too high for what I was getting.”

  “I’ll bet. The landlords will charge exorbitant rates if they know you’re a student. You should have reported him to the rent council. They have pretty good organizations here for renters.”

  “I know. But I didn’t want to get into any hassles. Besides, I was looking for a way to get out of there as soon as I could.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “I put my name on the waiting list for dorms at the housing office, though they told me I didn’t have much hope of getting one. It’s so hard to get a dorm these days. But last night I got a call from them, and here I am. Lucky me.”

  “Yeah…” I felt a happy glow within me, a premonition of wonderful times in store for both of us. “Have you met any of the other guys?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to them.”

  As I led him down the hall toward the lounge, I noticed he had a unique walk; the long strides he took made his head bob a little, and he tread very carefully—as if a careless misstep would send him bounding helplessly up into the sky.

  In the lounge, we found only Kruk and Billy watching a cop show on TV. They nodded their greetings as I introduced them to Scott, and he went over to shake their hands. As I sat down on the sofa, I noticed Scott head straight to the bookshelves.

  “See anything you like?” I asked, after he’d scanned the books a while.

  “Couple of good ones here.”

  “If there’s anything you wanna read, go ahead and take it. If you don’t, the bookshelves will likely overflow. People just dump all their old books there.”

  “Where are you from, Scott?” said Kruk.

  “Well, I grew up overseas,” he said. “My dad is in the Air Force, so I never really had a hometown like you guys. I’ve lived in California, Germany, Montana, Turkey, and other places, but none of them is home for me.”

  “How long did you live in those places?” I asked.

  “Only three years each. That’s the usual tour of duty at any overseas post. After that your dad gets transferred to another base. Military families get reassigned to other posts on a regular basis, so you’re constantly moving around. Because of that, all my friendships were necessarily brief. If you make a friend, he’s likely to move before the school year ends. Nothings lasts….”

  “You don’t seem so military to me,” said Kruk.

  “I’m not. I hate the military. My dad likes it well enough—he seems to thrive on order and routine. But not me. The sameness of it all—same uniforms, same thinking—all make me want to rebel.”

  “But think of all those exotic places you’ve been,” I said. “I wish I could have grown up overseas like that. What was it like?”

  “Not as exciting as you probably think,” he said. “In the foreign countries, all I really saw was the insides of military bases, and they all look the same.”

  “Say, I’m hungry,” I said. “How about if we all go down to the student union cafeteria and grab a bite to eat?”

  “Sure,” said Scott.

  The other two said they’d already eaten.

  “Well, it looks like just me and you, Scott.”

  “Let me just drop these books off in the room and I’ll be right back.” He grabbed a couple of books from the shelves and left.

  “What do you think of our new dorm-mate?” I asked the others.

  “He looks really straight,” said Kruk. “A big change from Jonesy.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Billy. “He doesn’t seem like he’ll be as much fun as Jonesy was, though.”

  “At least he’s not a thief,” I said.

  Scott came back and we headed out.

  “I like those guys,” he said as we went down the stairs. “When I lived in the apartment, I really didn’t get to know the other residents. But here, on my very first day in the dorm, I already feel like I’m part of the group. All you guys seem to have good relationships with one another. I hope you can accept me as one of you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll fit right in. There’s some weird ones among them, but basically I think they’re all right.”

  “Is there very much partying going on?”

  “Partying is not the word for it. Some Sunday mornings, it looks like a hurricane’s been through the lounge.” For some reason I found myself making life in the dorm sound so much funner than it actually was. “You don’t seem the type to go in for parties, though.”

  “You’re right. To tell you the truth, I’ve been a little lonely ever since coming to this school. It can be a little intimidating here if you don’t have any friends.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Our school was known to be highly competitive, and coming straight from high school, I’d experienced something of a culture shock. Though I’d been in the upper ten percent academically in my high school, I hadn’t been prepared for the high level of instruction given here. With its distinguished academic reputation, it had attracted the top students from all over the state, as well as from out of state. And there were many foreign students here as well, on government scholarships. The professors came from all over the world, and some of them had won Nobel Prizes. For kids just out of high school like Scott and me, it was like stepping into another world. I’d been amazed at the high intellectual level of some of my classmates, and for a long time had been afraid to open my mouth in class. Scott apparently felt the same way. Like me, he had come here expecting to carry on in the same way as high school. Used to getting straight A’s, we had to learn to be content with B’s, even C’s.

  “It’s tough,” I agreed. “I’ve never studied so hard in my life, or worked so hard for my grades.”

  “Yeah, me, too. But it’s worth it.”

  “What’s your major, Scott?”

  At this question, he seemed a little embarrassed. “Well,” he began, “One of the reasons I chose this school was because it’s one of the few which has a creative writing program.”

  “So you want to be a writer.”

  “I guess so. I’ve always liked to write. Ever since fifth grade, I was the one whose essays and stories the teacher read out loud to the class. My classmates probably thought I was weird because I liked to read books and write, but I was never interested in the things they liked: football, cars, school dances, et cetera. Oh, I wasn’t a pariah or anything like that, but I always did feel I was the different one, the one who didn’t fit in with the others.”

  I looked at him, wondering if he was flashing a tiny secret message at me.

  “What’s your major, Guy?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet. And I’m not exactly in a hurry to file for one, either. At this point, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. My father keeps dropping hints about the usefulness of getting a business degree or an engineering degree. I know he wants what’s best for me and all that, but I just have no desire to follow his advice. And I feel a little guilty about i
t because he’s paying for most of my education here. Oh, I’ll pay him back, of course. But I hate the idea of being in debt to him.”

  “I see.”

  “The studies which might lead to a good job once I’m out of here don’t interest me in the least. There’s so much I want to learn about the world. That’s why I came to college—to learn things. I didn’t come here to enter some job training program.”

  “I know what you mean. What’s your father’s job?”

  “He’s an engineer for this company that makes instruments for airplane navigation. I think they’re also involved somehow in the space program. I don’t know.”

  “Wow. Sounds real high-tech.”

  “Yeah. I think I was a disappointment to him because I never cared for repairing car motors, or taking watches apart and putting them back together, that sort of thing. I happen to be completely unmechanical.”

  “I’m not very mechanically inclined, either. In a way, your dad seems a lot like mine. I haven’t even told my dad yet that I’m majoring in creative writing. He would probably have a fit if he knew.”

  “But you’re gonna have to tell him someday.”

  “I know. And I don’t look forward to it, either.”

  “I can understand that.”

  We were silent for a while. As I’d guessed, Scott seemed to be the serious, scholarly type, though not the kind who concentrated on studies to the exclusion of everything else. He was highly intelligent, and his vocabulary was much larger than that of most of the others in the dorm. He was someone I could learn a lot from.

  But there was something defenseless about him. I didn’t know if it was because he’d led a sort of sheltered existence, but I felt that the ugly realities of the world would someday hurt him. Already, I found myself entertaining a protective feeling towards him. I wanted him to be as little hurt as possible.

  Suddenly I asked: “Do you have a girlfriend, Scott?”

  “Yeah. Though I don’t know whether you’d call her a girlfriend or not. We write to each other at least once a week, but it isn’t what you’d call ‘serious.’” He shrugged and didn’t seem too concerned. “How about you?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Girl named Christine.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s different. You have to meet her—she’s not like any girl you’ll ever meet. And I think she’s one of the most intelligent people I know. She’s here on a scholarship or something. But she isn’t a grind—she likes to have fun. And there’s a mystical side to her, too. She believes in the occult—you know, astrology, tarot cards, the whole works.”

  “She sounds interesting.”

  We’d arrived at the student union. The cafeteria was crowded and there was a long line.

  “Looks like it might take a while,” I said.

  “I don’t mind waiting. If you don’t.”

  “No. Not at all.” A secret wish had gradually been blossoming within me as we’d walked side by side. I was hoping with all my heart that he was gay. I envisioned a friendship between us, exclusive and inviolable, based upon mutual sexual attraction. Not with me secretly pining for an unattainable other, wallowing masochistically in the hopelessness of my desire, but an open, reciprocal relationship of two boys loving each other.

  It was the first time I’d felt that way about any of my friends.

  3

  Before introducing them to each other, I first wanted to tell Christine about my new roommate. We were having lunch at a burger restaurant east of the campus. The weather was pleasant so we were sitting at an outside table just beside the sidewalk.

  “So what’s he like, this new roommate of yours?” she asked. She bit into her cheeseburger.

  My excitement at meeting Scott was still very much with me. “He’s nothing like Jonesy,” I said, “At least I won’t have to clean up after him or anything like that. It’ll be a great change not having a slob for a roommate.”

  “That’s nice.” She didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm at all. I knew she’d just had a fight with her own roommate, and I was praying she wouldn’t bring up the subject of my moving in with her.

  “And don’t worry, Chrissie: he won’t be making passes at you, either. He seems to be a gentleman, a very shy type. I think you’ll get along great with him. He wants to be a writer.”

  “A writer type, huh? That sounds interesting.”

  “I suppose you want to analyze him and everything.”

  “Well naturally. Someone who wants to be become a writer must suffer from all sorts of complexes. What a gold mine for study!”

  “He doesn’t exactly seem to be a neurotic type, to tell you the truth. If you ask me, he seems to be better adjusted than almost anyone else I know. Present company excepted, of course.”

  “Hmm. By the way, Guy, do you know that man over there? He’s been staring at us for the past five minutes.”

  “Probably looking at your legs.” She was wearing short-shorts, and her legs were crossed up high as she ate. I turned around and for a moment didn’t recognize the man sitting two tables away. But just as he smiled, I realized it was Professor Golden.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I was trying to recall if you were in one of my classes.”

  “Uh, no. My name is Guy Willard, and I dropped in on your Art History lecture the other day.”

  “Oh yes. I remember you now. I invited you to my independent studies group.”

  “This my girlfriend,” I said rather hurriedly, “Christine.”

  “Hello, Christine.”

  “Hi. What sort of independent studies group is it?”

  “About gay studies. I plan to discuss the history of the gay movement and its broader impact upon American society. You’re both welcome to attend if you’re interested.”

  “Even though we’re not gay?” she said.

  “Of course. Straight people needn’t be afraid. I won’t bite you.”

  We all laughed, but I got the impression he was smiling at my nervousness.

  “Actually, it sounds very interesting,” said Christine. “I’m a psychology major, and homosexuality is one of the things which fascinates me.” I knew she was telling the truth. Christine’s attitude towards homosexuality was rather enlightened; she was as intrigued by it as she was by most things sexual.

  “I don’t wish to be pedantic,” said Golden, “but there is a difference between ‘gay’ and ‘homosexual.’”

  “Oh?”

  “Why don’t you join me here at my table. That way I won’t have to raise my voice.”

  “Sure.” Christine and I picked up our things and shifted over to Golden’s table.

  “What is the difference between ‘gay’ and ‘homosexual?’” asked Christine as soon as we were settled.

  Golden seemed pleased by her interest. I sensed that the teacher in him responded instinctively to an appreciative audience. “Well, homosexuality is an activity—two people of the same sex having, well, sex. You don’t have to be gay to indulge in a homosexual act. A straight man or woman who has sex with a person of the same gender falls into this category. ‘Gay,’ on the other hand, is a lifestyle, a philosophy, even a world-view. Naturally, gay people indulge in homosexual acts of various kinds—they prefer it. But even they don’t always limit their sex to homosexual couplings.”

  “I’m a little confused,” said Christine.

  “Let me explain. Homosexuality has always been around; it has existed since the beginning of documented history. And we have all kinds of other evidence that it was around in one form or another in almost every culture known to scholars. So we have to assume that homosexuality is a universal phenomenon. Anywhere you have a sizeable population of people, there will be men (a minority, to be sure) who are sexually attracted to other men. And depending on the society, there are various degrees of acceptability.”

  “All right. I’m with you so far. I know that it’s simplistic to pigeonhole people as gay or straight when there are so man
y people who have indulged in some sort of homosexual activity even if it’s not their primary inclination. And there are so many people who are not even sure of their own primary sexual orientation.”

  “What you say is true. Now, a gay man is one who gets his greatest sexual pleasure from sex with another man. He might not always know that he is gay; after all, if he’s never experienced sex with a man, how can he tell? Such people sometimes sublimate their desire for men by fantasizing about it while never actually consummating it. But even among those who do get their greatest pleasures through sex with other men, there are many who hide their true nature by keeping it secret, or disguising it, out of a need for self-protection or camouflage. In a way you can’t blame these men because of the nature of our society. But all these men I’ve mentioned are homosexuals but not gays.”

  “What’s the difference? Or should I say, how does a homosexual man become gay?”

  “Good point. A gay man is one who lives his life as his inner personality dictates—not as society does. He may be confused or uncertain about his nature, or he may be proud, even militant about his gayness. But he is open about his homosexuality and makes no effort to hide it. Today we are witnessing a true gay revolution all around the world, but most especially here in the United States. We see gay men dressing, talking, acting in ways which express pride in their sexual orientation.”

  Here I made my first contribution. “So a man who enjoys sex with another man, but who isn’t open about it, is not a true gay.”

  “Not by my definition. But you mustn’t limit gayness to just the sex. We gay men are not just men who happen to prefer members of our own gender. We have a completely different way of looking at the world. We share an ambience, and have tastes in fashion and aesthetics which are purely our own. Yes, there is a gay sensibility—we see things differently, experience things differently. And not only because our sexual partners are not women. We are a different species, almost a different race, with our own culture, language, and history. Even our relationships are different. There are many people who think that two men in love are no different from a man and woman in love, except for their sexes. But a gay relationship is a completely different thing from hetero love—closely related but uniquely different.”