Bomb Cyclone and its Effects on Harvard - 4

A Novella

4

Is on a train, writing - when it stops, I will lose my train of thought. Once, we had train systems that were the envy of the world – when the rich rode on them. The same was true of subway systems. While riding on the subway system - for all of one-stop - a theory popped into my head: our strange clock system will declare with false precision that it is New Year here. Dreaming - while awake - that they changed the system to declare new year at the time that that point on earth passed an annual zone, but the thinking mood passed. Lily was putting on make-up – just to polish and already irresistible face – my own face, needed help. Taking the make-up case out – and preparing to do some, anything to the tangling up swells that was my complexion - she stopped and said: “Wait for us to get off, and I will make you beautiful - or at least passable.” It was not exactly a strong note of encouragement, but I knew that my skills with foundation and so on were - how shall it be put - not my strong point. Maybe call up Betsy DeVos for pointers – she isn't doing anything with her head, except to shake it around. It may be empty – or dropped – one never does know. I need to get a better writer – this one is too polite. After all – she described as a “philanthropist” - you should replace “phil” with “mis”. Because she doesn't give, she takes - reverse Robin Hood - and so on.

The walls were moving – and the life of the city was spreading over us. A pulsing – even choreographic display, which – sadly – my limbs were not in rhythm too. But I wanted them to be. Not graceful as a swam - the one treat was my parents taking me to see (no, experience) Swan Lake – but frenetic. Over me came a fiery sweat – then the realization was the heat had been turning on. But the taste lingered on – somewhat unlike a Fox blonde bimbo, who practices reading entirely fake news.

“I should start eating at Chick-Fil-A so I can boycott them.”

“Huh?”

“They only build in the suburbs. There will not be any to avoid in the city.”

“The cutthroat threat competition in Boston and environs is too intense for them.”

“It is true, they only want soft competition.”

“And smoke!” we both laughed even though the quip was not funny.

The train stuff at each station, then began to slow in fits and starts. Looking at Lily - one could see this was normal. Confidence is doing what is acceptable - at bottom, what is legal is what people are willing to live with as legal; what is acceptable is what people are willing to live with as normal. We got off – and looked back to see the white top of the train – over the red bottom. There was something obscene about it. But then look the other way – to a gradual incline. However, Lily stopped me - and pull out her make-up brush.

“I know this is all my fault. I came to you at the spur of the moment and hauled you out of your house. Normally, I can see that you are well made up - so please understand this is a way of making up for that.” This is not entirely true - but well, that is why we are friends - we tell little lives to each other. While she was confabulating with her voice, the more important work was the deft way with her hands that she transformed Sally Lefèvre into something more alluring, from the French word aleurier. (Leave it to the English to ensconce illegitimate Norse speakers who have learned middle French as marcher-lord vassals - as kings. That way they do not know who is in charge, or what language they are speaking. In fact, Chaucer noted that the French of London was no longer understandable by the French of Paris.)

A quick look in the mirror told the transformation in the face - but he only had a small chance to see it, because Lily said: “There they are.” And closed the lid - abruptly.

“They?” Looking at her, with a combination of disgust and admiration - knowing what the next line from her was going to be:

“You have to have the date, otherwise it will be too obvious what you are there for.” And my suspicions were confirmed – rouge was not for me – my face is just a carrier. Was it a mistake to openly declare loyalty to her? Fear today, pawn tomorrow – face your panic this minute. The technique of taking it in your teeth – as in True Grit – and terrorize what trepidation disguises by a shroud.

“Pleased to meet you, mine name is...”

“Sarah Lefèvre.” The interruption by Lily had bestowed on me a new name … which was not a bad idea, because the friends with these people might not have been a good idea.

There were 2 gentlemen there, one was a Chinese-American, the other one was a black-haired pasty white complexioned man about 3 inches taller. The statistically likely scenario was that the Chinese-American was for her, and his companion was being fobbed off on me. Almost everyone looks for someone just like them - and imported fact Lily was a good match for the Chinese American - rather broad, tall, and with a surface on their complexion which said they were both keenly aware of everything around them. Then my eyes perused my opposite number. There the match was not anywhere near as good - he was tall, but in a wiry, thin, kind of way. It was at this point that he stuck out his hand, and looked deeply into my eyes, and bowed.

Lily thought that it was good enough for now, but clearly, her goal was in another direction - she wanted to know if she had found a good match. Realizing that his hand was not going to class itself, I put out my hand as someone who was cognizant of the holder details of dancing - holding your hand out as if it were to the kissed. With a flourish he scooped up the hand, as if he knew what he was doing - the kiss was longer than appropriate, but not so much so that it would be wise to complain.

Coming up to his full height, he locked his eyes on mine, and begin to introduce himself in his tenor pitched voice: “I am so glad you could make it, nobody actually said that you were so fetching.” and then a grin, just a little one, came on to his red lips. This was actually something unusual because as a man he did not use lipstick, this was the natural tone. Probably.

Both men were dressed down, which is okay, so we. It was Lily who kept the conversation moving in the proper direction beneath the waves of pedestrians, or at least what she thought in the proper direction:

“So where are we going to go eat?”

“I do not think where quite up to Harvest or Toscano - and certainly not beyond that.” It was Chinese-American who said this, whose name had been lost in the conversation.

It fell to me to make an introduction: “I did not quite get your name?” Reaching over Lily, and stuck out my hand to shake it.

“Charles Li.” There was a cold look into my face, he knew what was going on. And then his companion also mentioned a name: “Lukas Grahame.” But it was nearly lost in the shuffle. His face determined that he needed to make a bigger entrance next time.

The response was to soften my face, to make him feel that this would be an easy test - as is often said: revenge is a dish best served cold, and my heart is among the coldest of places imaginable. This imbalance between the cold hard in a warm case is easy for me to pull off - though hard for others, they do not have the joie de vivre to hold it all - unfortunate for them, because it is a useful skill.

“So what do you want me to call you Mr. Li.”

With a pompous - and suddenly stepped neck – attitude: “You can just call me Charles.” - with an even colder look on his face.

“All right then Charles is.” Giving my voice a flirtatious angle, but inside I felt the motor of my bowels cry for blood. It 1st impressions means anything - the 1st impression that he made on me, was not good. It could be worse – he could start talking about favorably about Trump - but by this point, you know my hatred for the chief Trumplocator by now. Call me when he has power restored to Puerto Rico. Trump has a élan vital for the worlds jugular - in real time. But there was something conservative about Charles Li, of this I am sure. Come to think of it I do not know what Ms. Zhang's politics like either - making a concerted effort there would bear fruit, hopefully not apportioned by the little ice cream scoops.

At this point, I noticed that my left hand was embraced by my pseudo-date, and the funny thing was I did actually mind this. Not that I had any reason to like him, but the soothing feeling was pleasant and warm- and warmth was a big plus. Then he spoke up - “We could go to John Harvard's.” he was obviously pleased by this suggestion, and I knew nothing about John Harvard's - but Charles early nodded assent, as if this were the logical place to engage females. At this point, we, as a group, ran upwards and then to the left to clamber on to the escalator - which was at right angles to the trains, then spend around on to scramble on the 2nd escalator. There to emerge from the down below to the up above.

My impression was somewhat dimly lit, only been to Harvard Square once before. It was not the grand square of New York, with boulevards running to and fro, but it was a stopping point - Massachusetts Ave. - called Mass Ave by everyone knew it - turned steeply left and from the other direction, it turned right. This made a space, indeed a triangle, where there was a short building that held newspapers and magazines from all over, and a small space for people together, or to gawk at the line of businesses which held ATMs, and ice cream place, and the ubiquitous Starbucks - this last on 2 floors. But then there was Starbucks in every direction - but I knew this from the map, because I could not actually see the other two - but they work will close at hand. In other words, Harvard Square was low, not just Harvard College - which was almost barrier to behind the Concord Wrought iron fence that surrounds the largely brick buildings that they speak of “Harvard” to many minds - but also to the low buildings with very prim prim and proper signs for what the building is for - right across from us is the Harvard Coop, which among many functions it sells – or, rather, in most cases rents - textbooks to students, some of whom actually will remember odd details in future years. Trees sprang up in the cinderblock hewn sidewalks - but everything else in the immediate vicinity was man-made. But one could just glimpse a park a little bit down towards Porter Square. It was in a sense, the end of the city and the beginning of a crowded suburbia, slugging out to close the open space – and celebrate the teeming streets and buildings.

Then Lily pulled on the shoulder - pointing the way to John Harvard's, which was down Dunster Street - and the pull on her arm was compounded by the two gentlemen who were pulling along with her. But yearning to look just one more time at the view I soaked in what will be called “ The Square” by its native inhabitants, and then turned to follow the group down to the location. But in my head, the idea of going to Harvard was positioned in every fiber of my being. It was a dance, bounded by hallucination and reverie - visions of my going to places, with professors who were learned. Suddenly it seemed like UMass Amherst – which was my parent's best and cheapest hope for me - was at best 2nd rate. But the economical in-state tuition beckoned their checkbooks viciously and voraciously - because they had their own trances - in which Florida garnered prominent features has the place that they wanted to go. Do not ask me why, as Shakespeare in Love said: “It is a mystery”. (What an awful praise to make the heart of a great romance film.)

I do not remember going down on Dunster Street, I do not remember going down into John Harvard's - for it was below ground, I do not remember going down the stairs - and if I did it would not be a gracious memory, with all of the grabbing and guffawing that was going on. We were giggling, though we did not know what we were giggling at, or on, or something. Ganesh would be proud of us gals and guys.

Ganesh – galosh - Ganesh – galosh – Ganesh, like the theme of Pictures at an Exhibition, in 5 rather than in 4.