Chapter 7

IT WAS MID-SUMMER, about the time I was starting my run through the young women at theatre camp, when Oppenheim told me to go to the office and take a message from my mother. Mrs. Oppenheim brought me around the desk and handed me a pad with the words “Call home,” and a phone number I didn’t recognize. Of course, I called the number I knew by heart first, only to be told the line was not in service. I hastily dialed the number on the note.

“Hello?”

“Mom? Are you okay? Why isn’t our phone in service?”

“Oh, Terry. Don’t panic. We are all fine. No injuries. I’m afraid we lost the house, though.” Lost the house? It was too big to just misplace.

“What do you mean?”

“There was a fire. It happened while we were all at church Sunday night. No one seems to know how it started, but by the time we got home, fire trucks were trying valiantly to put it out. There are a few partial walls, but the inspector says there is nothing salvageable in the rubble. We’re staying at the Martins’ right now but we’ll have to find a new place to live.”

“We lost everything?”

“Yes, Terry. I know you had your theater set model and some awards. We’ll put in a claim for clothes so you’ll be able to buy school clothes this fall.”

“I’ll come home right away to help. The camp will understand,” I said. I could see Mrs. Oppenheim across the room nodding.

“No, don’t do that, Terry. There’s really nothing you can do here. We simply need to file some papers and then go house-hunting. We’ll have the rubble bulldozed and sell the lot. It’s time your father moved closer to his job anyway. We’ll be house-hunting in Lima.”

“But if you need me...”

“Oh, sweetheart, what could you do? We’d just have one more person imposing on the Martins’ hospitality. Call me next week at your usual time and I’ll keep you updated. Otherwise, be a good and faithful employee at the camp. We’ll have a new place to live by the time you get here on your way to school in the fall.”

“Yeah. Well, okay. I guess. I’ll talk to you next week. Love you, Mom. Love to all of you.”

“Love you, too, Terry. Goodbye.”

I remember pretty clearly that it was Dot who showed up at my door that night. I may have pounded her pussy a little harder than I did with most of the girls. Fortunately, she was one of the better padded girls and had no difficulty taking the pounding. It was just so frustrating to be told the place I’d lived for over eighteen years no longer existed.

There wasn’t that much in my room. Like Mom said, I had a set model I’d created and some school awards. It was a shame my yearbooks were gone. I guess the most valuable thing that I lost were all the letters from Jessie. She was really just a memory now.

It all really hit when I followed Mom’s directions to a subdivision in Lima where there were rows of houses that all looked the same. Without the scribbled notes, I’d never find the address again.

I’m not going to dwell on it. In this house there was a bedroom with a bed I could sleep on when I visited my family. I couldn’t call it my room because absolutely nothing in it was mine. Dad gave me a $500 check to replace my clothes. Well, most of the stuff that fit me was in my car. He also showed me a new bicycle to replace the one I had. I decided to leave it in the new garage until I scoped out the lay of the land at OU. I had a car now. Why would I need a bicycle?

Labor Day, I drove down to Athens so I’d be there Tuesday morning when the housing office opened.

I guess maybe the fact that I lost my personal space at home led to me maybe go a little crazy in my residence hall room. I bought a lamp and reading chair, an electric typewriter, and some nice bedding. My roommate shrugged and tossed a sleeping bag on his bed. I also bought a selection of university logo clothing, but even after all that, I had $200 left from my insurance money and another $200 that was my honorarium for being an intern. I thought that was pretty generous of them considering all the side benefits.

I was busy from the day school started. Reading, reports, exhibitions, ball games. And more reading. I was in an honors English class and US History. I had to take biology and hated every second of the 7:30 a.m. class. I should have been more careful about choosing my classes. My philosophy class, Western Thought and Literature, required more reading than the English class. But I did enjoy my Speech Communications class. The prof was funny and sometimes randomly called on students to do a three-minute impromptu speech on a subject he tossed to them. We had some serious speeches to write and present as well, but the impromptu ones were the best.

Then there was the one class in my major: The Theatrical Experience. It was a kind of theater history course but also included discussion of live performances we were to attend. Of course, the real experience didn’t come in classes. I showed up for the first auditions, didn’t get cast, and volunteered to work backstage. The director looked at my recent experience with Oppenheim and decided to assign me as assistant stage manager, a role I was later told was usually held back until the student had a stage management class.

I was a little confused because this was almost the same kind of jobs I’d been doing as assistant director at camp. But camp didn’t have stage managers and the AD filled both roles. All I had to be really careful of is making sure my cue book was always up to date and that I didn’t accidentally step into the AD’s space.

And that’s how I spent my fall term. Reading, writing, running errands, and getting horny. I thought back on the days I could count on a girl coming to my room for condoms and practice at least every other day and then to the two weeks with Liz with yearning. I’d have given about anything to have her in my bed right then. But I actually made it all the way to winter break with only having a couple of dates and no nookie.

“Hey. I understand you live up northwest.” I couldn’t remember the girl’s name. She was a real studious type who was in my Honors English class. She looked at me through glasses that magnified her blue eyes.

“Um ... Yeah. Prairie ... I mean, Lima.”

“I was supposed to have a ride home but she flaked out on me and decided to go to Florida with her boyfriend. I was wondering if I could hitch a ride with you. I live in Van Wert.”

“Oh. Sure. It would be nice to have company on the drive. I’m Terry Reichert.” I held out my hand and she took it in a firm handshake.

“Cheryl Connors. We should already know each other from class. I just remember you mentioning your house burning down in that essay you wrote and read in class.”

“Yeah. It’s strange. Doesn’t really feel like I live there anymore. I’ve only spent one night in my parents’ new home. It’s not even in Prairie. Kind of disorienting.”

“Really sucks. So, you’re okay with me hitching a ride? I’ll help pay for gas.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I plan to leave Saturday morning. Screwy test schedule on Friday.”

“That works fine for me. What’s your residence number? I’ll meet you there.”

I gave her my number and we parted ways. I watched her long straight blonde hair disappear around a corner. Dummy. It’s just a ride.

I saw Cheryl in class on Thursday and gave her a note with my name, phone number, and full address on campus. We agreed she’d meet me there on Saturday morning, even though I was willing to pick her up at her residence. She just said, “I’d rather you didn’t.” Okay then.

My philosophy test on Friday afternoon was brutal. There’s a hell of a lot of Western Thought and Literature. And we only covered half of it. I was going to get the other half next semester. I was considering changing my schedule and dropping the class. I’d drop Biology but I’d have to pick up something else in order to fulfill my two semesters of science requirement. No sense starting something new.

One of the guys in the class suggested we all go out for a beer. We could get three-two at a local pub, so we all went over and moaned about the final. Since the only thing we all had in common was that class, our conversation naturally turned to the exam and some of the philosophers represented. After the second pitcher of beer, we started in on whether Kierkegaard’s existentialism or Nietzsche’s post structuralism had a greater influence on twentieth century philosophy—which, of course, was the subject for next semester’s course.

I think the four of us finished four pitchers of beer. My nose was numb. I managed to stumble my way to the residence hall and found my room. My roommate had gone early in the day because he had no Friday exams. I stripped to my underwear and was about to fall into bed when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find three girls propping up Cheryl.

“This where she lives?” one slurred.

“Not really,” I said.

“This was the address on the paper she gave us. Who’s got that note?” One of the other girls held out the scrap of paper I’d written my address on. “So, you’ll take care of her, right?” She shoved a semi-conscious Cheryl into my arms and waved as the three staggered down the hall. Apparently, they’d been out celebrating the end of exams the same way I had. Only more so.

I just stood there holding Cheryl in my arms trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

“Bed?” she mumbled. I looked at my room. There was nothing but a bare mattress on my roommate’s bed. Apparently, he’d taken his sleeping bag with him. That left me with just one bed and a drunk girl. I got her over to the bed and we sat down. She was propped against the end of the bed and I slipped down to get her shoes off. When I stood up, she’d pulled her sweatshirt off and was struggling with her pants. Oh, what the hell? I was only in my shorts. I pulled the track pants off of her and pulled back the covers. She fell back on the bed in just panties and bra.

“Move over. I have to sleep here, too.” She rolled to her right, trying to take the blanket with her but after a little tugging, I managed to get enough to cover me on the outside edge of the bed. And back-to-back, we passed out.

The sun was well up and I had to piss like a racehorse when I woke up. Except there was a hand on my cock. I looked over at Cheryl with her long blonde hair next to me, still asleep. I regretfully removed her hand from my cock and ran out to the bathroom next door. When I came back in, Cheryl was still asleep. I tried waking her up, but she just murmured “Huh-uh.” I figured, what the hell. I didn’t feel like getting in a car yet either so I just crawled back in bed beside her and went back to sleep.

The next time I woke up, I was on my back and Cheryl was draped over the top of me. I had an arm around her and her tits were pressed against my chest with one leg thrown over my middle, including resting on my cock. It hadn’t responded until I pieced together the situation, then there was nothing I could do to stop it from growing.

“Um ... Hey. Cheryl. Can you wake up now? Cheryl?”

“Awake. Huh? Who?” She jerked back as her eyes popped open and she looked at me. “You? How? Did we?”

“No. Don’t worry. We just slept.”

“Pee.”

“First door on the right.” She jumped out of bed and opened the door to my room. She hesitated in the doorway as I watched her panty-clad butt. She pointed right and I nodded. She went on out into the hall and turned right. I didn’t figure there were any guys in there anyway as most had left the day before. I just lay there in bed waiting for her to come back.

When she appeared in the doorway again, she looked like shit. I mean ... really sexy, barely covered shit.

“How did I get here?”

“You got drunk with some other girls and all they had for an address is the slip of paper I gave you. You never gave me your address so I just put you to bed.”

“Fuck. I never drink. I must have been stupid. And we didn’t like ... fuck or anything?”

“No. I wasn’t in much better shape. We just slept.”

“Can we do it some more?”