Part 3: Wednesday - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Jake

I finished my shower and was dressing to go down for breakfast when my little sister banged on my door.

"Jake," Shelly called, "Phone. It's a girl."

She handed me the cordless phone.

"Hello?"

"Jake." It was Amy!

"Amy?"

"Yeah. Look, you left my car at school. I need a ride. Since it's your fault I'm carless, you can pick me up."

"It's not exactly my fault I didn't drop you off at school last night," I replied. "You insisted."

"Jake," she said firmly, "pick me up in a half-hour." And she hung up.

That girl was more frustrating than anyone I'd ever met. I thought about letting her find her own way to school. She didn't ask me in a particularly nice way. Actually, she didn't ask me at all. On the other hand, it really was almost on my way. Maybe, I thought, this is her way of ending our fight? But is that what I want? I agonized over it for a while.

A half-hour later, I pulled into Amy's driveway.

"Shell," I pleaded, "could you please ride in the back this once? Please?"

"Is Amy your girlfriend?" Shelly asked.

Sigh. "Not only is Amy not my girlfriend," I said glumly, "she can barely tolerate me right now."

Shelly gave me a long, measuring look and got out of the car and into the back seat.

"Thanks, Sis," I said. "I owe you one."

Amy came out of her house, and got in the front seat. She gave me a tiny frown, just in case I'd forgotten how angry she was at me.

"Amy," I said, "this is my sister, Shelly. She's a sophomore."

"Hi Shelly," Amy said with a smile. "Pleased to meet you."

"How do you know Jake?" Shelly asked. "He hasn't mentioned you at all."

This earned me another glowering look. Thanks Shell.

"He's in most of my classes."

"I heard a rumor that Jake's been reading dirty poems in front of the whole class. Is that true?" Shelly asked.

"Oh yeah," Amy smiled. "He's read three poems so far this week and they've all had the words 'fuck' or 'cunt.' And, of course, he does it buck naked which adds extra spice to the naughty words."

Shelly giggled. "Well, I knew he was in The Program, but you're not kidding me about the dirty poems?"

"Nope. It's Jake's Dirty Poetry Show every day this week in English Lit."

Shelly guffawed. "You didn't tell me how cool she was, Jake."

Amy bestowed another smile upon Shelly, then turned and gave me a disgusted glance.

You're such a big help, Shell, I thought. This is just what I need.

Amy and Shelly chatted amiably until we got to school and I parked the car. Amy got up, and shut the door firmly without saying another word to me. She stalked off right past her ex-friend Cindy who was getting out of a car a few parking spots away. I was still in the car, so I couldn't hear what they said to each other. Cindy waved and said something. When Amy turned, her body language made me think that Cindy should be thankful that Amy wasn't armed. At least I wasn't the only one on her shit list. Amy made an angry gesture, said something, then left, pointedly snubbing her.

Cindy was livid. I don't know what Amy said, but it sure hit home. Cindy looked over at me. I just shrugged. She wouldn't have heard anything I said from inside my car, anyway. Besides, the storm brewing between those two was too rough for me.

I was really pissed at Shelly. It was bad enough that Amy was mad at me. Shelly didn't have to make her cute comments making things worse.

"Shelly," I said, "Amy was already pissed off at me. I don't need you to egg her on."

"Amy's great, Jake," Shelly replied. "I really like her. I could tell that she likes you too. Don't worry, it'll work out."

"All you did was pour gasoline on the fire. She's probably even more pissed at me now than she was before."

"Oh, I was just jerking your chain. I'm sure she knew that," Shelly said. "But you're right, she is mad at you. What did you do to her?"

"I don't know, Shell, and it's driving me crazy! We were driving in my car and talking last night and I must have said something really stupid because I thoroughly pissed her off. And the worst part is she won't tell me what I did wrong."

Shelly gave me her patented you-are-such-a-moron look and said, "well, if you can't figure it out, I don't see why she should tell you."

"Well, fuck you, too," I snorted.

Shelly patted me on the cheek. "Hey, don't go nuts over this. Believe me, she likes you. She wants this to work out. Just talk to her about it."

Then Shelly walked off to her homeroom.

I finally realized why I couldn't stand the thought of getting relief in English Lit. class. Jerking off in front of an entire room of high school kids was pretty abhorrent. Thankfully, I thought I wouldn't have to do that. After the Jake and Pam show Monday, and oral sex with Amy yesterday, there were girls willing to assist me. Not to say that getting a hand-job in front of the class wouldn't be rather embarrassing, also. It was just that after walking around with a stiff and oozing prick for a couple of hours, it really started to seem like it wasn't such a bad idea. My point is that while getting your rocks off in front of the class was embarrassing, it was another thing entirely to wipe off your deflating cock, then get back up there and read some boring poetry written by some dead, white guy that nobody in the class really gave a rat's ass about.

So when Mr. Larsen asked me if I'd like relief, I passed. Then he called me up to read my poem of the day.

"Someone has started referring to this as Jake's Dirty Poetry Show," I said. There were several amused faces in the class and I was happy to note that Amy smiled briefly, also. "I'm sorry to tell you that today's poem doesn't have any explicit references to naughty bits, fornication, or British terms for self-abuse. Here is one of my favorite poems: The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T. S. Elliot.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair
(They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!')
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin
(They will say: 'But how his arms and legs are thin!')
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep... tired... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should 1, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman bold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'-
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all,
That is not it at all.'

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor-
And this, and so much more?-
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.'

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Mr. Larsen stood up and said, "I'm surprised, Jake. I won't have to apologize to any parents about this poem." He smiled. "Actually, it's an important poem in modern English Literature. Does anyone have any ideas about what it's about?"

Amy raised her hand. "It's obvious what it's about, and why Jake likes it. He identifies with it. It's Jake, the intellectual outsider, never able to take part in the huge party he imagines everyone else having. It's a litany about poor Jake who's all alone. It's really an excuse. Excuses for why Jake can't come out of his shell."

Wow. Amy was more pissed off at me than I thought. I was trying to think of something to say when I got some unexpected support.

"Oh that's ridiculous," Pam said. "Everyone looks in from the outside, at one point or another. That's not the point of the poem. Jake identifies with the protagonist breaking loose from his restraints. He wonders 'do I dare?' just like we all do and finally he overcomes his reluctance, walks on the beach in his white flannel trousers, and then goes out and grabs a peach and eats it. The peach is a metaphor for the juicy fun stuff in life."

"Yeah?" Amy snorted. "What about the peach? Ever think that the peach might not want to be eaten?"

Pam looked at Amy for a moment and raised her eyebrows sardonically. "Well, if the peach doesn't want to be eaten," Pam said, "then maybe the peach shouldn't ask him to eat her in the first place. The peach certainly looked like she enjoyed it."

Amy's face turned quite red, but she certainly didn't look like she was done. I thought I'd try to defuse things.

"Look," I interjected, "I'm right here. If you want to know what I think about the poem, don't you think it would be easier to just ask me?"

Amy and Pam both looked at me coldly, and simultaneously said, "No."

"The point is," Amy said, "that it's the same old sexist, male point of view. You're right, the peach is a metaphor. How do you live life to the fullest? You go out and conquer as many women as possible. A guy with restraint is just a loser."

"It's not sexist," Pam replied, "It's normal human interaction. He hears the sirens calling to him. He can't be expected to resist that. Sirens are irresistible."

"They're not sirens in the poem, they're mermaids," Amy retorted. "Not only are they resistible, but considering the part that's half-fish, they're incapable of satisfying him."

I just couldn't stop myself. "I dunno about that," I replied. "You haven't really lived until you've had one of them mermaid hummers."

There were only a few kids in the room who were really following Amy and Pam's overly-intellectual discussion about precisely what sort of asshole I was. Dennis and Beth looked like they really enjoyed the whole thing. I thought Linda did too. Most of the kids weren't sure that Pam and Amy were speaking English. But I'd always found that absolutely everyone loves the phrase "mermaid hummer." The whole class broke up. That ended the discussion to everyone's satisfaction.

Well, almost to everyone's satisfaction. Amy was giving me a very strange look that filled me with both dread and anticipation. Pam winked at me. I wondered if I really knew who was the mermaid and who was the peach.

Amy

I certainly couldn't sit with Cindy and her crowd at lunch like I usually did. Greg had tripped a freshman who dumped his lunch tray all over himself. John and his crowd of football players were all there yukking it up with Cindy and her cheerleader pals. If I sat there I'd be compelled to do something like neuter the lot of them with my spork. I don't think a jury would convict me - not if they knew what sort of shallow, elitist, malevolent snobs they all were. God, how could I have tolerated them before? What had I been thinking? I suppose that I ignored their flaws because I thought that Cindy was my friend and John loved me. I should probably thank John for dumping me.

I sat with Beth and a few of the other kids who were in AP classes with us. They were all very nice and the conversation was much more interesting than usual. Beth was one of the first friends I made when I moved here. Cindy didn't get along well with Beth, so I'd always had to choose between hanging out with Cindy or Beth, but not both. For some reason, I'd usually hung out with Cindy. That was going to change.

I could see Jake eating and chatting with Linda. They looked like they were having a good ol' naked lunch. Linda certainly thought whatever Jake was saying was amusing. I have to admit, he could be witty.

Beth noticed me occasionally glancing over to Jake's table. She leaned in to me and said very quietly, "You know, we could ask them if they'd like to sit with us. There are no peaches on the menu today, and no mermaids around."

I had to chuckle at that, even though it was at my expense. I know she meant it kindly.

"I don't think so," I said, "not today."

We finished lunch, and I walked with Beth to gym. Normally, I'd thought of gym as a complete waste of time, but today I absolutely dreaded it. Monday's scene with Jake and Pam in the shower was really titillating, but I just didn't feel up to watching it again. I don't think I've been so depressed since we first moved to Kansas. I was angry, hurt, and embarrassed. I didn't know who to trust anymore.

Gym was its usual waste of time, but when gym was over, it was far worse than I had imagined it could be. Pam didn't pull Jake into the shower again - Cindy did. I was close enough to hear the entire thing. Cindy kept glancing at me to see how I reacted, so I think she planned it. I just had to watch the whole thing. It was like watching an accident; I couldn't look away.

Everyone was walking to the showers. Jake was heading into the girl's shower when Cindy walked over to him and said, "Hey Jake. It's my turn. Let's head for the shower."

Jake looked at her for a moment and said, "Thanks, Cindy, but I don't think that's such a good idea."

Cindy was having none of that. "Jake, come with me to the shower. That's a Reasonable Request."

Jake sighed, and followed her in.

I put my gym clothes into my locker, and headed for the shower. Jake and Cindy were already there. Cindy told Jake to wash her. She told him to wash her ass, then wriggled it and backed into his erection, and rubbed up against him for a bit. Then she had him wash her breasts. Cindy had very large tits, much bigger than mine. She told him to wash a bit harder, then pinch them. Then she told him to wash her pussy.

Jake washed her crotch for a little bit and then Cindy leaned against the wall, facing him with her legs apart and said, "I hear you give great head. Jake, kneel down and lick me."

"I'm sorry Cindy," Jake said, "but no thanks."

"Jake," Cindy said firmly, "I'm telling you to lick me. Reasonable Request, remember? You have to do what I say."

"Cindy, that's not a Reasonable Request."

"Fine," she said. She turned to face the wall, bent down, stuck her ass out at him and wriggled it.

"Fuck me, Jake," Cindy said. "Hard. I want it hard. Right here, right now."

I was furious. I thought I was angry before, but it was nothing compared to this. The water washed over me as I clenched my fists and stared at them.

"Look Cindy," Jake said in a deliberately reasonable voice, "I'm really sorry about this, but I'm not going to have sex with you. I'm sorry, but it's just not going to happen."

Cindy twisted herself around, and shoved him in my general direction. It was all Jake could do to keep himself from falling flat on the slippery shower floor.

"Loser!" She spat. "Wimp! Here, Amy, he's yours."

"Hah!" I shouted. "Keep him. You get my rejects, not the other way 'round!"

Jake jerked like he'd been punched. He gave me a wounded look and left.

The anger drained out of me, and I stood there feeling cold and empty and alone.

Jake

I didn't have to worry about whether Amy would forgive me, anymore. And after the way she'd been treating me, I didn't care if she did. What bothered me the most was that I didn't understand why she was so mad. I supposed it was about Pam, but that didn't seem fair. I was up-front with her about Pam and The Program.

It was funny that only after Amy had made it quite clear that she never wanted anything to do with me, I could finally admit to myself that I had really, really liked that girl. The reason I turned Cindy down was that I thought it would probably hurt Amy, since Cindy started fooling around with John immediately after they broke up. If Pam bothered Amy, doing anything with Cindy would probably drive Amy nuts.

Cindy was a real bitch, but she was also tremendously hot. It took some willpower to turn her down.

I didn't know what was up with Amy, but the way she turned on me really sucked. Maybe that made it easier to get over her and move on. At least I didn't have to kick myself for not trying, but I would have felt better about it if I had understood what went wrong. Maybe I could avoid that sort of thing in the future. One thing was clear; I was much better off without her.

The best thing I could do, I supposed, was to try and have some fun. I couldn't crawl back into the hole I dug when I broke up with Karen.

I couldn't manage to keep my mind on track during Psychology. Regardless of my resolution not to sulk, I was pretty down. After class, things started to look up. Pam was waiting for me in the hallway as I left the class.

"Hi," I said.

"Oh, what's wrong with my little friend?" Pam asked, looking down. "Is he sad? Doesn't he want to come out and play?"

I followed her glance down to my flaccid penis.

"Sure, Pam," I said, "whatever you want."

"Tell you what," she said, "Bring me dinner after rehearsal, and after we eat, we'll fool around a bit. I want..."

"I know what you want," I interrupted. "You want Moo Shoo Shrimp (an extra container of hoi sin sauce) and General Gao's Chicken (extra spicy) from Lee's Pagoda."

Pam looked at me appraisingly. "That's exactly what I like. How did you know?"

"I must have heard you give your dinner order to other guys at least a dozen times," I said. "But, I won't fetch your dinner."

Pam made a little pouty-face.

"I won't fetch your dinner, but I will take you to dinner." Hmmm... I had an interesting thought. "I'll pick you up after rehearsal, take you to Lee's Pagoda, and a movie afterward."

"How about just dinner?" she countered. "I'm not really interested in seeing anything that's playing right now."

"Nope," I said. "Dinner and a movie. Trust me. I've got a surprise. If you don't like the movie, we'll leave. But I think you'll like what I have in mind."

"Well, okay," she agreed.

"Oh, one more thing. Do you have a curfew?"

"I have to finish my homework, but I'll do that during rehearsal. Once that's done, I can stay out until 10:30," she said.

"Perfect. This will probably work out great."

"Okay, pick me up at a quarter to five." And she walked off.

I got out my cell phone. Good thing I had a few minutes until the next class. I had to wheedle a big favor from my mom.

On the way to Calculus, I saw Amy walking in my direction with a determined look on her face. Oh god, not again, I thought. I turned around and walked in the other direction. It made me a little late for class, but I didn't have to go through another ordeal with her. The mood I was in, I'm sure I'd yell right back at her even though I have no idea what we've been fighting about. Fortunately, my desk was closer to the door than hers, so I could bolt out of class when the bell rang. I had nothing to say to her, so why should I have to endure another confrontation? It was better to just avoid her.

I had to wait a few minutes after school ended because I told Shelly I'd drive her home. She usually had jazz band practice or got a ride with her friend Joan, but that day was an exception.

After getting dressed, I waited in front of the school for Shelly to show up. I was talking on my cell phone making some arrangements for tonight when Shelly walked up. I finished the call while we walked to the car. We hopped in and started the drive home.

"Hey, Shell," I said, "have a nice day?"

"Sounds like you have a date - on a school night no less," Shelly teased. "I guess you finally gave in and groveled at Amy's feet and she magnanimously forgave you? I'm glad things worked out. She seems like she's really nice. I could tell she likes you a lot."

"Yes, I have a date," I said, "but it won't be very late. I have to get her home by 10:30. And it's not with Amy. Amy doesn't want anything to do with me. She made that quite clear."

"Jake," Shelly said in her most exasperated tone, "Amy does not, not want anything to do with you!"

"What the hell are you trying to say?" I laughed. "'She doesn't not, not want anything?' What does that mean?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Shelly groaned. "I mean, you're wrong about Amy."

"Nope. Amy's pissed at me," I said. "I couldn't possibly be wrong about that."

"You just don't get it!" Shelly said.

"Why don't you just come out and tell me what I'm supposedly not getting?"

"Look, Amy is mad at you," Shelly said, "but it's not that simple. She's not mad at you like she'd be mad at just anyone. She's mad at you in an I'm-so-pissed-at-my-boyfriend kind of way."

"Shelly, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Amy can't stand me."

"Really?" Shelly said skeptically, "so if she can't stand you, why'd she call you to drive her to school this morning?"

"She hates me?"

"You idiot," Shelly said, "if she hated you, she'd just avoid you. She's mad at you, and she wants you to know how angry she is. Since she's miserable, and you made her miserable, she wants you to suffer, also. That way you'll know you have to make up with her. You just have to talk to her, Jake. You'll see. She really likes you a lot."

"That's crazy. You're reading way too much into this. It's really very simple. Not only doesn't Amy have any feelings for me, she can't stand me. You spent ten minutes with her in a car and you think we're star-crossed lovers. Nothing could be further from the truth. And the way she's been treating me, I don't want anything to do with her, either."

"Fine, have it your way, you big dork!"

And then there were two girls who weren't speaking to me. I turned up the radio, and the rest of the drive home was reasonably pleasant.

When I got home from school, I had to make a few more calls to line things up. Fortunately, I was able to reach the guy I needed. It was good to have friends on campus. Being the provost's kid certainly helped a lot.

I still had a couple of hours before it was time to get ready to pick Pam up, so I read my email and sent a new note to Dave telling him about how it had fizzled with Amy before it even started. I told him about the whole scene in the shower.

Dave was home, and replied right away.

Jake,

Too bad about Amy. But, dude! You should have at least had a good fuck with that Cindy chick!

--D

Dave has always had his priorities in order.

I took a shower, put on some clothes (for a change), and left to pick Pam up. She was waiting in the vestibule, so I didn't have to take my clothes off just to go into the school to pick her up. I got out of the car, and opened the door for her.

"Aren't you a sweetie," she said as she got in. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek in passing.

Dinner was fun. I was worried that we wouldn't be able to find anything to chat about. We'd never really talked to each other before. Up until then, our conversations were mostly: "Oh!," "faster!" and, my favorite, "yes, right there!" But I didn't have anything to worry about. We chatted about how Kiss Me, Kate was coming along, theater and plays in general, and wherever else the conversation led us. I found out that in addition to being tremendously sexy, Pam was also funny and very nice. I had a good time and I think she did, too.

Pam's fortune cookie: You can light a candle to escape the darkness, but when you extinguish the candle, it is not the same darkness.

My fortune cookie: If you lived here, you would be home now. Ancient Confucian wisdom must have been in short supply at the fortune cookie factory.

After dinner, we hopped into my car and drove to campus. When we got out, I grabbed my big canvas gym bag from the back seat.

"We've got a quick stop to make before we can watch the movie," I said.

"What's with the bag?" Pam asked.

"Well, this is a sort of do-it-yourself movie night. Don't worry, I think you'll like it."

It was cold, but not terribly cold, so we took our time and chatted as we walked over to Gerardi Hall. We entered the building and went downstairs.

"Okay, there should be a wall lined with mail cubbyholes somewhere around here..."