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Beneath words and logic are emotional connections that
largely direct how we use our words and logic.
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___________________________________ - Jane Roberts
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I had gone out West to explore a realm that a colleague had told me about, a spot in the Nevada desert that had never been properly explored in recent days, having been left for the dead thing it was.
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It used to be something, or so the colleague told me, but had been striped of all forms of life due to a cosmic occurrence that had rendered what had used to be there nothing but a memory, and yet not even that, as I was told, since everyone who knew the place before the catastrophe was now dead, generally believed to be victims themselves of the event itself.
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My colleague used the word Zone to describe it, which gave it a weight that seemed entirely science-fiction based, if not totally mythical.
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I was intrigued enough to try to catalog what was left, if anything, and try to map what was left now all but unmappable.
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My colleague stated that she had only heard of this site through a colleague who related the notion in terms that were vague and she was not able to confirm its exact location, or even a general circle on a current map of the state.
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Having just recovered from a severe illness that kept my body in bed for months, I was spritely, and up for a challenge requiring both mental and physical dexterity. I requested an extended sabbatical, drawing up a proposal for my journey, which was surprisingly quickly approved by the academy, some members having heard of a similar zone.
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I quickly found a subleter for my apartment, took care of a number of personal bits of business that could not be left to chance, and began keeping track of receipts, the first of which, a plane ticket to Las Vegas, bought on the cheap (but still), made me glad to have been collecting some disability due to my illness.
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I imagined once I was in the dry deadness of the desert I would not be spending too much, having little or nothing to purchase, and would still be reimbursed upon my completion of the project.
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But I was stretching things thin at the time, feeling that the gamble I was taking was full of fool’s odds.
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The woman who had agreed to sublet my apartment was around my age, only in town for the summer to teach an adjunct course at the university. I was pleased with her interest, having many similarities to myself and when we first met to discuss the arrangement, I felt that we had gotten along famously.
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Sitting down for tea in the kitchen, she told me of her ex-husband who had had quite a bit of business success, which made him believe to be exempt from the traditional tenets of marriage. I sipped and nodded in sympathy as she spoke of how she had found herself to be took much of a bookworm for him, never leaving her eyes from the pages of her literary journals, even late at night, while I slipped his hand under the sheets to try to elicit some kind of response.
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She admitted that his straying was partially her fault. A lover who denies love is cruel, she said, and does not deserve a description that includes l-o-v-e, in any permutation.
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I found her honesty refreshing. I was, though, surprised at how easily it was affected. This woman had just met me, and while I did not object, I found the subject of her failed marriage and sexual denial to be somewhat inappropriate a topic over Earl Grey.
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Nevertheless, I was taken by her candor and we quickly shook for a three-month long sublet. I brought out the necessary papers for her to sign, at the landlord’s request, and she did so with a flashy, almost overly dramatic, signature and, laying down the pen, promptly laughed as if in a victory cheer.
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This, I admit, I found slightly disconcerting. Had she somehow pulled a fast one on me? Would I return from my journey to find my apartment a shambles? every drain clogged with long, kinky hairs?
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She would be moving in in 2 days, which gave me plenty of time to organize the house, making sure more personal items were safe behind locked cabinets.
I had bought clean linens for the bed that she could use for herself, not terribly interested in sharing each other’s dead skin cells. I felt that this was only appropriate, given the length of her stay.
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If she were simply a houseguest, I wouldn’t have bothered. But a lot of things can happen in a bed during three months, and I didn’t want to take any chances, knowing that upon my return I would simply buy new sheets for myself.
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I figured being proactive on this front was both the more generous and cheaper option.
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I had a difficult time deciding how to handle notifying my neighbors of their new neighbor. I had honestly never spoken two words to anyone in the building, barely nodding to one another down by the mailboxes, if that.
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I always preferred to keep to myself, and felt that the simple fact of us living next to one another was not enough for me to ever make the effort. But now, out of respect for the new tenant and to relieve my neighbors possible concerns of this new woman pretending to be me, I went from door to door to relate the news in as polite a fashion as I could muster.
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Hello, my name is Marion. I live in apartment 3B. I wanted to let you know that I will be subletting my apartment during the next three months. Her name is Margaret, and I promise that she will not be of any disturbance to you. I just wished to relate this information so that you would not be concerned about a new body coming and going into my apartment.
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I repeated this over and over, attempting to sound more enthusiastic with each opening door.
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After innumerable awkward moments with these people, these neighbors, I began simply leaving notes relaying the same message under the doors of those apartments (the 2 floors above) that would be less involved with Margaret’s comings and goings.
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After I had done this, I took a shower and laid down on my own sheet set for the last time. I knew I would be spending the next three months sleeping in a car, or more likely, a jeep without the same wide stretches of my queen-sized bed. Because of this, I had a fitful nap that didn’t come close to what I was looking for, and tried to stay in bed until my usual dinner time, after which I would get up, make a simple salad for dinner and a few eggs that I still had left in the refrigerator, and then return to the bed early to attempt another round of sleep, hopefully one that would leave me rested and ready for my early morning flight out West which would put me in Las Vegas still in the morning hours.
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I had packed a large but modest suitcase the day before. It held within its contents the following: four pairs of cargo pants, two pair of cargo shorts, strong boots, 10 pairs of socks, 3 bras and 7 sets of underwear, a plush vest with multiple pockets (green) for warmth on the potentially chilly nights, 5 T-shirts of varying colors, 5 blouses (cotton), 2 sweaters, a pillow, a small thin blanket, a bandana, a drop kit of minimal personal hygiene supplies (mostly likely requiring replenishment at some point), five large spiral notebooks, two academy books for personal enjoyment, sunglasses, a small camp cooking kit I had picked up at the local outdoors store, sunscreen and lots of it.
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In my carry on: full prescriptions of all my relevant medications, my laptop, a set of new pens with a micro-tip (10 black, 2 red), 5 packages of trail mix, headphones, back issues of The New Yorker and Harper’s that I had been saving up for the plane ride, a compass, a map.
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My salad, which stayed simple with a small smattering of oil and vinegar and pepper, was less appetizing due to the fact that the Romaine that was left in the refrigerator had partially wilted. I couldn’t finish it.
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The eggs, all four of them, were scrambled with what remained of some goat cheese, were delicate and delicious.
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I kept the salt to a minimum to prevent any unnecessary dehydration issues in the morning.
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After cleaning up the dishes, I sat down at my desk to compose a letter to Margaret, detailing what was expected, as a matter of courtesy, hoping not to leave her with a notion of me as being a rigid taskmaster, even if my general tone with the written word gives that impression to many, and many have said as much.
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She already had a set of keys and was planning on moving in the following day, much later, I assume, than the four o’clock leave I would be taking.
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I wrote it in a simple blue pen, attempting something other than my usual cursive penmanship to ensure that there would be no confusion as to what was being related:
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Margaret, –
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I hope that your move was easy and lacking in any normal issues associated with a move. I’m sure that such a sublet situation is more like simply moving into a motel for a period of time, and I have tried to ensure that the state of the apartment is similar to that of a well-run lodging establishment.
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You will find the bed has been outfitted with a new set of linens, and feel free to take them with you after your stay.
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Given that the apartment gets excellent light in all the rooms but the bathroom, I request that you keep the expenditure of energy through excessive use of the lights be kept to a minimum. Of course, light only lasts as long as the sun is up, but I have found that in most rooms, using the large vased candles prominent in each room to be more than sufficient and even allow for a calming allure to any room that requires extended illumination for reading or study.
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I ask that you make certain to take care of the drain in the shower; to wipe down the grate of any stray hairs that may have collected there. I have had issues before of clogging, and I noticed that you had quite long (though very beautiful) hair that is often the cause of collection and clogs.
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While I have never done so, you are more than welcome to take a bath if that is more to your liking.
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I have left a folder of take-out menus that are well reviewed by the community, knowing how stressful being an adjunct can be. If home cooking is more your style, feel free to use any of the basics now left in the cupboard.
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The refrigerator has been emptied and has obviously been left free to fill to your taste.
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I have notified all of the neighbors in the building of your stay, and I have not received any notices of concern, so you should have no raised eyebrows upon your arrival.
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If you experience any instances of concern while here, feel free to notify the superintendent or landlord (I have left their numbers on the refrigerator door) and they should take care of them promptly.
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I, personally, will not be able to be reached during your stay, but feel free to keep a log (I actually would recommend it) of any issues pertaining to the apartment for my notification upon my return.
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Wishing you enjoyment of your stay and summer,
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Marion
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I left the note prominently on the kitchen table, next to an empty teacup and unopened package of Earl Gray, by way of a temporary housewarming gift.
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After I felt that this letter had expressed all that I wished it to, I took a warm soothing shower while a pot of chamomile tea brewed in the kitchen.
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While standing naked in the shower, the water running down, the warmth of which allowed my muscles to relax to a degree that nearly made me weak with comfort, I closed my eyes and peed.
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I would normally never do such a thing, but the excitement for my new project left me feeling so elated, so free, that I wanted to find a proper bodily expression of that – to do something I would never normally do.
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What surprised me was that the warmth of my urine came through across my skin, even through the relative head of the showerhead’s own, albeit cleaner, version of this action. I was so taken by this fact that I brought my hand down low enough to cup the ongoing stream, which excited me enough to attempt something akin to masturbation.
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While continuing in this fashion, especially after my bodily torrent had stopped its gush, my thoughts moved from the desert to Jefferson, who had been a young student in one of my graduate courses some years before.
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Jefferson had been my lover throughout the semester as well as some years after. I was not proud of this fact, but found his brash youthful allure to be all but irresistible. I had insisted that we kept the affair a secret, which, for some time at least, kept up the notion of the forbidden as a turn-on for both of us.
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We had even gone so far to travel across the country to Death Valley, even after the semester had ended (at which point there would have been no technical need to hide our amorous pursuits) spending two weeks at a spa in the middle of nowhere, where we could openly act like a couple, fondling each other in the restaurant we ate at each day, without worry of anyone we knew finding out.
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Those two weeks were among my happiest, reliving a teenager-in-heat world I had never experienced before.
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He was the one to initiate, during one of our 1-1 conferences. He had wanted a private session to expound on something I had said about cartography being full of dragons, an appropriation from early maps regarding the unknown portions of a landscape.
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I had explained how the only known historical use of this phrase is in the Latin form "HIC SVNT DRACONES" (i.e. hic sunt dracones, here are dragons) on the Hunt-Lenox Globe (ca. 1503-07) and that while earlier maps contain a variety of references to mythical and real creatures, the Lenox Globe is the only known surviving map to bear this phrase.
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He had thought that the phrase was wonderfully poetic, to the very core, in describing how impossible the general idea of proper cartography was; how we could never truly map a landscape, as landscapes themselves are too full of shifting change and really are simply mere snapshots of a generally accepted view of the time.
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I found his excitement tremendously exciting.
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After an hour of conversation, full of flirtatious advances, at first by him, and then quickly followed by myself upon realizing their existence, he asked me simply and straightforward:
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“Can I kiss you?”
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I was slightly taken aback at how our little dance had reached its endgame.
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I had quietly wanted to ask that very question myself, though knowing my place in this particular relationship professionally prevented me from doing so. Suddenly relieved of the burden of initial action, I was given the less heavy burden of response.
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I attempted humor, the old school marm chestnut: “I don't know, can you? It won’t guarantee you an A.”
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“I don’t need an A. I need you.”
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It was a groaner of a response, but I fell for it, without question, as my actions after would prove.
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We proceeded to make our for another hour, Jefferson feeling each inch of my body, first above my clothes, and then, getting more and more confident, underneath, slipping fingers into nooks of flesh that hadn’t been felt with such passion for since I could remember.
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I was so dizzy after we had finally stopped and he left, requesting a private rendezvous somewhere private later, I had to put my head down on my desk for some 20 minutes in order to feel back to normal enough to proceed home.
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